Gospel Story Finder

Let me tell you about something I love. There is a fragment of a Dead Sea scroll from Cave 4 at Qumran that I had the privilege to work on several years ago. It is a piece of a hymn called Barkhi Nafshi— “Bless, O My Soul.” One cold winter day I was in the workroom at the Shrine of the Book in Jerusalem examining this fragment. It had not yet been mounted in a protective frame, and a gust of wind came through the window and blew the fragile fragment onto the floor. Horrified, I quickly got a large piece of paper and knelt down to scoop it up. As I stood to put it back onto the table, I was overcome with emotion—holding in my hands this precious piece of the past, a piece of leather that contained the hymn of praise from a Jewish author two thousand years ago. In this fragment of text the ancient hymnist expressed the mystery of acquiring the attributes of God: “Bless, O my soul, the Lord. . . . He has been gracious to the needy, and he has opened their eyes to see his ways, and their ears to hear his teaching. And he has circumcised the foreskins of their heart” (4Q434 1.i.1–4).14 Paraphrasing from Deuteronomy (10:16–17; 30:6), another sacred text that I love, the ancient author of this poem acknowledges that it is only God who can, through His grace, open our eyes and ears and change our hearts.

As a college student, I was taking a class in a large amphitheater classroom. Entering the classroom on one of those first days of the semester, I sat in the very back, far from the professor. As he began writing on the blackboard, and as those around me began taking notes, I realized that I could not see what they could see on the chalkboard. Up until that very moment I had not imagined that I needed glasses. I had not anticipated glasses in my future.
But that experience led me to the optometrist and to a pair of glasses. Suddenly my world improved immensely. I could see many things that I had not been seeing for some time. The world became much more alive for me. I remember asking myself, “Why didn’t I realize before that I needed glasses? How could I have not known that I was not seeing?”

In 1983 his beloved wife, Clara Jeffs Hunter, passed away. She had suffered a devastating stroke several years before that had left her very much diminished. President Hunter tended to her needs, providing loving care with respect and an uncommon devotion for many years, with a complete disregard for his own health. But there was a reward, for as diminished as she was, Claire would smile and respond only to him. The tenderness so evident in their communication was heartrending. We have never seen such an example of devotion of a husband to his wife. Theirs was a many-splendored love affair. Love is service.

Elder James E. Faust
“A very special young friend of mine served as a missionary of this Church in Japan. His dedication to missionary work and the Japanese people was so complete and full that, rather than spend all of the money his parents sent to him, he unselfishly made a regular contribution of part of his money to help another local Japanese missionary. … In time, as with most missionaries, the clothes of my young friend became threadbare and thin. In order for him to be able to come home, it was necessary for him to buy a second-hand suit from one of the other elders. His regular denial of himself, in order to share his substance with the local Japanese missionary, was a very closely guarded secret. He is a good example of the young elect of God of this Church, as are hundreds of thousands of others.”

I spent 10 minutes squirming, looking around at my friends, trying to make eye contact with one of them. But they were all watching the movie. Before we put the DVD in, I checked the rating and read the movie summary to make sure it would be OK. But even after taking precautions, I still felt uncomfortable.
I rationalized with myself that since my friends thought it was OK, it should be OK. Plus the rating was technically appropriate. But I didn’t want them to think I was lame. So I stayed.
After 10 more agonizing minutes I couldn’t ignore it any longer. I had to leave. As I left the room, I could hear my friends laughing at me. I felt my cheeks burning with embarrassment, but I kept on walking.
On my way home, I stopped at my best friend’s house. I told her what happened, and she told me she was glad that I had left. Sitting with her, I realized I wasn’t embarrassed anymore. I knew that walking away from the movie was the right thing for me. And that was even more important to me than my friends’ approval.

Daughter Maja (Mrs. Paul Wensel) remembers that her father’s approach to discipline was always to reason with her, never to threaten. He would often say, “Jesus would do something different.”
“Once when I broke a window, he came out and calmly said, ‘You’ve done something wrong, and you need to do something so that you can understand that you can’t do this.’ Then he asked what kind of penalty I thought would be fair. As a result, I never felt rebellious.” In fact, the Busches found that the children would usually assign themselves stricter penalties than their parents would have.

Peace McBride, a seamstress’s helper in Philadelphia, is delivering a dress for her mistress, Mrs. Root, when a crowd in front of a large church piques her curiosity. Pushed inside the church by the surging crowd, Peace stays to hear the Prophet Joseph Smith deliver an electrifying sermon. The Holy Ghost reveals to her the truthfulness of the Prophet’s words, and afterward she asks about being baptized. Remembering her errand, she hurriedly delivers the dress, then returns to her mistress to confess her tardiness. Instead of anger, Peace’s mistress rewards her with kindness and has Peace sew while she reads to her from this “new” Book of Mormon.
“I’m sorry,” Mrs. Root said the next morning. “I just don’t think that you should be baptized without your parents’ permission.”
“It will be months before my regular summer visit,” Peace pleaded. “The elders will be gone by then. I might not have another chance to be baptized!”
“I just can’t let you do it. You’re still a child, my dear.”
“I’m twelve years old, old enough to be an apprentice.”
Mrs. Root sat with her head bowed, thinking. “You know, Peace, I promised your parents to take care of you as if you were my own child. If you were my child, I wouldn’t let you join a church that I know so little about.”
“But I know that it’s true,” Peace said earnestly.
Again Mrs. Root looked thoughtful. “How long will the elders be here?”
“I don’t know. I think a week or two.”
“How is the best way to learn about Joseph Smith and to know if he’s telling the truth?” Mrs. Root inquired.
“We could read more of the Book of Mormon together,” Peace suggested eagerly. “If it is true, then wouldn’t the prophet who translated it also be true?”
Mrs. Root smiled.
“Yes, I believe that you’re right. Therefore, I promise to let you be baptized if after we’ve read the Book of Mormon, I’m convinced that it’s true. Does that sound all right?”
“Oh, yes! But can we finish it before the elders leave?”
“We’ll take turns reading while the other works. That means that we’ll have to work twice as fast,” she warned.
“I will.”
From then on, whenever they could, they read aloud to each other from the Book of Mormon. It was slow going for Peace at first, but as they read, her ability increased. They laughed together as they struggled to sound out the new and strange names. They were touched by the hardships that Nephi endured because of his brothers. Their hearts ached at the wickedness of Alma the Younger and his friends, and they rejoiced when an angel helped the young men turn their lives around.
They eagerly read of the Savior’s visit to this new continent. They grieved as they read of Moroni’s sad plight. To be the last one of your people left on the earth! To be hunted by your enemies, never knowing when you would die! That took courage and conviction in what you believed. They wept together as they read Moroni’s last words.
“Mistress Root,” Peace said as they closed the book, “have you prayed about what we’ve read?” Hope filled her heart as she waited for the answer.
“Yes, my dear, but I haven’t had an answer yet.”
“We’ve finished the book now. Will you pray about it again? Surely after what we’ve read, you can see that it must be true. It sounds so much like the Bible. I felt even closer to the Savior as we read about His visit to the Nephites. I wish that I could have been there!”
“Yes. … I, too, begin to feel the truth of it. There is much wisdom in this book. I’ll pray again tonight, I promise.”
In her own prayers that night, Peace pleaded with Heavenly Father to grant Mistress Root’s request to know the truth. As she lay in bed before sleep came, she thought about how happy she was now that she knew her Heavenly Father and His plan for her.
Already up when the excited girl came downstairs the next morning, Mistress Root placed a plate of food in front of Peace, then sat down beside her. “Well,” she asked, her eyes twinkling. “Aren’t you going to ask if I prayed about the book?”
Seeing the glow on her mistress’s face, Peace knew the answer.
“I know that it’s true, dear Peace, and I want to be baptized too.”
On Christmas Eve, Peace followed Sister Root to a spot by the river where a small group of Saints had again gathered for baptism. It was bitterly cold, and fear clutched at the young girl as she thought of the dark, swirling river. Shivering, she remembered that she’d never learned to swim. Standing up straight, she shook off her fear, moved forward toward the river, and stood on the riverbank as Sister Root waded into the water.
When she emerged a few moments later, trembling, but radiant, Peace held out a warm cloak for her.
“Your turn now, Peace,” she said. “And may the Lord bless you for helping me to find such happiness.”
Wading through the slush at the edge of the river, Peace shook as the icy water closed around her. But when she clasped Elder Winchester’s hand, the shivering ceased. He pronounced the baptismal prayer and lowered her into the water. As she came up out of it, a feeling of light filled her from head to toe. She felt so warm that she didn’t even notice the cold as she walked barefoot back through the snow to where Sister Root waited for her with a thick, dry cloak.
In the warmth of the room above the shop, the elders confirmed Sister Root a member of the Church. Then they placed their hands upon Peace’s head, and, through the power of the priesthood, confirmed her a member of the Church and conferred upon her the gift of the Holy Ghost. As they placed their hands on her head, she experienced again that feeling of peace and light. She knew that what she had done was right.
Later, as Sister Root and Peace sat by the warm fireside, Peace felt a desire grow inside her. It was something that she had been thinking about all week. She had the truth, and so did Sister Root. Because they were blessed with that knowledge, they must now share it. “Sister Root,” she began timidly. “I have need to ask something of you.”
“What is it?”
“I’d like to have a few days to visit my family in Chester Springs.”
Sister Root was pensive. Travel was hard in the winter and very expensive, and Peace’s family lived in a distant county. The older woman studied the solemn face before her. “I think that I could spare you for a time. Is something wrong?”
“Oh no,” Peace reassured her. “Nothing’s wrong. Everything’s wonderful! That’s just it, you see. I need to share my knowledge of the Savior and His gospel with my family. I want them all to hear what I’ve learned.”
Sister Root looked fondly at the girl before her. “It’s not easy to travel now, but I see that you must go. Since you’re set on this, I think I’ll give you your present now, instead of waiting for morning.” Walking over to the cupboard, she took a handkerchief-wrapped bundle out of hiding and placed it in Peace’s hands.
Peace unwrapped the bundle and found several small coins. It would be enough to pay for her trip! Hugging Sister Root, she began to cry. “I can’t thank you enough.”
“Tomorrow I’ll start asking around,” Sister Root offered, as she wiped her own eyes. “Maybe someone is going that way. I’d feel better knowing that there was someone to watch over you.”
“Thank you,” Peace said, “from the bottom of my heart.”
A few days later, with a warm coat, a packet of food, and her precious coins, Peace rode a stagecoach to Chester Springs. She found her family and shared with them the story of how she had come to know that the Church was true.
Peace’s parents listened carefully. Her mother cried and her father asked many questions. Peace answered them as best she could and testified of the Book of Mormon and of Joseph Smith. Before long, her parents, too, were convinced.
They agreed to be baptized.
Peace rejoiced when she saw her family enter the waters of baptism, and she felt grateful that Heavenly Father had allowed her to help bring them the gospel. She knew then that the truth she had found was meant to be shared.

A pedigree chart! I knew that horses, dogs, and maybe even cats had pedigrees, but here was Sister Jones handing out pedigree charts for us to take home and fill out. Now I had heard everything!
I folded the paper and quickly thrust it into my pocket. Mom and Dad were always busy working and probably wouldn’t even have time to look at it, but Sister Jones had said that it was very important to know who our ancestors were. Well, I’d try my best. After we all filled out our charts, she was going to take us to the family history library for a tour. And after that, we were going for ice cream! I love ice cream.
Opening the gate, I ran up the stairs, waving the paper, exclaiming, “Mom, Dad, look what I got in church today!”
Dad lowered the volume on the television. He’s a great sports fan and never misses his games. That’s why he doesn’t get to church very often—the meetings are at the same time as the games.
“See, Dad, it’s a pedigree chart. Sister Jones says it’s important to find out about our families—where they lived, and when, and anything interesting we can find out about them, like the stories Grandad tells us.”
Mom came through the back door just then, smiling and brushing dirt from her knees. She had been planting new flowers. She loves working in her garden. Dad said that our home was a showplace because of the flowers blooming everywhere. Sunday was the only day Mom had to tend to her garden. She wished she had more time for church—maybe one day she would, and then she’d go, she said.
We sat on the porch steps while I explained my assignment to fill in the pedigree chart. To my surprise, Mom and Dad both began helping me, and we had a grand time!
Mom told me how her grandparents had come across the Atlantic Ocean when they left Sweden to come to America. The ship they were sailing on almost went down in a sudden, violent storm. How thankful they were to reach land and begin their new lives.
Dad’s grandparents had lived in a tiny log cabin in Kentucky. They became friends with the Indians, who helped them through the first cold, bitter winter.
The more they remembered, the more excited they became. They got out the old picture album, which had pictures of stern-looking men—some with curly mustaches—often holding canes and wearing hats, and women in long dresses, some holding fat little babies and surrounded by children. We were having such a good time that Dad even forgot his football game! And instead of going back out to her flowers, Mom began writing letters to her sisters and brothers for any information they had about their ancestors.
The next Sunday I could hardly wait to show Sister Jones my pedigree chart. And Mom had given me a note saying that she’d so enjoyed filling out the sheet that she wanted to help take our class to the library.
That afternoon, Dad phoned his mother in Kentucky, and they talked and talked about his family. Do you know—Dad’s great-grandfather had known Brigham Young!
That was just the beginning. We’re now planning a huge family reunion this summer with aunts, uncles, and cousins of all ages and sizes coming from all over. Dad says that there may be even a hundred! I can hardly wait to meet so many of my family.
Oh yes—I overheard Mom and Dad talking the other day, and miracle of miracles, they’re going to start coming to church with me. They said, “It’s about time to get our priorities in place.” Now, I’m not sure what “priorities” are, but I am sure that we’ll have plenty of room for them. And to think it all started with that single piece of paper!

My dear wife, Irene, and I joined the Church 31 years ago when we were newly married. We had both grown up in Colombia, but a few months after our marriage, my career took us to live in Germany. We were very young and had great hopes and expectations; it was an especially exciting and happy time for us.
While I was concentrated on my career, Irene was feeling that we would receive some kind of message from heaven, without knowing how or when. So she started letting into our home all kinds of door-to-door salespeople with encyclopedias, vacuum cleaners, cookbooks, kitchen appliances, and so on, always waiting for that unique message.
One evening she told me that two young men in dark suits had knocked on our door and that she had felt a very clear and distinct impression to let them in. They had said that they wanted to talk to her about God but would come back again when I was also at home. Could this be the expected message?
They began to visit us, and with their guidance, we read in the scriptures and came to understand the crucial importance of Jesus Christ as our Savior and Redeemer. We soon regretted that we had been baptized as little babies, which had not been a conscious covenant. However, being baptized again would also mean becoming members of this new Church, so first we really needed to understand everything about it.
But how could we know if what the missionaries were telling us about the Book of Mormon, about Joseph Smith, and about the plan of salvation was actually all true? Well, we had understood from the words of the Lord that we could “know them by their fruits.”2 So, in a very systematic manner, we started examining the Church by looking for those fruits with the eyes of our very rational minds. What did we see? Well, we saw:
Friendly and happy people and wonderful families who understood that we are meant to feel joy in this life and not just suffering and misery.
A church that does not have a paid clergy but one in which members themselves accept assignments and responsibilities.
A church where Jesus Christ and families are at the center of everything, where members fast once a month and donate to help the poor and needy, where healthy habits are promoted, teaching us to abstain from harmful substances.
In addition:
We liked the emphasis on personal growth, on education, on hard work and self-reliance.
We learned about the remarkable humanitarian program.
And we were impressed by the general conferences, with the wonderful music and the profound spiritual principles shared there.
Seeing all this, we could find no fault in the Church. On the contrary, we liked everything we saw very much. However, we still could not decide to be baptized because we wanted to know everything before doing so.
But, even in our indecision, the Lord was patiently preparing us, He was molding us, and He was helping us to discover that we should learn to discern the truth not only through our rational minds but also through the very still and small voice of the Spirit, which speaks especially to our hearts.
That voice and the resulting feeling came one evening after 10 months of learning the gospel, when we read in Mosiah 18, “As ye are desirous to … bear one another’s burdens, … and comfort those that stand in need of comfort, … if this be the desire of your hearts, what have you against being baptized in the name of the Lord?”3
That passage from the Book of Mormon entered our hearts and souls, and we suddenly felt and knew that there was really no reason not to be baptized. We realized that the desires mentioned in these verses were also the wishes of our hearts and that those things were what really mattered. They were more important than understanding everything because we already knew enough. We had always relied on the guiding hand of a loving Heavenly Father and were confident that He would continue to guide us.
So, that same day, we set up a date for our baptism, and soon we were baptized, finally!

Her son Joseph, still scarred from the death of his father, was now orphaned as a young teenager. His life needed healing as he battled the demons spawned by tragic circumstance. The healing came, but not quickly and not until he travelled thousands of miles away to this land where he served what would become the first of three missions to these islands. Part of the healing came through sincere dedication to the work of God. Part of it came from the humbling experience of loneliness, strange food and language, and intense physical hardship. Part of it came during an extended illness of his own when he was succored at the hands of a Hawaiian woman, Ma Manuhii, who brought again into his life the tenderness of a loving mother. Thus, this troubled lad through the refining effect of these trials and many others that would come during his life, through obedience, and through the power of the Atonement was transformed to eventually become a revered prophet of God.

Elder Mason had another experience just weeks after his marriage that helped him prioritize his family responsibilities. He said:
“Marie and I had rationalized that to get me through medical school it would be necessary for her to remain in the workplace. Although this was not what we [wanted] to do, children would have to come later. [While looking at a Church magazine at my parents’ home,] I saw an article by Elder Spencer W. Kimball, then of the Quorum of the Twelve, [highlighting] responsibilities associated with marriage. According to Elder Kimball, one sacred responsibility was to multiply and replenish the earth. My parents’ home was [close to] the Church Administration Building. I immediately walked to the offices, and 30 minutes after reading his article, I found myself sitting across the desk from Elder Spencer W. Kimball.” (This wouldn’t be so easy today.)
“I explained that I wanted to become a doctor. There was no alternative but to postpone having our family. Elder Kimball listened patiently and then responded in a soft voice, ‘Brother Mason, would the Lord want you to break one of his important commandments in order for you to become a doctor? With the help of the Lord, you can have your family and still become a doctor. Where is your faith?’”
Elder Mason continued: “Our first child was born less than a year later. Marie and I worked hard, and the Lord opened the windows of heaven.” The Masons were blessed with two more children before he graduated from medical school four years later.9

During my last semester of college, I felt that I should start looking for a job in my field of study, which was education. I planned to work part-time as an elementary school teacher. By then, my children had already grown up.
To prepare to enter the workforce, I enrolled in one of the Church’s self-reliance courses to help me find a job. When I arrived for my first class, I was the only student there. The teacher was a gentleman with an American accent eager to serve others. During our lessons, he explained principles of the gospel that would help me develop faith in the Lord and act in faith.
It took me two hours to travel to the Church’s self-reliance center in São Paulo, but I showed up for class on time every week. I took the course seriously because it was important to me.
At the end of the course, however, I couldn’t find a teaching job. Nevertheless, I told my instructor that I was confident the Lord would bless me and that it wouldn’t take me long to find work. I studied for the tests I needed to take in order to compete for a schoolteacher position, and I started attending a self-reliance course on how to start a business.
Immediately after I took the tests, I hurried to my stake self-reliance class. I told everyone there how prepared I had felt for the tests—thanks to my studies and my self-reliance courses.
Finally, I got the job I wanted. I felt immense happiness, and I was grateful to be able to pay tithing and offerings to the Lord. During my second self-reliance course, the Spirit prompted me to take EnglishConnect 2 and begin postgraduate work.
I felt greatly blessed by this guidance from the Lord in making such important decisions in my life. I know He keeps His promises and that if we keep His commandments, He will bless us temporally and spiritually with the things we need to prosper (see Mosiah 2:41).

He had been home about seven months when he ran into “Sister Morgado” at a multistake dance. Ulisses had served as her zone leader for a time, and the two spent the evening catching up and sharing mission stories. Three weeks later, they began dating.

Rosana Fernandes Morgado was eight when her older sister, Margareth, began taking her to church. Eventually, the two faithful young investigators received permission from their father to be baptized, but each had to wait until she was 17. Rosana attended church for nine years before receiving permission to be baptized.

Ulisses lived in northern São Paulo, and Rosana lived with her parents in the city’s southern sector. Travel across the sprawling city took two to three hours by bus and subway. Fortunately, Margareth and her husband, Claudio, lived near her parents’ home.

“When Ulisses came on weekends to date Rosana, it was tough for him to return home so far at night,” recalls Elder Claudio R. M. Costa, General Authority Seventy, of his future brother-in-law. So, he and Margareth invited Ulisses to spend the night at their home after his dates. “We adopted him for a while,” Elder Costa adds.

“He would sleep on the couch in our living room,” says Sister Costa. “We were recently married, so we didn’t have extra blankets. But he would cover himself with an old curtain we had. He was happy because he could see Rosana again the next day. He was good to my sister, and my parents liked him very much.”

Ulisses and Rosana were married in the São Paulo Brazil Temple on October 30, 1982.

If he so chose, Aleksandr Chervyakov could have it all materially. Nine years ago he founded his own food technology company. Clients come from all over Ukraine and even Russia to take advantage of his firm’s services. “Without the Church, I could have easily become one of those people who works all the time and earns more than enough money but lacks the blessings of a loving eternal family,” Brother Chervyakov admits.
Fortunately, when two young missionaries asked if he would like to know more about Jesus Christ, he said yes. He and his wife, Lyudmila, and daughter, Inna, were baptized in 1995. Since then he has reduced his time at work so that he can nurture relationships within his family as well as serve in the Church. He has been the branch president and is currently second counselor in the branch presidency. The Chervyakovs were sealed in the temple in August 1997.
“One thing that has helped us keep our priorities in order has been family home evening,” says Aleksandr. “It’s so easy to forget what is truly important. Monday nights provide a great opportunity to forget about everything that is not important and to concentrate on our family.”
He says of their family home evening activities: “We always read from the scriptures or from the Liahona. If there are any family-related issues, we discuss them. Right now the question is, Which university will Inna enter when she graduates next year? We have been discussing that a lot lately. And we have fun. I think it’s a great secret of life that being with one’s family is fun. Sometimes we even dance.”

Years ago I was given the assignment to speak in sacrament meeting on the Atonement of Jesus Christ. Though I was reading my scriptures regularly and had read about the Atonement, I had never studied the Atonement in detail before. As I began to learn about this sacred subject, I felt a hunger to understand every detail of that sublime event. I devoured every verse, book, article, and talk on the subject that I could get my hands on. My relationship with the Savior and Heavenly Father advanced more during those few weeks than any time of my life. I found myself talking to Heavenly Father on a much more regular basis, more than just traditional prayer time. I recognized promptings and answers were coming more often, and they were about aspects of my life that had not been considered before. Specific direction came about family, work, business, my church callings, and even what could be considered trivial things. My relationship with God moved to a much higher plane.

“When I was six, I had an experience that is very important to me. I’m afraid that I didn’t come out of it as a hero—exactly the opposite. Most of the time we’re not heroes. We are learning, progressing, correcting our mistakes. This incident really taught me about the consequences of dishonesty. In Germany at that time, if teachers wanted to send information to parents, they sent home a letter. Such a letter was always sent in a blue envelope, and so it was nicknamed the ‘blue letter.’ A blue letter always contained bad news! I must have done something wrong at school, because I got a blue letter. I put it in my backpack, and when I got home, my mother asked, ‘What’s wrong with you?’
“I lied. ‘Nothing. Nothing’s wrong.’
“She said, ‘Well, I see by the tip of your nose that something’s wrong.’
“That made me angry and very defensive, so after lunch I went into the living room and opened up my backpack and put everything on the desk. I must have been careless, because the blue letter fell out. My mother immediately saw it and asked, ‘What’s that?’ I tried to grab the envelope and hide it, but Mother had already picked it up and was opening it.
“I will never forget the feelings of pain that came over me while she was reading that letter. To make a mistake is one thing, but it isn’t a really grave mistake if you admit it, ask for forgiveness, and make a commitment not to do it again. But to try to hide a mistake, hoping that nobody will find out, that’s a serious mistake.
“And so the lie caused me much more sorrow than the original mistake. I can’t even remember what was in that blue letter, but I still recall, in vivid detail, the awfulness of lying to my mother.

Eegik Tuchiak felt the chill of the icy Alaskan wind through his parka as the snowmobile sped across the coastal plain. Even scrunching close behind his father in the seat ahead did not cut the cold very much.
Eegik was both happy and worried. This was the first time his father had taken him to count the musk-oxen. Other times he had been too young to be around the skittish animals. Am I old enough now if something happens? he wondered.
“Hold tight!” he heard his father, Ukak, call. “We will near the herd soon.”
The grind of the motor and the whistling wind were the only sounds to be heard along the Nunivak Island snow hills, polished hard by the constant wind. The crusty white surface gave a dusky light to the short winter days.
“There they are!” Father shouted.
Gradually the engine slowed and the snowmobile slid to a stop. “We will keep the motor running, son,” Ukak said, picking up his rifle. “It will freeze if we don’t.”
Eegik hopped off the machine and peered before him. Ahead, a small musk-ox herd was bunched up against a low sea cliff. Already they were forming their defensive line heads out, backsides together in a rough circle. With heads lowered and rows of horns facing the danger, the animals scuffed the ground nervously. Long brown fur swayed in the wind.
“They look like fur rugs,” Eegik remarked.
“Yes,” his father answered, “and the giviut [wool] makes warm sweaters. But,” he added, “they are good fighters, too, when there is no way out. See the horns curling down from the tops of their heads like stiff wigs? We will get closer. The oomingmuk [bearded] ones hide their young behind them.”
Eegik felt a deep pride in his father, who had been schooled by the government. Now he was hired by the Alaska Department of Fish and Game to keep an eye on the growing musk-ox herd, one of the hardiest animals in the world. Today he had to check on the population of the herd and count them.
Slowly and quietly the two left the machine and crawled over the snow, watching the herd skitter at the movement. One bull lowered and shook his head, taking short stamping steps forward and backward. Sensing his restlessness, the other animals jostled together and tightened the ring. Eegik could see one small head push forward, a young one anxious to do battle if necessary.
“They run swiftly,” Ukak whispered. “We must not frighten them.”
The two inched forward, sliding over the ice several yards apart, until they were within city yards of the herd. The lead bull, confused and frightened, danced excitedly in his position.
Suddenly, the bull gave a snort and charged forward with the speed of a much lighter animal. Ukak leaped up his rifle flying and tried to dodge as the animal attacked. But the musk-ox was more sure on his feet and swerved to the side, throwing Eegik’s father to the ice.
Without thinking, Eegik shouted his surprise and fell on his stomach. At the outburst, the frightened musk-oxen broke their ring, skittered excitedly, and clattered off in a wild rush.
His heart pounding, Eegik scrambled to his feet and hurried to his father, who lay sprawled on the ice.
“Father!” he cried, pushing at his parka. “Father, are you all right?”
Ukak opened his eyes and tried to rise. A shudder went through him. “My wrist … ,” he said, painfully. “I think it’s broken. Are the oomingmuk gone?”
Eegik nodded. “Can you walk, Father?” he asked.
“We should make my arm straight,” Ukak said, gritting his teeth against the pain.
“But there are no sticks,” Eegik answered.
His thoughts racing, Eegik looked around, trying to find something straight and hard. But the barren arctic desert covered now by the ice held no useful object.
Then Eegik spotted the gun a few feet away. “The rifle, Father!” he cried. “We can use the rifle.”
“My son,” Ukak said, nodding, “it is a good idea.”
With his mittened hands, Eegik lifted the gun and emptied the chamber of bullets. Gently, he slid the barrel up his father’s sleeve to the elbow and wrapped the injured arm with the leather ties from his parka.
“There!” he finally said, leaning back to look at his handiwork. “That will help until we get home.”
Ukak smiled. “It is feeling better already,” he said.
With Eegik helping, the two made their way to the waiting snowmobile.
“You will have to drive,” Ukak said, holding the rifle butt with his good hand.
“I can,” the boy replied.
Eegik helped his father onto the seat, eased in front, and started off with the machine.
The journey back was slow, Eegik being careful to keep the ride as smooth as possible. Within an hour, they entered Mekoryuk and drove to their home.
At the sound of their approach, Eegik’s mother opened the door. “What’s wrong?” she asked when she saw that Eegik was in the driver’s seat.
“The oomingmuk did not like our visit,” Father answered, cradling his arm as he eased himself from the machine. “I might still be there, but for Eegik. I’m glad I took our son along.”
Eegik lifted his chin. He had wondered if he were old enough to help his father check on the skittish musk-oxen. Now he knew that he was.

“After the Budapest, Hungary, concert I walked up to two full-bearded men,” said Kay Lynn Wakefield. “I asked if they enjoyed the concert, putting my hand out to greet one of them. He looked around, wondering who I was talking to. I then gave him an Articles of Faith card. He backed away, saying, ‘I am light man’—an electrical technician for the concert. He seemed surprised I would talk to him. I assured him I was happy to talk to him, and I thanked him for his lighting. I asked him who his friend was, and he said he spoke no English and was studying for the ministry. At this point, he said again, ‘I am light man only.’ I then put my hand on the arm of this man, looked him in the eye, and said, ‘You are a child of God, and he loves you very much.’ I bore my testimony to him, telling him that we represented our Heavenly Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. I asked him to translate this message to his non-English-speaking friend. As he repeated my words, he began to weep. It seemed almost as if a protective bubble fell over us and we no longer heard the noise of the crowd. I told them both how they could get a Book of Mormon from the missionaries. The student was visibly moved and promised that he would get and read the book.”

Last Christmas, as we were settling in for the evening, one of our children announced that her shower nozzle had broken and water was spraying everywhere. As I ran to investigate, all I could do was start emptying buckets of water into the sink. Reaching a plumber on Christmas night was not going to happen. We were desperate. Fortunately a friend came to our rescue and helped us do what we couldn’t do ourselves: he turned off the master water line and fixed the breach.
Recently I visited with an individual who had made terrible mistakes that cost him his marriage and other blessings. He had worked through the process of repentance but still felt insufficient.
He reflected, “I’ve repented to the Lord. I’ve apologized to my family. But there are countless others who my decisions have impacted, and I won’t ever be able to track them down.”
My assigned companion listened and then replied: “You can’t. Those mistakes are like leaves in the wind. Only the Savior can heal those wounds. Isaiah foretold the role of the Savior when he said, ‘[He shall] be called, The repairer of the breach, The restorer of paths to dwell in.’”
In these troubled times, Christ is the repairer of the breaches in our lives.

Many years ago in Arabia lived a man whose name was Ben Yussef. He and his son were very wealthy. Their wealth came from breeding and training Arabian stallions that were famous for their speed, beauty, and sturdiness. Each year the horses were trained and sold. They were always in great demand, but each year Ben Yussef and his son kept the very best for themselves. Training began when the horses were very young. The Arabians were carefully trained so that each one would answer to the call "Kyama, Kyama." When these words were called out, there was a thunder of hooves, swishing of manes and tails as the horses obediently responded to their master.

One day Ben Yussef turned to his son and said that the time had come for the sorting of the horses - the time for testing. These horses had been given the very best grooming, feeding and attention given to their every need, and they now had their luxuries cut off. Their feed was cut down to barely enough to keep them alive and they were turned out of their stables into stubby fields. Their coats were neglected and became dirty and ragged. They were not given enough water, and after awhile began to look wild and thin. They no longer looked like the thoroughbreds they were born to be.

After several months Ben and his son and several stable hands, reigned up the horses and led them to an enclosed field. Beyond the gates was a green grassy pasture with bran and hay and an abundance of clear water. The horses whined and pulled against their reins to get to the field.

After struggling to rein them in, Ben called to the stable hands "Open the gates." The gates were opened, and the way was clear. There was nothing to stop them. The horses began to gallop. In a loud and clear voice Ben Yussef called out: "Kyama, Kyama." The horses' ears twitched. Most of the horses rushed straight on to the field, some glanced back but then galloped on. And only a few stopped, turned ever so slowly, and walked back to Ben Yussef. As Ben Yussef looked at the stallions in front of him, he said with emotion and pride - "These are my Chosen."

This is a powerful story of obedience. Even if we know nothing about Arabian horses, we can all relate to being deprived of something we desperately want. How willing are we to be obedient to the voice of our Master as he calls out to us? How willing are we to pay the price necessary to be called "His Chosen?"