Gospel Story Finder

In time, Martin returned from Palmyra and took over as scribe, giving Emma a chance to rest before the baby came.25 But rest did not come easy. Martin’s wife, Lucy, had insisted on coming with him to Harmony, and both Harrises had strong personalities.26 Lucy was suspicious of Martin’s desire to support Joseph financially and was angry that he had gone to New York City without her. When he told her he was going to Harmony to help with translation, she had invited herself along, determined to see the plates.
Lucy was losing her hearing, and when she could not understand what people were saying, she sometimes thought they were criticizing her. She also had little sense of privacy. After Joseph refused to show her the plates, she started searching the house, rifling through the family’s chests, cupboards, and trunks. Joseph had little choice but to hide the plates in the woods.27
Lucy soon left the house and lodged with a neighbor. Emma had her chests and cupboards to herself again, but now Lucy was telling the neighbors that Joseph was out to get Martin’s money. After weeks of causing trouble, Lucy went home to Palmyra.
With peace restored, Joseph and Martin translated quickly. Joseph was growing into his divine role as a seer and revelator. Looking into the interpreters or another seer stone, he was able to translate whether the plates were in front of him or wrapped in one of Emma’s linen cloths on the table.28
Throughout April, May, and early June, Emma listened to the rhythm of Joseph dictating the record.29 He spoke slowly but clearly, pausing occasionally to wait for Martin to say “written” after he had caught up to what Joseph had said.30 Emma also took turns as scribe and was amazed how after interruptions and breaks, Joseph always picked up where he left off without any prompting.31

With the trusting nature of a child, four-year-old Kennedy from Lusaka, Zambia, ran into the open arms of Jesus! The moment was later captured on canvas by Latter-day Saint artist Liz Lemon Swindle in a heartwarming painting titled Worth of a Soul.
Since 2008 this painting has found a place in our hearts. We see the Savior draw this young, trusting child into Him. As we look into this young child’s eyes it may really be ourselves that we see. If we allow the Spirit in, it will testify that it is really each one of us that is cradled in His arms.
Kennedy was orphaned when both parents passed away just a couple of months apart from an undiagnosed disease. They left behind eight cherished children, the youngest just three weeks old. Kennedy’s life and the lives of his brothers and sisters were forever changed. The emptiness and loss robbed him of hope. That feeling would follow him for many years. His spirit craved acceptance, love, and belonging.
Kennedy and some of his siblings were cared for at the Mothers Without Borders Children’s Center in West Lusaka, Zambia. Two years after his parents’ passing, on a sunny day, a man portraying the Savior arrived with Sister Swindle and a photographer. They sought to photograph African children with the man so that a much-needed painting could be created.
Kennedy was now four years old. With the innocence of a child, and fully believing this man to be the Savior, he broke loose from the grip of his sister Bridget’s hand and ran toward him. He jumped into his outstretched arms. Throughout the day, Kennedy rarely left his side. Was the Spirit whispering to him that something here was familiar?
As a young orphan, Kennedy depended on others for survival. Prior to being brought to the children’s center, he and his siblings were scattered among relatives. As with most experiences in life, some of the times were good, some desperate. Throughout it all, and despite separation from each other, the siblings remain bonded together. His older brother Bwalya was ever present in his life and took on the role of father and protector even though he was only two years older than Kennedy.
Kennedy was introduced to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints when he was 9 and became a baptized member at the age of 11. Five siblings were also baptized.
As a young teenager, life became difficult for Kennedy when no funds were available for his continued housing, food, and much desired education. It was at this time that BJ Warnick, Sandra Peters, and Anthony Mulenga—who had all known Kennedy since he was four—were able to take him into their care. Through their Heart to Hands Foundation, he and Bwalya were immediately adopted into their flock.
While it was obvious that Kennedy needed the basics required for daily survival, what he really needed was hope and love, and they had plenty of that to offer. Kennedy said while he was “not officially adopted”, it was “even better”. He now had two moms. With his new family’s help, he was able to complete grade 12, obtain a driver’s license, and complete auto mechanic school. Again, he was wrapped in the arms of his Savior, but it was through the acts of others. Kennedy remarked, “I don’t know who I would have become without the continual love of my enlarged family and friends who have dedicated so much time to me.”
A year ago Kennedy decided to serve a mission and become those arms of the Savior for others. His “better than adopted family”, his brother Bwalya, and his determined Bishop Simbeya in the Libala Ward helped him prepare.
For many African missionaries, their first opportunity to attend the temple is when they come to the missionary training center in Ghana. It is also their first and often only opportunity to do ordinance work for their deceased parents, siblings, or grandparents until they return home and are able to have sufficient resources to travel to the nearest temple.
Elder and Sister Meredith serve as temple and family history missionaries in the Africa West Area and spend time at the MTC each Sunday helping interested missionaries prepare their ancestors’ names so they can do temple work for them in the short time they are there. Their most joyous efforts occur in opportunities to help missionaries who want to do work for their own parents. Such was the case with Kennedy Chitalu.
While he was at the Ghana MTC, before departing to the Kenya Nairobi Mission, he was able to attend the house of the Lord and take part in not just his father’s ordinance work but also the sealing of his parents and finally his sealing to them for time and all eternity. He was so excited he didn’t want forget even a moment of his experience and stayed in the temple to savor the spirit he felt as long as he was able.
Now, as Elder Chitalu, in the mission office he met Sister Stacie Sturt, mission leader for the Kenya Nairobi Mission. She captured a beautiful photo of Elder Chitalu standing in front of the painting of his much younger self, cradled in the arms of his Savior. Now he wears a name tag as a representative of Jesus Christ. It is his turn to wrap his arms around others and help bring them to Christ. He testifies: “I know and stand as a solemn witness that Jesus Christ is our Savior, and I know that His Atonement has healing power for all kinds of afflictions”.

A few years ago our children watched for the first time the movie Shrek Forever After. The story features the hero, Shrek, and his conflict with Rumpelstiltskin and an army of witches. That night my wife and I were awakened by the cries of our then four-year-old little girl, whose bad dream had her screaming in fear, “The witches are going to get me! The witches are going to get me!”

Entering her bedroom, I sought to reassure her. On the wall in her room hangs a picture of Jesus comforting a little child. Hoping for a quick return to sleep for her and for me, I told her, “You can pray. Jesus loves you and will protect you. And, by the way, witches aren’t real.”

She looked up at me with questioning eyes and asked, “Daddy, is Jesus real?”

The logic of a four-year-old at two in the morning was clear: if witches aren’t real, then what about this Jesus you tell me about? We had a good, long talk.

As I testified to her, I testify to you: God, our Father, is real. His Son is real.

I would also like to add that I am grateful for the love and support that I have felt and continue to feel from my parents,[16] my sister, and other extended family members, who, although not of our faith, continue to support my church activity. My parents, in particular have supported my family in simple, yet remarkable ways. For example, even though they could not come inside the Salt Lake Temple when I was blessed to be sealed to my wonderful, beautiful, eternal sweetheart, my parents drove up from Arizona and patiently waited outside, on a very cold day in late December. Likewise, they have supported our five sons in their academic and athletic activities, and most impressively, on their baptisms, ordinations, missionary farewells and reports, as often as they could. I cannot adequately express the love and gratitude in my heart that I have for them.

A story about a newly married couple in South America has touched my heart. They lived thousands of miles from a temple. Their income was meager, but their faith was great.

They promised the Lord and each other to first pay a full tithe out of their income. Then they would spend modestly for a small apartment without any furniture, not even a chair or table. What was left over, after their food expenses, went into a temple travel fund.

Over a year went by. They kept their tithing promise to the Lord and their objective to go to the temple. The young man’s brother, a nonmember, watched their humble faithfulness. One day, like a ministering angel, he came with two airplane tickets so they could fulfill their dreams and go to their beloved temple.

They went to the temple and were sealed. And another great blessing came to them when their brother was baptized. He gained a testimony from their example and his own sacrifice. His sacrifice for others opened the door of salvation to his soul.

Layna Cahone ran lightly up the front steps of the house and into the living room. “Dad,” she called, “are you home?”
“In the kitchen.”
She went to the kitchen doorway. Her father stood by the stove, stirring something in a small pan. “I knew that you’d be too busy again to fix supper,” he said, “so I opened a can of soup.”
Layna felt a quick stab of guilt. She had thought having just herself and her father home would be rather enjoyable. Charles was in the service, and Mother had gone to help Anne with her first baby. Layna had promised that she’d see to it that her father had adequate meals and clean clothes, but she realized now that she’d been pretty lax.
“I’m sorry I didn’t get here earlier, Dad,” she told him, “but I was talking to Debbie and forgot the time. You want toast with your soup?”
“Never mind, dear, but it would be nice if you would—”
“Oh, good grief,” she cried, “just look how late it is! I’m supposed to be at a meeting—decorating committee for the dance. May I take the car?”
He inclined his head slightly toward the hook behind the door where the car keys hung. Hurrying out, Layna thought briefly that her father must have had an especially tiring day. The lines around his mouth appeared deeper than usual, and his skin looked gray.
For a moment Layna paused with her hand on the car door. She really should go back and at least fix him dessert; but then, remembering the confusion in the school auditorium—decorations half finished, no decision made on the music—she climbed into the car and drove away.
Darkness had fallen before she reached home again. All the windows were dark. Wondering where her father could have gone, Layna turned on the kitchen lights. His soup, uneaten, was on the kitchen table. A cold chill went through her.
“Dad?” She flipped on a lamp in the living room. Her father lay on the couch. His hands, clenched into fists, were on his chest and his eyes were closed. Layna ran to him and bent down, realizing at once that he was fighting desperately to breathe.
“Oh, Daddy,” she cried, “what is it? What’s the matter?”
His eyes opened. “Heart,” he gasped hoarsely. “Doctor—”
Layna rushed to the phone, grateful that emergency numbers were written down, because her fingers shook so badly she had trouble dialing the doctor’s home number. She breathed a silent prayer of thanksgiving when Dr. Shannon, answering, said, “An ambulance will be there in just a few minutes. I’ll meet you at the hospital.”
But even though she knew that little more than fifteen minutes had passed before she and her father were speeding toward the hospital, Layna hadn’t known a stretch of time could be so agonizingly long. She looked at her father, lying half conscious on a stretcher, telling herself over and over, “I wouldn’t know what to do if my father died.” What would life be like without the good, quiet man whose gentle strength had supported her every day of her life? She knew that a world without him would be not only empty but frightening.
At the hospital her father was wheeled down a long, busy corridor. After she could no longer see him, Layna stood, not knowing what to do, until a nurse came to ask if she could register for her father at the front desk.
In the office a woman asked, “Does your father carry insurance?” and Layna remembered the card he carried in his wallet.
“I’ll have the orderly get it and bring it to you,” the lady said.
The sight of the wallet, handed to her a few moments later by a young man in a white coat, made Layna intensely aware of the seriousness of her father’s condition. She took the wallet, feeling the soft leather, worn smooth, and after giving the woman the necessary information, she went to call her mother, who assured her that she’d be there by morning. Then she sat in the waiting room, holding the wallet tightly, as though she could gain comfort from something that was his.
Thinking of how many important things the wallet held, Layna remembered a picture that she knew her father had carried for a while—a snapshot of herself and Charles and Anne taken in the mountains one summer. Wondering whether the picture was still there, she opened the wallet. As she did so, a tightly folded piece of paper fell out.
Absently she unfolded it. As she read the brief paragraph, she knew with a stabbing sense of her own failure that a letter she had seen in a newspaper the week before, one that had touched her, had also been seen and saved by her father.
She read the clipping again: “I have lived nearly fifty-five years and have worked hard to care for my family. My children have all they need. Why can’t they see me as a person who loves them and needs their affection? I’d gladly give every cent I have if my son or one of my daughters would only take my hand and say, ‘I love you, Dad.’”
Layna folded the clipping carefully as tears streamed down her cheeks. Oh, Daddy, she thought, don’t die. I want a chance to say what I’ve been too thoughtless to say to you all these years.
Slowly the hours passed. Layna rested, eyes closed, remembering many little things about her father, such as the day when she was in her early years at school and had complained because he absentmindedly took steps that were too long, and then how, smiling, he had shortened his stride to fit hers. She thought about one of her birthdays; he had come home from work looking a little sheepish because the stuffed tiger he’d bought for her was too big to wrap.
She remembered big things, too, like the time she’d had her appendix out and had awakened to see her father sitting beside her bed. She had known immediately that she’d be all right. She thought of the nights when she’d gone on dates and he had told her, “I know we can trust you.”
Just then Dr. Shannon came into the room. Jumping up, Layna ran to him. He put his hand on her arm.
“Everything’s fine, Layna,” he assured her gently. “Your father’s resting.”
After drawing a shaky breath, Layna asked, “Can I see him?”
The doctor nodded. “Yes, but just for a minute.”
Slowly, feeling almost shy, Layna entered the room where her father lay on a high, narrow bed. How strange, she thought, to see him so quiet, this big man who was always busy and interested. His face was white, but the worry lines on his forehead seemed eased, his eyes composed.
Pulling a chair close to the bed, Layna sat down. She looked at her father and smiled, then covered his strong, work-worn hand with hers.
“Daddy,” she said softly, “I love you.”

I remember one time when I was in the Marine Corps, stationed at Camp Pendleton in California. I left a decision to chance and almost found myself in a most unpleasant situation.
My buddies had been after me each weekend to go with them into the dance hall in Los Angeles to have a good time. Each weekend I was encouraged to go. After several weeks of turning them down, thinking that that was no place for me, I decided just once to leave it to chance and see how it would turn out.
I started with them towards this big dance hall in Los Angeles. We were riding the streetcar, and as it progressed from stop to stop, it was filling up with many young ladies. They were not the type I had ever been around before. They were extremely forward. I felt very uncomfortable around them. As they approached me, I adopted a tactic completely unknown to a marine. I retreated.
On the back row of the streetcar I found four young ladies whose appearance was entirely different. I asked them if they were going to the dance, and their reply was, “Yes, but not to the same one you are.” Then they said, “We are going to the Adams Ward to a Mormon dance. What do you know about the Mormon Church?” I was surprised, relieved, and willingly got off the streetcar with them, and had a most delightful evening at the Adams Ward. Have more confidence in yourself than allowing your decisions to happen just by chance.

Rebecca Johnson, blonde and 17, checked off a long list. Everything was nearly ready for the seminary pageant in Cardston, Alberta, Canada: the sets, the props, the music, the costumes, the actors—well, almost all of the actors. Rebecca winced when she looked down at the cast list. Tracy Watson, who played the lead female role of Lucy Mack Smith, was sick. The pageant was scheduled to open the following night, and there wasn’t time for a replacement to learn Tracy’s part.
“When I walked in that night,” Tracy later explained, “Brother Wilcox took one look at me and asked what was wrong.
“I was really sick. I told him I felt weak, that I was drained. He asked if I was going to make it through the pageant. I just didn’t know.
“‘You might just have to find a new Lucy Mack,’ I said.”
Tracy paused in telling the story, her eyes moist.
“Then Brother Wilcox and another Melchizedek Priesthood holder gave me a blessing.
“During the blessing I had a good feeling come over me. It’s hard to explain. I didn’t feel weak anymore. I felt strong.”
The following night the pageant opened its first performance that year in the Cardston Second and Third wards’ cultural hall. After months of work, preparation, and study, the cast and crew of over 100 seminary students were ready, including Tracy.
An opening prayer was said. The house lights dimmed. From high up on scaffolds light crews flooded a corner of the hall with bright spots. A piano started playing softly in the background. Two narrators, playing checkers, introduced the audience to the story.
“Why that’s an old revival song! Those camp meetings, remember those days?”
“Yes, that’s how it was when the Church got started, wasn’t it?”
One of the narrators rose, picked up a coat and an old Bible, moved toward a camp scene on the stage, and sat in the congregation.
“As I recall,” the narrator said, “it was in about 1820 in upper New York State when it all began.”
The preacher in front of the congregation came suddenly to life, bringing his fist down hard on the pulpit, and began to preach a fiery sermon. The Smith family was in the congregation.
It was the prelude to Joseph Smith’s first vision and the beginning of the Restoration. The pageant dramatized early Church history, moving from the First Vision, to the publishing of the Book of Mormon, to the Kirtland period, and finally to Carthage Jail, and was centered around the life of Joseph Smith.
Don Schiedler, who played the role of Brigham Young, later explained the purpose of the pageant and its dramatization of Church history. “We take what we learn in seminary and put it into action in the pageant,” he said. “When you put history or the scriptures into a play, it brings it to life. Portraying just a small part of what Brigham Young did is something I’ll remember all of my life.”
Besides studying the historical background for the pageant in seminary classes, the members of the cast were asked to do outside research on the characters they played. This extra involvement in the characterization of great men in Church history had a strong effect on several of the students.
After a performance Marlin Hogg talked of his role as Hyrum Smith. “It’s a good feeling,” he said, “to put yourself in the place of such a great man.”
Marlin stopped and loosened his tie that had been styled after one popular during the 1800s.
“I never realized until the pageant that the things Hyrum and Joseph endured together were incredible. While playing Hyrum’s part I tried to feel some of the courage and faith he had to have to endure the jails and persecution—what he must have gone through. I had to build myself up to reach his stature, even just a part of it. You can’t try to feel what he felt and be what he was and not be changed by it.”
Jack Stone, who was in charge of the first seminary pageant several years ago in Cardston, told of another student who had been changed by the annual event.
“One student,” Brother Stone said, “who had become inactive and dropped out of seminary, asked to be in the pageant at the last minute. We had a few extra costumes and there were several crowd scenes, so we put him in those. That year the pageant was on the Book of Mormon. As we sang the finale, the entire cast came down on the stage. It was the part in the Book of Mormon where Christ visits the people in America after his resurrection. We sang ‘I Know That My Redeemer Lives.’ It was a touching scene. I remember looking over at the boy and seeing tears stream down his cheeks. He’d been changed because of his involvement.”
Members of the cast and crew are not the only ones affected by the pageant. The students involved this year created enough interest in Church history for a special adult class to be held in the seminary, and the pageant played to a full house at all three of its performances.
Rod Brandham, Porter Rockwell in the pageant, told of this year’s pageant’s effect on him and on the audiences it played to.
“The pageant is centered around the Prophet Joseph Smith and the sacrifices he made for the gospel. When you’re on the stage during the scenes where he is persecuted and jailed, and especially after his death at Carthage, you can hear some of the audience crying and it almost makes you cry. You have to fight hard to hold it inside until the performance is over, until the final song.”
Rod hesitated, clearing his throat.
“I love that man for what he did.”
At the end of every performance, the entire cast came on stage and sang “Praise to the Man” as a tribute to the man whose greatness and courage some of the students had discovered or rediscovered in the pageant. After the second verse, the audience joined in the singing, and there were few dry eyes.

Leonard and Vera Chisango of Zimbabwe experienced challenges even with effective planning. They had prepared to serve missions their whole married life, and they knew their pensions and investments could sustain them for their first mission at the Johannesburg South Africa Temple. But while they were serving, the economy suddenly took a huge downturn, and their investments were greatly reduced.
With the help of their family, the Chisangos stayed on their mission. The blessings of that sacrifice were gratifying: their son’s business performed well, their daughter was promoted at work, and their children learned to work together in support of their parents.

A few years ago, I taught a family home evening lesson on faith. My family had been spending lots of time talking about faith because my older brother had questions about why we need faith. I planted a seed I saved from a cantaloupe in a little cup. I told my family that faith was like a seed. If you took good care of it, the seed would grow.
We had never had much success growing gardens. But I hoped I could make this plant grow and that I could be a good example of faith. I put the cup in the window and took care of it. I waited and prayed for my seed to grow.
I had almost given up, but after a week I finally saw some green sprouting up. It grew in the window for another week. Then my parents helped me find a place to plant it in a backyard flowerbed.
I took good care of my plant. I watered it and kept the weeds away. It kept growing bigger and bigger. I was so excited!
After weeks went by, I noticed flowers, and then small fruit began to sprout. We watched seven cantaloupes grow on the vine from my one little seed. To me it was a miracle and an answer to my prayers. The fruit was sweet, just like it says in Alma 32:42: “And because of your diligence and your faith and your patience with the word in nourishing it, that it may take root in you, behold, by and by ye shall pluck the fruit thereof, which is most precious, which is sweet above all that is sweet.”
This experience made me very happy and taught me and my family that faith is a true principle of the gospel of Jesus Christ.

Eric was different from the other children and he knew it. But he wasn’t sure whether he liked being different. He often thought about it when he woke up early in the morning and had to stay in bed and be quiet so he wouldn’t wake up his brothers. Sometimes he would turn on his lamp and read. Other times he would lie in the dark and listen to the cars and trucks whizzing by on the highway or to the roosters crowing. Then he would think about how far away the cars and the rooster were and why he could hear them so well in the morning, when he never even noticed them in the daytime while he played.
Sometimes Eric would think about his curly red hair and how the other children called him “Red, Red, the Fire Head” and how he had to share a room with his three brothers instead of having a room all by himself like his friend Andy Rogers. Those were times he didn’t like being different.
It wasn’t just his red hair and waking up early that made Eric different. And it wasn’t just having seven brothers and sisters when his friends had only one or two.
Eric was the only one in his school class who went to Primary and the only one in his neighborhood who couldn’t play boisterous games on Sunday.
Mostly, Eric decided, it wasn’t much fun to be different, but lately he was thinking about something else. In two weeks it would be his birthday and he’d be eight years old. Sometimes when he’d wake up in the mornings, he’d think about being baptized. He tried to imagine how it would be when he put on the white clothes and walked down the steps into the water. He could picture his dad standing in the water waiting for him and holding out his hand for Eric to take. This thought made Eric feel good.
One day on the way home from school Eric talked to Andy about being baptized. “Are you going to be baptized when you’re eight?” he asked his friend.
“I don’t think so,” Andy replied. “I don’t know much about those things.” Eric thought, I am different again!
Then Andy asked, “Will you be baptized when you’re eight?”
Eric looked at Andy for a moment and decided, Andy won’t tease me if I tell him about it because he’s a good friend. “Yes, I will,” Eric answered. “In two weeks it will be my eighth birthday. And that’s old enough to be baptized. I can hardly wait.”
Then an exciting idea came to Eric. “Andy,” he asked, “would you like to come to my baptism. My dad’s going to baptize me. I get to wear all white clothes and sit on the front row with my dad. You could come and bring your dad, too, if you’d like.”
When Eric’s baptism date finally came, his whole family went with him. Andy and Andy’s dad, Mr. Rogers, were there too.
Before the baptism all the people participated in a brief service. First there was a song and then a talk about Jesus being baptized and about the importance of following Him.
Jesus was different too, Eric realized. It was a very comforting thought.
When it was time to be baptized, everything happened just like Eric had imagined. But now he could really feel Dad’s strong hand reach out for his. He could feel the cool water pushing softly against his waist. For a few minutes Eric didn’t think of anything at all except the sound of his dad’s voice and the warmth of his dad’s hand and the cool water all around him.
After the baptism and after he and Dad had changed clothes, Eric shook hands with everyone and his mother gave him a tight hug. Then Eric and his dad walked to the back of the room to see Andy and Mr. Rogers, who were both looking pleased. Dad shook hands with Mr. Rogers and said, “Thanks for coming, Frank.”
Mr. Rogers waited a moment before he answered. “It was my pleasure,” he said. “It was a lot different than I expected. I’m glad we were here to see it.”
Then he turned to Eric and shook his hand. And Eric knew that something very important had happened not only to him but to Andy and his father too. And then Eric knew that in some ways it was good to be different.

My parents supported me in all my decisions. Mom and Dad stood with me on the stand in sacrament meeting the day I received my Young Womanhood medallion. They were there when I graduated from seminary. They were with me when I received my patriarchal blessing, and they supported me as I attended Ricks College.
They were both with me the day I walked to the doors of the temple. I had finally reached the day when I would enter the temple and receive the blessings I had learned about. The angel Moroni, glowing in the early morning sun on the temple spire, seemed to proclaim my joy to the world. I kissed my parents good-bye as I entered.
If I had waited to decide where to marry, it would have been too difficult to leave my parents outside and be married inside the temple. I wouldn’t have had a strong enough testimony of the gospel and the importance of the temple. I may not even have had the opportunity to decide. Leaders, bishops, and friends helped me. My family supported me. But I never would have made it if I hadn’t first decided that I was going to the temple.
In the temple I learned more about Heavenly Father’s plan for me. I hadn’t reached the end of my goal at all. I had only made one more step. So I decided right then to keep my temple promises, no matter how difficult. I decided I was someday going to return to my Heavenly Father.

It wasn’t until 1880 that the first missionaries of the Church entered Finland. At this time Finland was a province of Czarist Russia, and officials soon jailed the elders. However, Anders Johansson, a local fisherman, and his wife and daughter were converted and baptized into the Church. When missionaries returned to Finland after World War II, the grandchildren of Anders Johansson met them, having remained faithful to the gospel.

Before Aryn C. from Arkansas was born, her father, Steve, seriously injured his back and shoulder in an accident while serving in the U.S. Navy. He endured many surgeries while she was growing up, and he still is in nearly constant pain. Aryn became his “little nurse” as she held his hand while his bandages were being changed. When she was little, she walked on his back to help ease his pain.
As Aryn grew up, her dad was concerned she would be embarrassed when he was in a wheelchair or used crutches or a cane. Steve comments, “Aryn always said, ‘Dad, you’re not embarrassing me. I’d rather have you here.’ She definitely helps me cope with my disabilities. I’m lucky to have a strong family; all six of our children have helped me get through the hard times.”
Although it’s hard to see her dad in pain, Aryn loves being able to help. She says she’s learned compassion and respect, especially for those who are disabled. “The gospel helps me keep a bigger perspective on life. Everyone is different, and everyone has challenges, but we can overcome them with faith in Jesus Christ,” she observes. “It’s nice to know that.”
Her mother, Sonja, says, “Her father had to miss a lot of Aryn’s activities while she was growing up because of his surgeries and health problems. She played the flute in her high school’s marching band, so he tried his best to go to as many games as he could and enjoyed watching Aryn march in the band.”
Aryn understands that there are some things her father can’t do. “We find ways to work around the disability, such as video recording programs and events that he can’t go to.”
One of the challenges their family faces comes from the emotional ups and downs that are part of her father’s disability. Aryn says they learned to be patient with one another, and when a problem comes up, they talk it out. She advises, “Don’t argue. If something is just a little irritating, think about whether it needs to be addressed or not. If it isn’t important, don’t cause unnecessary upset by bringing it up.” Her dad adds, “Forgiveness is an important part of working together. I have also found that humor helps big-time.”
Both Aryn and her dad agree that attending church, praying, and reading the scriptures help them through hard times.
“I have discovered that the gospel helps me see more clearly how to handle challenges,” Aryn says. “I admire how my dad keeps going, even through the pain. He keeps his testimony strong by going to church and doing his callings, even when it’s hard for him. He reads his scriptures and gains strength from them.”
In return, her dad admires Aryn’s devotion to the gospel. “Watching her choose good friends and seeing her testimony develop helps me gain a stronger testimony,” he says. “She sets the example for me.”
Through the years, Aryn has been there as her father has had many priesthood blessings. He says the counsel given in blessings helps him keep a positive attitude. “The priesthood blessings I have received and reading the scriptures help me keep the faith. I have also learned that when people want to help you, let them. At first I didn’t want others’ help, but then I discovered that it makes a difference to me, and it’s good for them too. We all benefit.”
Aryn appreciates her parents’ examples and love. “They have their hard times, but they work it out. And I like how they stay strong with their testimonies.”
For her senior writing project, Aryn wrote about why her father is her hero. Here’s part of what she wrote: “I am so proud of my dad. He helps me when I need it. He is humorous, knowledgeable, and easy to talk to.” Aryn adds, “When I was about four years old, I made up a word for love that just my dad and I say to each other. We still use it.”

President Marion G. Romney was talking about the work which involved our parents. The other day we heard a story in our council meeting that I saw raise the ire of the brethren. It was all righteous ire because of the things that had happened. A father who had been very careful in his investments and in his service had saved hundreds of thousands of dollars for his sweet little wife who had helped him to gather it. But unfortunately he died first and was laid away. His wife became a little older, and somewhat senile. She was put in a rest home. The money went to the children’s bank accounts, and she went on suffering. Maybe she didn’t fully understand all the suffering that came to her; but maybe she did. With inadequate clothes and with inadequate treatment and training, the poor woman is still living in a rest home. As far as we know her children never see her.
It must be a little bit difficult to visit a mother who gave her life for her children, who spent many, many years rearing and training and saving for them. It must be very difficult for them to show their interest when she is in a position where she needs some comfort from those whom she has loved.

Elder Hugh B. Brown reports the following personal story that illustrates the point I am trying to make. He states:
I was living up in Canada. I had purchased a farm. It was run-down. I went out one morning and saw a currant bush. It had grown up over six feet high. It was going all to wood. There were no blossoms and no currants.
I was raised on a fruit farm in Salt Lake before I went to Canada, and I knew what ought to happen to that currant bush. So I got some pruning shears and clipped it back until there was nothing left but stumps. It was just coming daylight, and I thought I saw on top of each of these little stumps what appeared to be a tear, and I thought the currant bush was crying. I looked at it and smiled and said,
“What are you crying about?”
You know, I thought I heard that currant bush say this: “How could you do this to me? I was making such wonderful growth. I was almost as big as the shade tree and the fruit tree that are inside the fence, and now you have cut me down. Every plant in the garden will look down on me because I am not as big as they. How could you do this to me? I thought you were the gardener here.”
That’s what he thought he heard the currant bush say, and he thought it so much that he answered.
[He] said, “Look, little currant bush, I am the gardener here, and I know what I want you to be. I didn’t intend you to be a fruit tree or a shade tree. I want you to be a currant bush, and someday, little currant bush, when you are laden with fruit, you are going to say, “Thank you, Mr. Gardener, for loving me enough to cut me down. Thank you, Mr. Gardener.”
Years passed and Elder Brown found himself in England in the Army and in line for a very important and prestigious promotion. He was wrongly and rudely denied that promotion and he reports that as he returned to his camp on the train with a broken heart, with bitterness in his soul, every click of the wheels on the rails seemed to say, “You are a failure.”
When he got to his tent, he was so bitter that he threw his cap on his cot, clenched his fists, and shook them at heaven, and said, “How could you do this to me, God? I have done everything I could do to measure up. There is nothing that I could have done – that I should have done – that I haven’t done. How could you do this to me? At that moment he reports that he heard a voice, and recognized the tone of the voice. He said, “It was my own voice, and the voice said, “I am the gardener here. I know what I want you to do.” He reports that the bitterness went out of his soul, and he fell on my knees by the cot to ask forgiveness for his ungratefulness and bitterness. While kneeling there praying for forgiveness, he heard a song being sung in an adjoining tent by a group of LDS soldiers. He heard them sing
But if, by a still, small voice he calls
To paths that I do not know,
I’ll answer, dear Lord, with my hand in thine:
I’ll go where you want me to go[12]
Fifty years later in telling this story Elder Brown said that he felt even more deeply, “Thank you, Mr. Gardener, for cutting me down, for loving me enough to hurt me.”

Elder Jacob de Jager, then a member of the Quorum of the Seventy, visited my zone conference while I served in the Chicago, Illinois Mission. He taught us missionaries the importance of being specific in our prayers. He said, as missionaries we needed to change the words we were using in our prayers from asking to 'be led to the honest in heart and those ready for the gospel' to asking Heavenly Father 'to have the pure in heart and those who are elect led to us!' After this lesson on prayer my companion and I began to immediately apply it. As we did those elect were led to us. The experiences we had have stuck with me ever since.

Soon after this conference, one Sunday we received a call. A college student had walked into church wanting to learn more about the gospel. As we met with him we discovered he had grown up next door to some members and was impressed with their family. The young man was honest in heart and elect. He, along with several of his family members, soon joined the church.

As time went on, more of God's elect heard the voice of the Savior and came to us. One day, my companion and I received a referral from the Temple Square Visitor Center in Salt Lake City. A man in our area had been to Salt Lake on a business trip, visited Temple Square, and wanted to learn more about the gospel. We met with this referral, and he too soon joined the church. Soon after, my companion was calling to confirm follow-up appointments and dialed the wrong number. The sister who answered was surprised but so thankful we called. She and her husband had been fellowshipping a young couple with two small children while her husband was attending dental school. They were graduating soon and wanted these friends to join the church before they moved. They were ready, just as Elder de Jager said the "elect" would be ready for the gospel.

A few years ago, when President Kimball was a member of the Quorum of the Twelve, he and Sister Kimball were touring missions overseas.

A change in the airline schedule found them, along with a mission president and his wife, in a cold and drafty airport, late at night, with no place to go but wait for an early morning flight.

Sister Kimball had her coat, but the mission president’s wife did not. President Kimball tried to give her his coat, but she would not take it. As they began to fall asleep on those hard benches, President Kimball got up and gently put his coat over the sleeping wife of the mission president. This kind of selfless concern for others is how President Kimball has lived his life. This is the same leader we sustain today as prophet, seer, and revelator. This is the man whom God has called to lead nearly six million Latter-day Saints.

He has literally spent his life in taking off his coat, so to speak, and putting it around the shoulders of those he judged to be in greater need: people of all colors and creeds; men, women, and children. It has never made any difference to him. All are his brothers. All are his sisters.

Nodoka T.

“I was nervous when the counselor asked me to go to stake Young Women camp for the first time,” says Nodoka T. of Okinawa, Japan. “I decided to pray. After my prayer I felt comfortable, so I decided to go.
“From the very first day, I was able to make new friends. The young women were so nice and kind to me; my fear soon disappeared. And I learned to purify water, tie knots, make bandages, perform rescue breathing, and find edible plants!”

Illustration by Roger Motzkus
I stared out the window as I washed my hands in the kitchen sink. It was a very warm summer day and the birds were singing. The sun was bright and the grass was green. I could see the little dirt road that ran down the hill past our house to the fields, which were flooded again. This happened all the time when the water was let into the canal so the farmers could water.
I was just about to return to my afternoon hideout in my room when I got a sudden feeling that I should go play with my brothers. And even though I couldn’t hear them and I hadn’t seen them for hours, somehow I knew they were outside playing in the water.
Now, I really like my brothers. Blake was 5, and Morgan was almost 4. And even though I enjoyed spending time with them, I didn’t usually seek them out to play. But this time, I knew I needed to.
As I left the house, heading toward the flooded road and the ditch beyond, my main concern was that I didn’t want to get wet. A small children’s tricycle was sitting next to the road, so I used it like a scooter to begin my journey through the water.
The dirt road that led to the neighbor’s field ran on top of a culvert, a drainage pipe that carried water underneath the road and let the water out into the ditch on the other side. As I was making my way toward the culvert, I heard yelling and instantly knew I had to get there fast! Abandoning the tricycle, I ran through the water to the ditch. As the water drained through the culvert, it made a whirlpool. It was an impressive sight. But when I saw my brothers, I gasped.
Morgan had been sucked in! Blake was standing on one side of the culvert’s opening and Travis, our cousin who was the same age as Blake, was standing on the other side. The water was swirling around their legs and each of them was grasping one of Morgan’s hands. Only Morgan’s head and arms were above water. Only the desperate grips of two small boys were keeping him from being swept into the culvert.
Morgan went under the water. Blake and Travis pulled with all their might and were able to bring him up just far enough that his head came out of the water again. Thoughts of confusion and panic were rushing through my head. The one thing I remember thinking was that it was going to be hard to pull Morgan out of the water, like pulling your foot out of mud that’s halfway to your knees. But when I grabbed him and pulled, it was more like pulling a hot knife out of butter. He just slid out of the water.
The current from the whirlpool was so strong that it had pulled off Morgan’s shoes and socks. I bundled him up in the other boys’ shirts and laid him in a wagon and took him home.
After we got home and told Mom what happened, I went back down to the ditch to get Morgan’s stuff. What I saw there made my heart stop. On the other end of the culvert was a grate that had been welded on. It was there to keep anything other than water from leaving the culvert. The grate was full of garbage, and nothing bigger than a leaf was getting through. Had Morgan been pulled into the culvert, he wouldn’t have come out. He would have been stopped by that grate and drowned.
I know it was the Holy Ghost who gave me the impression to go play with my brothers that day, and it was because of the Holy Ghost that I knew where my brothers were. I’m thankful I have the Holy Ghost with me to help protect me and those I love. And I’m thankful I listened when I was inspired to go play with my brothers.