Gospel Story Finder

When Olivio was seventeen, he played on a team for the Angloan military. All the boys in the country were required to go into the military for an indefinite amount of time. He also made the national team.
That’s when Olivio began to dream of playing ball in Portugal. He was fluent in Portuguese. (Angola is a former Portuguese colony, and Portuguese is the official language.) And what’s more, Olivio heard that they actually paid professional players salaries in Portugal. He would be able to send money home to his family.
It took Olivio a few years to get a visa to go. But once he arrived in Portugal, it took him only a few days to find a professional team that wanted him. At six-foot-seven, he not only had the stature they were looking for, but he also had the skill.
And it took him only a month to find something else. “I was on the metro, and I saw these two boys—they were only boys, but they were wearing nice suits—and they said they wanted to talk to me, so I said okay.
“They started to teach me the discussions. The Joseph Smith story surprised me, but it felt good. Everything felt good. One week later I went to a conference. I attended the meetings, and afterwards I was baptized. Baptism is for the remission of sins. I was a good guy, but I knew I needed to be baptized.”
Little did Olivio know what that baptism would lead to. When he wasn’t playing basketball, Olivio was at church. “I tried to go to church all the time. Every time I would go, my mind would open up, and I would learn something new. It felt good.”
Then one day, about a year later, one of Olivio’s American teammates said, “Hey—you’re Mormon. Don’t Mormons go on missions? Are you going to quit the team and go too?”
That started Olivio thinking. “The things I learned made sense to me, and I said, ‘Well, if these things come from God. I have to explain them to other people.”
But leaving basketball—that would be tough. Olivio had just made the Portuguese national team, and his professional team had offered him a very lucrative contract—lots of money, a car, and a luxurious apartment.
“It was a difficult decision to leave basketball, so I decided to get my patriarchal blessing. There it said that I was going to serve the Lord, so I decided to do it. God prepared me to come here and find the gospel by giving me these talents to play basketball. I don’t have a problem leaving it to serve him. I think I can help many people.”
And now, Elder Olivio Gomes Manuel, who left northern Portugal almost two years ago to serve in southern Portugal, is helping many people. He’s well known throughout the mission for his good nature and easy smile, his hard work, and his gentle rapport with the people he towers over.
That isn’t the kind of fame that makes you a star on national television—it’s more the kind of fame that makes you a star in the eternities. And while he won’t make lots of money from gigantic contracts and endorsements, he knows that his eternal reward will be far greater.
Still, you see his eyes light up when you put a basketball in his hands on preparation day. Watching him glide around the court, you realize basketball is as natural for him as swimming is to fish. It seems to be what he was made for. Oh, once his mission is over he would like to use basketball to earn a university education. But then he wants to return to Angola “to help the Church and help the people grow there.” Elder Manuel speaks mostly Portuguese now, but he remembers his native language, an African dialect called Quinbondo, and he knows English as well.
Even though the end of this tale is far from written, it’s already a success story as tall as Elder Manuel himself. After all, the richest pro in the world can’t buy his way into heaven. And no matter how many autographs you’ve signed, if your name isn’t written in the book of life, your fame won’t mean a thing.
Elder Manuel has already gained more success than he ever hoped to, and his secret is simple: “I listen to God, and when I do what he says, he blesses me.”

Every single day, in rain or snow or darkness, she makes the trek back and forth. Just facing the ice-coated trail on a cold winter morning might make most teens think twice—or three times—about making the trip to Mutual activities or even to Sunday meetings. Not Ella. If it’s a Church activity, she’ll find a way to be there. When she had the opportunity to attend the dedication of the Anchorage Alaska Temple, she, of course, walked the mile and a half from her house to the road, caught the ferry to Skagway, got a ride with other branch members across the pass to White Horse, then boarded a chartered bus for the trip to Anchorage—hours and hours of traveling to experience something as special as the dedication of a temple.

Perhaps the most inspiring story in the history of the pre-existence is that of Joseph Smith's contemporary, the preacher Edward Beecher. His sister fell into spiritual apostasy over the question of God's harsh justice. In trying to bring her back to faith, he found himself unable to reconcile God's justice with the saga of human depravity and suffering that constitutes our history. He devoted himself to study and prayer, seeking a resolution. His brother described his search this way: None but those most intimate with the author, most acquainted with his habits of prayer, and deep humiliation before God, & entire consecration to Christ can form any idea of [his] travail of Soul. Many hours he lay prostrate on his face before God agonizing in prayer for the holy spirit. One felt in entering his study at such times as Moses felt when the voice said, "Put off thy shoes from thy foot for the place whereon thou standest is holy ground."

Paying such a price, it is no surprise Beecher found his answer. His brother described it as a "virtual revelation;" after "groping in some vast cathedral, in the gloom of midnight, . . . suddenly before the vast arched window of the nave a glorious sun had suddenly burst forth." The resultant vision was a paradigm-shattering epiphany about our pre-mortal existence that Beecher wanted to share at once with his congregation and the world. His father, the famous Lyman Beecher, and his family, including Henry Ward Beecher, urged him not to ruin his career by going public with such an unorthodox doctrine. Beecher kept the revelation to himself for a quarter century. But he came to fervently believe that this doctrine, and this doctrine alone, could rescue a Christianity suffering under the blight of apostasy. So he threw caution to the wind and issued a four hundred page manifesto, the boldest and most detailed exposition of the doctrine of pre-existence in religious history.

The story ends on a somber note. When I tracked down the story of Edward Beecher, I located the manuscript story of his life written by a devoted brother. It had been donated to a small Illinois college, and there was this note on top, written by one of his descendents. It read, "I am about to send on to you at last the manuscript Life of Edward Beecher by his brother Charles. . . . It is none too rich in human interest, perhaps, being concerned overwhelmingly with Edward's 'spiritual' (theological) development and his belief in the pre-existence of the soul, an unfortunate excursion into the realms of heresy which apparently wrecked his career."

In Romania I met Raluca, a 17-year-old young woman who had recently joined the Church. Her baptism was a happy event because, among other things, her whole family attended. Her mother and sister felt the Spirit there and wanted to have the missionary discussions too. This concerned the father, for he felt he was losing all of his family to this unfamiliar church. So he did not allow it, and for a time there was a feeling of discord in their family. However, Raluca remembered that she had made a baptismal covenant to take upon her the name of Jesus Christ. She tried to hold up His light by doing in her home the things He would do. She was a peacemaker. She was an example. She was a teacher. She was a healer.
Eventually her father’s heart softened, and he allowed the others to learn more about the Church. Then they too were baptized. And finally, much to everyone’s joy, the father of the family also joined the Church. At his baptism he spoke and said that for a time their family had been as two hearts beating at a different rhythm in the same household. But now they were of one faith and one baptism, with their hearts knit together in unity and love. He gave thanks to the missionaries and members who had helped them. Then he paid a special tribute to his daughter Raluca for being so Christlike in their home during that difficult period, for being the peacemaker, the healer, the teacher, the example, and the light that eventually brought their entire family to the Church of Jesus Christ.

At a recent stake conference the stake president called a young father, who had just been ordained an elder, from the audience to bear his testimony. The father had been active in the Church as a boy, but during his teenage years had veered somewhat from his childhood pattern. After returning from the military service he married a lovely girl and presently children blessed their home. Without warning an undisclosed illness overcame their little four-year-old daughter. Within a very short time she was on the critical list in the hospital. In desperation and for the first time in many years the father went to his knees in prayer—asking that her life be spared. As her condition worsened and he sensed that she would not live, the tone of the father’s prayers changed—he no longer asked that her life be spared—but rather for a blessing of understanding—“Let thy will be done,” he said. Soon the child was in a coma, indicating her hours on earth were few. Now, fortified with understanding and trust, the young parents asked for one more favor of the Lord. Would he allow her to awaken once more that they might hold her closely. The little one’s eyes opened, her frail arms outstretched to her mother and then to her daddy for a final embrace. When the father laid her on the pillow to sleep till another morning, he knew their prayers had been answered—a kind, understanding Father in heaven had filled their needs as he knew them to be. His will had been done—they had gained understanding—they were determined now to live that they might live again with her.

I had many responsibilities on our farm at a young age. When I was nine years old, one of my summer jobs was to keep a herd of twelve cows and twelve calves in the pasture. Unfortunately, they loved to push over our fence and gorge on the sweet alfalfa in an adjoining field. On one of their escapes, they got into an empty canal some twelve to fourteen feet deep. I knew that the canal would soon fill with water, drowning the trapped cattle.
I couldn’t move twenty-four cattle up the canal’s steep banks, and I didn’t know how else to save them, so I knelt and prayed for help. I was impressed to drive the cattle down the canal to another man’s property. I questioned the wisdom of this, because I didn’t know the property or its owner and I didn’t want to get stuck between even steeper banks. I obeyed the Spirit, however, and soon found a section of the canal where the cattle could climb out easily. And our neighbor didn’t mind. When I told my mother, she said that I had been inspired by Heavenly Father.

When I was 11, my family lived in a 12-story building in Hong Kong. Every day after school, I ran into the building and rode the elevator to our apartment.
One day I got into the elevator and pressed all the buttons so they lit up. Now the elevator would stop on each floor. The doors started to close, but all of a sudden a hand shot in and opened the doors. It was one of my upstairs neighbors. She didn’t say anything about the buttons, but I was nervous. It felt like it took forever to get home!
Sure enough, the elevator stopped on the next floor, waited, and then kept going. As soon as the doors opened on my floor, I dashed out. I got home sweating because I ran so fast!
Soon after I got home, the phone rang. It was the neighbor from the elevator. I got so nervous waiting for my mom to get off the phone.
After she got off the phone, my mother asked, “Did you press all the buttons on the elevator?”
I couldn’t lie to my mother. “Yes,” I said.
My mother smiled. “OK, let’s go upstairs and talk to our neighbor.”
We went upstairs together. I rang the doorbell, and my neighbor came to the door. My head hung low as I said I was sorry that I pressed all the buttons. I promised I would never do it again.
Our neighbor was kind. She said, “As long as you never do it again, I think that’s fine.”
After telling her I was sorry, I felt good. And I never pressed all the buttons on the elevator again.
This experience helped me learn about repentance. I knew I did something wrong. I felt sorry and asked for forgiveness. And I never did it again. Then I felt happy! Repentance can bring you happiness too.
From an interview with Kristin Pedersen.

We have seen the manifestation of the Savior’s power in a widow who lost her husband while they were on the Lord’s errand in Bolivia. We have seen it in a young woman in Argentina who fell under a train and lost her leg, just because someone wanted to steal her cell phone. And in her single father, who now must pick up the pieces and strengthen his daughter after such an unexplainable act of cruelty. We have seen it in the families that lost their homes and every possession during fires in Chile just two days before Christmas in 2022. We have seen it in those who suffer after a traumatic divorce and in those who are innocent victims of abuse.
This is the kind of faith we saw when we visited the families after the fires in Chile. Their houses had been burned to the ground; they had lost everything. Yet as we were walking in what used to be their homes and they were telling us about their experiences, we felt that we were standing on holy ground. One sister said to my wife, “When I saw that nearby houses were burning, I had the impression that our house was going to be burned, that we were going to lose everything. Instead of desperation, I experienced a sense of indescribable peace. Somehow, I felt everything was going to be OK.” Trusting God and keeping our covenants with Him bring power to our weakness and comfort to our grief.

I was kicking a ball around in my sister’s room until it was time for family prayer at bedtime. The ball hit the wall and then knocked over the lamp on her dresser, and the light went out. I put the lamp back, but the light didn’t go on again. I was scared that it was broken for good, and I didn’t want to tell my mom. I did tell Mom, though, and she found out that all it needed was a new bulb, so I was glad. I learned that you should tell right away when you do something bad. If you don’t tell, you can get in big trouble.
Sam Yoder, age 7Crete, Illinois

A patriarch received a call one afternoon from a concerned mother of a young daughter who was physically challenged from birth. This dear mother asked if her daughter could possibly receive a patriarchal blessing. The patriarch informed her that if her daughter could obtain a recommend from the bishop, he was sure that the Lord had a blessing for her. A short time later the patriarch was informed that the bishop had given this sweet young girl a recommend to receive a patriarchal blessing.
An appointment was made. The blessing was given and gratefully received. Her lineage was given. She received a blessing suited to her needs and unique situation. Lives, focus, and attitudes were changed. She was told that through her cheerful acceptance of the efforts and sacrifices of those who loved and cared for her, she would be blessing their lives, and to accept their offerings graciously and willingly.

Brothers and sisters, I need to start with a little confession. My wife, Ann, and I are tyrants. We want our three children to play the piano, and we stop just short of shackling their ankles to the bench to make sure that happens. The other night as we were driving home from an especially dismal piano lesson, I was haranguing my two sons over their sad performance and obvious lack of preparation. As soon as I took a breath, my 11-year-old seized the opportunity to adjust my thinking.
“Okay, Dad, I had a bad lesson tonight. But, do you know what? I don’t care.”
Where had he learned to express himself so clearly? My firstborn apparently possesses not an ounce of desire to excel at the piano, in spite of years of coaxing and persuasion from his parents. Can any of you relate? Does “You will thank me later for making you practice” sound familiar to you? Or “You will be grateful you learned to play the hymns when you hit the mission field.” Ever heard that?
I am counting on Adam’s heart softening toward the piano as he matures, because he is actually quite talented. I have the feeling that he will go through the same cycle of change that I did, eventually developing a very personal, internal desire to master the piano for the love of music and what it does for his soul. But, for now, my wife and I accept the fact that he will need steady external motivation if we expect to see any progress. Adam will practice the piano because we force him to.

When I was in junior high, my parents got divorced. Because of that, there was a lot of tension in my family, and my two oldest siblings moved away. My other brother was struggling a lot and often had trouble with the law, so it was usually just me and my younger siblings at home with my mom. During this time, I couldn’t help but sense that my family didn’t feel whole. We slowly stopped praying together, and we didn’t have family home evenings anymore. I felt lonely, and not just at home—at school I felt like I couldn’t fit in and didn’t have any friends.
When I got to high school, I started seminary. I immediately felt a difference. Seminary felt like a home with a family in it—my new source of spiritual strength.
In seminary, I learned how to study the scriptures and understand their teachings, which helped me to go home and teach my family about the gospel more clearly. I also learned the importance of prayer and was able to bring my family together to have family prayer. After a while, my experiences in seminary even gave me the courage to help out with family home evenings again. It had a great impact on us and made our spirits stronger. We felt like a family again.

I remember as a child looking at my grandmother’s wrinkled cheeks. Lines creased the corners of her eyes, and tiny lines graced her upper lip. I asked her how I could keep from getting wrinkles.
“Don’t smile,” she said. “And don’t cry.”
I followed her advice—for one day. Then I gave up. How could anyone live without smiling or crying? I decided I’d rather have a face that shows the lines of laughter and tears.

On 31 July 1995, a group of Church members from the Toa Baja Puerto Rico District made a trip to the Orlando Florida Temple. As four buses unloaded on the morning of 1 August, the members saw the temple for the first time. While waiting for the doors to open, they sang “The Day Dawn Is Breaking,” “High on the Mountain Top,” and “How Great Thou Art.” Fifty young men and young women performed 3,600 baptisms for the dead. Even when they became cold and tired, they wanted to keep working.
The following day, Hurricane Eryn arrived on the coast of Florida. Orlando was battered by heavy winds and rain, and many temple workers could not get to the temple. So, the Puerto Rican members volunteered throughout the temple, working as escorts, officiating in ordinances, working in the kitchen and dressing rooms, ironing, folding, and distributing clothing.
Though there was chaos outside, in the temple there was peace. The members felt as if “the world outside of the temple walls did not exist, and time stood still.” Each member who participated had his/her own personal spiritual experiences, but together they experienced unity and love.
At the end of the trip, Angel Rodriguez, president of the Humacao Branch, expressed that feeling. “During this trip I met many brothers and sisters from many different branches and towns from Puerto Rico. Today, I can say that I no longer feel that I am just a member of this or that branch of the Church. I know that we are all truly brothers and sisters.”

Hal nevertheless completed his degree in physics in 1955 before entering the U.S. Air Force. The Korean War had recently ended, and the number of young men called as full-time missionaries from each ward had been restricted. For a period of time the Mission Home in Salt Lake City was closed, and no missionaries went into the field. In a blessing, however, his bishop promised him that his military service would be his mission. Two weeks after arriving at the Sandia Base near Albuquerque, New Mexico, Hal was called as a district missionary in the Western States Mission—a calling he fulfilled in evenings and on weekends during the two years he was in the military.

On a May morning in 1843 some of the Apostles were meeting in Joseph Smith’s office in Nauvoo. Opposition to the Church was building in Illinois, and persecution of the Saints was increasing. Yet at this difficult time, the leaders called four men to leave their families, travel far from their homes, and serve missions in the Sandwich Islands (Hawaiian Islands). They were the first missionaries called to a non-English-speaking mission field. The four men—Addison Pratt, Noah Rogers, Benjamin F. Grouard, and Knowlton F. Hanks—were set apart on May 23 by Brigham Young, Heber C. Kimball, Orson Hyde, and Parley P. Pratt.
The missionaries first traveled east to New Bedford, Massachusetts, where they hoped to find a ship going to their mission area. When they couldn’t find one, they booked passage on a ship traveling to the Society Islands (French Polynesian Islands) in the South Pacific. They set sail on October 9, 1843.
After they had been at sea only a few weeks, Elder Hanks, a young man who had suffered from ill health, died and was buried in the Atlantic. The three remaining missionaries continued on. Their voyage took them east across the Atlantic, around the Cape of Good Hope, across the Indian Ocean, along the southern coast of Australia, and into the Pacific.
The first island reached by the ship was Tubuai in 1844. When the natives there pleaded with the missionaries to stay, Addison Pratt left the ship to teach these people who had shown them kindness and hospitality. Serving there alone for many months, struggling to learn the Polynesian language, he baptized sixty out of a population of two hundred and organized the first branch of the Church in the South Pacific. To this day, the Latter-day Saint community on Tubuai is a strong one.
Elder Pratt’s two former companions traveled on to Tahiti, where their teaching met with far less success. After a few months, Elder Rogers traveled west to the leeward islands and Elder Grouard sailed to the island of Anaa in the Tuamotus. Elder Rogers again met with little success and much opposition. When rumors finally reached him of the death of the Prophet Joseph Smith, he began to fear for the safety of his family in Nauvoo, and he returned to America. He died during the exodus from Nauvoo.
The people of Anaa, on the other hand, came to greatly love Elder Grouard. He was the first white missionary of any kind to come to their island, and many of them accepted the truth he taught. He baptized over six hundred natives, organized five branches, and called local officers to serve. He wrote to Elder Pratt and asked him to come to Anaa, as there was too much work for him to do alone.
Elder Pratt responded to his companion’s invitation, and a conference of the Church was held on Anaa with over eight hundred in attendance. At this time Addison Pratt decided to travel back to Church headquarters to request more missionaries to help in the work in the South Pacific. Leaving Elder Grouard behind, he traveled first to California, then to the Salt Lake Valley, arriving in September 1848, one week after his wife and four daughters had arrived from Winter Quarters.
He shared his experiences with the Saints, taught Tahitian classes, and prepared to return to Polynesia. In 1850 he set out with a new companion, James S. Brown, and the promise that his own family and other missionary families would soon follow. They did follow, and despite growing problems with the French government in the islands, the missionaries and their families served until 1852, when they were forced to return to America.
Forty years passed before LDS missionaries were allowed back into French Polynesia. Many members had remained faithful despite the lack of contact with Church headquarters, but many had fallen away. The work began anew in 1892 and has continued with a few interruptions to this day. The gospel truth has shone in these islands for 150 years!
There are now four stakes in the Society Islands, and a beautiful temple stands in Papeete, on the island of Tahiti. The stories of the early missionaries are remembered and shared often by those who now send their own sons and daughters as missionaries to other countries and other islands.

Spiritual unity can be a crucial ingredient in building solid family faith, says Piero Sonaglia of the Rome Italy Stake. “Being united in purpose can be a source of strength for all families,” but it is especially a blessing when that purpose is to “move together toward Jesus Christ.” This is his family’s most important goal.
Piero didn’t always have such priorities. At age 15 he left the Church and didn’t look back until becoming a father and dealing with his own father’s near-fatal heart attack. These incidents sparked memories of gospel teachings he had learned as a child. “I knew very clearly that I had to repent and put my life in order,” he says. He also knew that “such an important and drastic change” would affect his family. His parents had divorced, partly because of religious differences, and he wanted his own family to be united.
Piero’s wife, Carla, grew up practicing a different religion from his and had attended church each Sunday as a child. “But I would come home feeling more confused,” she says. For her, religion had been a matter of tradition rather than something to shape her life. Carla hungered for something more. She says, “I felt a strong desire to pray to Heavenly Father on my own, using my own words” instead of written prayers. Her heartfelt, prayerful relationship with the Lord prepared her to embrace the restored gospel when Piero returned to activity.
As parents now united in faith, Piero and Carla try to prepare their sons, Ilario and Mattia, against temptation—starting now, while they are young. “We read scriptures every night and have family home evening,” Carla says. “Our sons are happy to participate. We go to church. We pray together. We go to the temple.” Regular temple attendance for Piero and Carla is not a small feat when the nearest temples are in Switzerland and Spain.
“We try to recognize every moment as an opportunity to teach,” Piero adds. “At this stage in their lives, our young sons are especially learning to obey their parents.” Piero hopes this will help them learn to obey Heavenly Father, arming them with the strength and testimony necessary to remain faithful throughout their teenage years and beyond. He knows—and wants his children to know—that lasting happiness is found only in obedience to God.

When Stevenson, a Scottish writer who had gone to the South Seas in 1888 for his health (he had been sickly even as a child), decided to live in Apia, Samoa, he built a large house and called it Vailima (Five Rivers). Stevenson learned the ways and the language of the Samoans, and they built a road to Vailima that expressed their feeling for him—“The Road of the Loving Heart.” The Samoans often traveled on it to visit with their dear friend, to listen to him read, or to join him in family prayers.

That clouded vision has been both figurative and literal in my life. I was born with an extremely rare eye condition. My vision has always been limited, but within the past year, I’ve lost almost all sight in my left eye. This condition is so rare that there is very little the doctors can do, and I’ve had to place every ounce of my faith in the Lord.
On a particularly hard day, I found myself falling into despair, worrying that my whole life might crumble right before my eyes—literally. And then I remembered a very timely and powerful scripture: “Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you” (John 14:27).
The Savior didn’t say, “My answers I give unto you on your timetable” or “Healing I give unto you in every case,” but He did promise us peace. He may not remove the figurative curtains of mortality that are sometimes placed over our eyes, but if we take His hand, He can teach us how to move forward with faith, trusting that the answers will come with time. Through Him, our burdens can be made light. President Russell M. Nelson reiterated this, saying, “The joy we feel has little to do with the circumstances of our lives and everything to do with the focus of our lives.”1 And I chose to focus on Him.
After many months of being afraid to take His hand, I finally did. My sight continued to decline, but I eventually received an answer from doctors about my vision and was able to receive a surgery that could possibly help me retain some of it. There was no guarantee that this procedure would help in the long run, but I went into it knowing that whatever the outcome, the Lord had a plan for me, and this trial could bring me closer to Him if I allowed it to. Peace doesn’t always come after you’ve been healed—sometimes it comes amid the storms of life—but as you rely on the Lord, you can be sure that it will.

Always dealing honorably with others is part of loving mercy. Consider a conversation I overheard decades ago in the emergency department of Johns Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore, Maryland, in the United States. A patient, Mr. Jackson, was a courteous, pleasant man who was well known to the hospital staff. He had previously been hospitalized multiple times for the treatment of alcohol-related diseases. On this occasion, Mr. Jackson returned to the hospital for symptoms that would be diagnosed as inflammation of the pancreas caused by alcohol consumption.

Toward the end of his shift, Dr. Cohen, a hardworking and admired physician, evaluated Mr. Jackson and determined that hospitalization was warranted. Dr. Cohen assigned Dr. Jones, the physician next up in rotation, to admit Mr. Jackson and oversee his treatment.

Dr. Jones had attended a prestigious medical school and was just beginning her postgraduate studies. This grueling training was often associated with sleep deprivation, which likely contributed to Dr. Jones’s negative response. Confronted with her fifth admission of the night, she complained loudly to Dr. Cohen. She felt it was unfair that she would have to spend many hours caring for Mr. Jackson, because his predicament was, after all, self-inflicted.

Dr. Cohen’s emphatic response was spoken in almost a whisper. He said, “Dr. Jones, you became a physician to care for people and work to heal them. You didn’t become a physician to judge them. If you don’t understand the difference, you have no right to train at this institution.” Following this correction, Dr. Jones diligently cared for Mr. Jackson during the hospitalization.

Mr. Jackson has since died. Both Dr. Jones and Dr. Cohen have had stellar careers. But at a critical moment in her training, Dr. Jones needed to be reminded to do justly, to love mercy, and to care for Mr. Jackson without being judgmental.