Gospel Story Finder

During the fervor of the early years of World War II, one of our teachers quorum members, Fritz, wanted to defend our country but didn’t want to wait until he reached the minimum age required to serve. He falsified his age and enlisted in the United States Navy. Soon he found himself far away in the Pacific sea battles. The vessel on which he served was sent to the bottom, with many hands lost. Fritz survived and later appeared in our quorum meeting in full uniform, with battle ribbons affixed. I remember asking Fritz, “Fritz, do you have any advice for us?” We were all on the very doorstep of mandatory military service.
Fritz thought for a moment and then said, “Never lie about your age or about anything else!” That one-sentence declaration is remembered yet.

For Talia Gollan, 15, of the Emu Plains Ward, Sydney Hebersham Stake, the bushfires were a stark reminder of how disasters can occur without warning. At the height of the crisis, her suburb of Winmalee, in Sydney’s beautiful Blue Mountains, was surrounded by fire. It became the focus of media attention as firemen fought to protect homes.

“I was watching television on Saturday morning when Dad came in and said to pack some essential things in a box and be prepared to leave,” she said. However, Talia displayed a quiet faith that they would be safe.

“Everybody was expecting all of the houses to burn,” Talia says. “The fire was just a street away. But you know, I still felt Heavenly Father would take care of us. Even if something bad did happen, I felt I’d be supported by him.”

While some Church youth were protecting their own homes, others were behind the scenes helping firefighters in their vital role. O’Connor Tau, 14, who lives in the Liverpool Ward, Sydney Parramatta Stake, spent many hours at the chapel preparing food for firemen.

“We helped the firefighters and also made food for people who were stranded on the freeways,” O’Connor says. “I also had the job of collecting bread and other supplies from shops around the area. It was great because many of the shopkeepers were willing to give us the food for free.”

Recently I heard of an excommunicated man who angrily walked out of his Church court bitter and unrepentant. Many of us, if we had participated in that court, might have said, “Well good, he’ll have time to make his peace”; and others might even have thought, “Good thing that he’s gone.” But one of the high councilors present spent three evenings a week for the next several years visiting this man until, mellowed, repentant, and renewed in the Spirit, he was reinstated in the Church.

I’m going to do it!
Do what?
Run for student council.
Good for you!
What does the student council do?
They solve problems together and try to make the school a better place.
Hmmm, sounds like family council.
Sort of. But don’t try running for the position of Dad. At least not yet.
So, Mandy, what’s next?
I need a slogan!
How about, “Mandy is dandy, she’ll give you free candy.” I’d vote for that!
Just kidding.
Hmmm. Posters. Talking to lots of people.
It sounds a little scary. But I think I really want to do it!
I’ll help put up posters.
I’ll pass out candy!

Illustrations by Bradley Clark
An overnight campout with all kinds of outdoor activities had been planned for Friday and Saturday, and I was eager to accompany my son. Carl had a part-time job and had to work Friday, so I proposed picking him up Friday evening after work. We planned to park at a bridge above the campsite and then hike down.
When we arrived at the bridge, it was dark, with only a sliver of the moon and a few stars shining in the sky. The trail to the campsite was carved out of the face of a cliff that ran alongside the river. We were about 300 yards (275 m) above the river when we began our hike.
Not far down the trail our flashlight began to dim, and the trail seemed to disappear at times in the faulty light. Suddenly something told me to stop. I halted abruptly but then took two more steps forward. The feeling or voice then repeated, “Stop!”
I stopped again. Carl, close behind, almost ran into me.
“What’s going on, Dad?” he asked.
I told him about the prompting, adding that we needed to go home and that we would return in the morning.
“Dad, I can see the campfire,” he responded. “It can’t be more than a mile (1.6 km) away.”
Recognizing that the prompting had come from the Holy Ghost, I insisted that we not take another step. The flashlight had gone dead, so we cautiously hiked back up the trail. Carl was disappointed and didn’t talk much on our way home.
Early the next morning we returned to the bridge and began hiking again. At least Carl would be able to participate in Saturday’s activities. We hurried along until, all of a sudden, the trail disappeared! Then it hit us. We had arrived at the exact spot where we had stopped the night before.
“Dad, it’s at least 100 yards (91 m) straight down to the river,” Carl said. “We would have been killed!”
The cliff stretched steeply below us down to the river. In front of us there was a gap in the trail about 12 feet (3.6 m) wide, the aftermath of a recent storm.
Carl and I hugged each other as our tears flowed. Then we climbed to another trail and made our way to the campsite. We arrived just in time for breakfast.
A warning sign was supposed to have been placed on the first trail but wasn’t. Thankfully, a warning sign came to us from the Holy Ghost.

Transfusion number two is entitled “Integrity.” Its donor is the little Indian patriot Mohandas Gandhi, who won the independence of India from England. When Gandhi was very young, he took a pledge to his mother that he would remain a vegetarian throughout his life. Many years after Gandhi’s mother had died, Gandhi became very ill, and the doctors tried to persuade him that if he would drink a little beef broth it might save his life. But Gandhi said, “Even for life itself, we may not do certain things. There is only one course open to me, to die, but never to break my pledge.” Now just think for a minute what kind of a world this would be if each one of us could manifest that kind of integrity before his family and among his friends and before the world generally.

Washington, D.C. is a city of monuments. Every building seems to have historical significance. Statues and memorials are so abundant that it becomes difficult to keep track of them all. And yet there are places in the city that, like the men or events or ideals that inspired their edification, can never be forgotten. Places like the Lincoln Memorial, the Washington Monument, the Capitol, the Supreme Court Building, the White House, the Smithsonian Castle, the museums and galleries, and more.
For Americans, a drive through Washington is at once a lesson in history and in patriotism. For thousands of tourists from other lands, Washington fosters a kinship that increases respect for a great nation and initiates memories that may last a lifetime.
But especially for those who live near the capital, a sightseeing visit to the downtown area is a feast. Often those who dwell in the suburbs forget the heritage that lingers nearby. Rushing on business, hustling off to school, or becoming involved in their smaller residential areas, many Washingtonians neglect the legacy in their own backyards.
But not the Fairbanks family.
The Fairbanks live in Bethesda, Maryland, just a stone’s throw from downtown Washington D.C. And the Fairbanks love to ride bicycles. As a family, they have benefited from the exercise and recreation cycling has given them. But they have also found their bikes to be a key means of access to the city. “There’s a bike path all the way into town,” explained 18-year-old David, the oldest son. “It follows the old Chesapeake and Ohio Canal route along the banks of the Potomac River, down into Georgetown, and eventually out onto the Mall.” (The Mall is the large, grass-covered rectangle running two miles from the Lincoln Memorial to the Capitol.)
From Bethesda, the route is mostly downhill, shady, and picturesque. “We’ll ride into town sometimes for exercise or fun, and then mom will come pick us in the station wagon,” Lisa, 16, added. “But if she can’t come, then we have to ride uphill all the way home.”
Sometimes the entire crew (half a dozen in all) makes a Saturday excursion to the landmarks in town. “I remember dad showing us the statue of Abraham Lincoln and telling us how he fought against slavery,” eight-year-old Galen said.
“Do you remember how many times you wanted to stop for ice cream on the way there?” Jeff, who is 14, kidded him. Washington in summer is a humid, sweltering steambath, and bicyclists soon learn to carry water with them or to stop at concession stands that line the Mall.
“A lot of times we’ll stop at a fountain or a pool to cool off, too,” Lisa said. There are fans of water outside the National Art Museum that mist the air with chilled vapor, and the Reflection Pool down the hill from the Washington Monument offers another site where the sun-soaked cyclists can escape the heat.
On special occasions some of the family members may take a few minutes out from a pedaling excursion to ride the elevator to the top of the Washington Monument. From the observation deck of the 555-foot pillar, it’s possible on a clear day to see all the way to Kensington, Maryland, where the Washington Temple raises its spires in solitude through the trees. “Lots of people know where the temple is,” Jeff said. “It’s really becoming a landmark, too. A lot of people have found out about the Church because of the missionary work members have done inviting people to the visitors’ center.
“The temple symbolizes a lot of things to me,” David said. “The way it rises out ot the woods reminds me of the goals the gospel puts into our lives, things like going on a mission. A goal like that towers over things that might seem important without the influence of the Church.”
The Church plays a major role in the family’s life. They are members of the Chevy Chase Ward, Washington D.C. Stake, where Jeff is teachers quorum secretary; Lisa (the only Laurel in the ward) was recently released from the Mia Maid presidency; David works regularly with the full-time missionaries; and Galen is a sterling Sunday School student. Both Brother and Sister Fairbanks are active in Church callings as well.
But Church involvement doesn’t stop when the Fairbanks step out the chapel door. They are a missionary family that doesn’t cease sharing the gospel. One of their primary means for so doing is the Fairbanks Family Band, a bluegrass ensemble that includes everyone from Galen on up.
“We’ve performed for other churches’ social gatherings, for community family weeks, even for a program honoring the family that was held in the President’s Park just behind the White House,” Brother Fairbanks explained. “We got a thank-you certificate from the President for that show.”
“We feel it’s our way of doing some missionary work,” Sister Fairbanks joined in. “We always make it a point to tell our audiences how important families are and we explain about the family home evening program of the Church.”
When the Fairbanks aren’t cycling or playing music, you can still usually find them together. When David graduated from high school, his friends came over for a celebration dinner. Brother Fairbanks served as waiter, and the rest of the family helped prepare the meal.
Our friends always want come visit us at home,” Lisa said. “It’s probably because we make them part of the family when they come.” It might also be because of the ice cream everyone’s helping to churn on the back porch, or the fresh rolls Lisa and her mother just pulled from the oven, or because of the friendly warmth that pervades the entire household. Even when they chop wood or do housework, the Fairbanks do it together.
In a city full of monuments, they are building a living monument that shines—a family full of love.

My brother, Yerko, was 19 when he was hit by a drunk driver. Fortunately, Yerko’s friend had taken a first aid course two weeks before. He kept my brother alive until emergency crews could take him to the hospital.
Most local hospitals have only one neurologist on duty, but when Yerko arrived, a group of neurologists had gathered for a special conference. They all immediately attended to him.
Yerko spent six months in the hospital, three of those months in a coma. While he was there, my mother stayed with him from 7:00 a.m. to 7:00 p.m. every day. Ward and stake members prayed and fasted for Yerko and gave him priesthood blessings. Our prayers were answered on January 1, 2011, when he woke up. Members continued to visit Yerko and helped us care for him while he recovered in the hospital. They were like ministering angels during this difficult time.
Today, Yerko still has some physical problems, including short-term memory loss. But he walks, and he can carry on a normal conversation. Doctors can’t believe it.
I was in Young Women when Yerko suffered his accident. Every week I recited, “We are daughters of our Heavenly Father, who loves us,” but I didn’t really understand the significance of the words. After the accident, I came to know that I really do have a Father who loves me.
The temple is a manifestation of that love. Yerko and I were sealed to our parents, so I knew that if I lost my brother, I would be with him again. This was a tremendous comfort for my family and me.
Immediately after the accident, when doctors told us that Yerko had only a few hours to live, I earnestly prayed for Heavenly Father to save him. When Yerko survived, I wanted to serve a mission to share with others the miracles we had experienced.
The story of my brother’s recovery was a blessing for many people I taught as a missionary in Peru. As I shared our experiences, especially with people facing difficult situations, their hearts were touched.

That feeling of unity and understanding seemed to characterize the day. Most people were a bit surprised when Melissa Lane, 13, modeled her outfit as it was announced that one of her major goals was to become a member of the Church.
Melissa later explained, “My aunt is a member of the Church and I live with her now. She lets me go to church, and it really makes me feel good. I’m starting to read the Book of Mormon, and my aunt is letting me subscribe to the New Era. My special friends here have helped me with my testimony, and this conference has too.”

“Rhoda, will you offer the blessing on the food?” Mama asked.
Rhoda looked at the small potato on her plate. “But there is still so much plate showing around my dinner,” she wanted to say but didn’t. “Yes, Mama,” she said.
Bowing her head, she began, “Heavenly Father, thank Thee for the food, and please bless it. Watch over Daddy in England that he will find those who are looking for the truth. And please provide food and safety for us while he is away. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
Rhoda opened her eyes and noticed her sister, Louisa, staring at Mama’s empty plate.
“Mama, where’s your food?” Louisa asked.
“Willard is out working in the fields,” Mama replied. “When he comes in, he’s going to want more than just water to drink.”
Rhoda could see worry lines around her sister’s eyes. “Are there no more potatoes?” Louisa asked.
Mama shook her head. “Those are the last ones. So eat up before they get cold.”
Rhoda stared at Mama. “But Mama, what will we do for breakfast in the morning?”
“Well, in your prayer you asked the Lord to provide for us while Daddy is away,” Mama replied. “I trust He will answer your prayer.”
“Mama!” Willard burst through the door. “Quick! The Judds have turned the canal water into their ditches!”
“Hurry, girls,” Mama said. “Buckets are outside!”
Rhoda jumped from the table, following Willard and Louisa outdoors. Each one grabbed a large, wooden bucket and raced down the dusty path to the canal.
Even though Rhoda was only eight years old, she understood about the canal. Like a man-made river, the canal was the source of water for all the homesteads in the area. The canal also provided water for irrigating crops. Farmers would turn some of the water from the canal into ditches lining their crops. Then the water would flow out of the ditches and flood the land. But once in a while, a farmer would turn all the canal water into his ditches, leaving the homesteads downstream without water until he finished irrigating his crops. And Rhoda knew that even one day without water in this scorching heat would be dangerous.
When the children arrived at the canal, the water flow had already stopped, leaving a still bed of water resting in the bottom. Rhoda filled her bucket with water, carried it back to the house, and poured it into the large rain barrel beside the front door. Back and forth the children ran, trying to fill the barrel before the water dried up.
“One more bucket each ought to do it,” Mama called.
Even though the sun hung low, almost touching the horizon, the dirt felt hot and gritty on the bottoms of Rhoda’s feet. Reaching the canal, they found that the stream was now dried up, leaving a muddy bed pocked with small, shallow pools. Rhoda jumped down into the damp streambed, mud spurting between her toes. Reaching the edge of one of the shallow pools, she leaned over to dip her bucket into the water. Suddenly she lost her balance and fell, splashing into the pool.
Willard and Louisa laughed as Rhoda stood up. Her dress clung to her back and belly, and warm water dripped down her arms and legs. When she reached down to grab her bucket, something slippery slithered past her ankles. “Snake!” Rhoda screeched, scrambling out of the pool.
Willard raced over, peering at the small pool.
“There!” Rhoda cried, pointing a finger at the water.
Willard’s eyes scanned the murky water. His hand circled the surface, then suddenly he thrust his arm into the water and grabbed at something.
“It’s a fish!” Willard shouted, holding a small, wriggling fish in his palm. “I caught a fish!”
“Look! There must be more in that pool over there!” Rhoda pointed.
“And over there,” Louisa shouted, pointing at another. All the small pools of water rippled with life.
“Let’s fill our buckets and take them to Mama,” Louisa suggested.
There was little water left in the pools and the fish swarmed in tight bunches, making it easy for the children to snatch them up. Soon their buckets were filled and the children carried them back to the cabin.
“Mama! Look what we found in the canal!” Rhoda called as they reached the cabin door.
“Fish? In the canal?” Mama looked confused. “There aren’t any fish in that canal.”
“There are tonight. The shallow pools are full of them,” Louisa said.
“But there have never been fish in that canal,” Mama said quietly, staring at the full buckets of fish. “Children, this is a miracle. Just as He sent manna to the hungry Israelites, the Lord has sent fish for us to eat.”
Reaching for Rhoda’s bucket, she continued, “And just like the children of Israel, we must gather all we can while there are fish to catch. Go and see if there are any more, and I will begin cleaning these and packing them in salt.”
The sun sank into the prairie grasses and a full moon lit the night as the children returned to search for more fish. As Rhoda knelt down in the mud, she closed her eyes and spoke softly. “Heavenly Father, thank Thee for answering my prayer and for taking care of us. Thank Thee for sending us the miracle of the fishes.”

“Are General Authorities human?”
I suppose this is a question that is in many minds and has been from the very beginning. It arises, in the very nature of things, because of the high regard in which we hold the offices that these Brethren are called to fill.
I recall an incident from early Church history, from the days of persecutions and difficulties. Heber C. Kimball, then a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, found himself in circumstances where he sought hospitality from a member of the Church, a widow woman. She offered him what she had—bread and milk—and provided a room with a bed for him. He went to retire. She thought: “Here’s my opportunity. I would like to find out [and this is, in effect, the same old question: Are General Authorities human?] I would like to find out what an Apostle says when he prays to the Lord.” So after the door was closed, she crept quietly up to it to listen. She heard Brother Kimball sit down on the bed. She heard each of his shoes fall to the floor. She heard him lean back on the bed and then utter these words: “Oh Lord, bless Heber; he is so tired.”
… This is a subject about which people often have incorrect concepts. Many people had this same question in their minds during the time of Joseph Smith. He said: “I was this morning introduced to a man from the east. After hearing my name, he remarked that I was nothing but a man, indicating by this expression, that he had supposed that a person to whom the Lord should see fit to reveal His will, must be something more than a man. He seemed to have forgotten the saying that fell from the lips of St. James, that [Elijah] was a man subject to like passions as we are, yet he had such power with God, that He, in answer to his prayers, shut the heavens that they gave no rain for the space of three years and six months; and again, in answer to his prayer, the heavens gave forth rain, and the earth gave forth fruit [see James 5:17–18]. Indeed, such is the darkness and ignorance of this generation, that they look upon it as incredible that a man should [speak] with his Maker.”

During World War II, on my first Sunday as a Marine, I ran into a very special missionary companion of mine at a Church service. Both of us had volunteered for the Marine Corps! When we completed boot camp, we were both assigned to the Second Marine Division.
After the battle was over on the island to which our division was assigned, we were able to obtain a tent for Church services. We made benches, a pulpit, and a sacrament table out of any pieces of lumber we could find. Under the sacrament table we placed a special green footlocker. We carried that footlocker with us from island to island as our division completed its orders. The contents of the green footlocker represented all we held dear: a wooden plate, a wooden sacrament tray, a card containing the sacrament prayers, and several boxes of small paper cups.
As President David O. McKay has reminded us, partaking of the sacrament is a renewal of the covenants we made at the time of baptism, which are that “We are willing to take upon ourselves the name of the Son. In so doing we choose him as our leader and our ideal. … We will always remember him. Not just on Sunday, but on Monday [and the other days of the week]. … We promise to ‘… keep his commandments. …’—tithing, fast offerings, the Word of Wisdom, kindness, forgiveness, love.” (Gospel Ideals, page 146.)
As we gathered each week on the Lord’s day, we opened our footlocker and used the contents to prepare, bless, and pass the sacrament. It was a spiritual and uplifting experience that renewed our faith and gave us hope for the days ahead.
Eventually our tent chapel was filled with many holes caused by shrapnel tearing through it. When frequent tropical rains made it uncomfortable to sit in a tent with so many holes in it, we determined that our meetings deserved better quarters. We finally obtained enough material to construct a chapel. Now the green footlocker was placed beneath the table in a dedicated house of worship.
When our duties on the island were completed, we boarded a ship and moved out. Our footlocker remained in the chapel for others to use. I don’t know its final destination, but that old green footlocker will always have a special place in my heart because even in one of the most trying periods of my life, I was able to receive spiritual renewal for the days ahead as I partook of the sacrament of the Lord’s Supper.

This story happened in Denmark.
Amalie followed her parents through the church doors. The sound of the piano playing hymns filled the chapel. Amalie and her family found a bench and sat down.
Sacrament meeting started, and soon the whole branch was singing the opening hymn. While she sang, Amalie noticed their next-door neighbor, Sister Aisha, sitting nearby. But Sister Aisha wasn’t singing. She was frowning.
Sister Aisha was always so nice to Amalie. But she looked sad a lot. Amalie knew that she lived alone. Maybe she was lonely.
Amalie wished she could do something to help. But what?
The next week, Amalie went on a bike ride down a long road. She rode past big green fields. The sun warmed her skin.
Soon she came to a field of sunflowers. The bright yellow flowers waved slightly in the wind and stretched to the sun. They were so tall and so big!
A sign next to the field said, Free sunflowers! Take as many as you want.
Amalie stared at the field. The flowers looked like an ocean of yellow smiling at the sky.
She parked her bike and picked a bunch of flowers. She could give them to Mom! Mom loved flowers. But there were enough flowers that she could pick more for someone else too.
A name came to her mind: Sister Aisha. Maybe these flowers could help brighten her day.
“I hope she likes sunflowers,” Amalie said quietly to herself. But she was a little nervous. What if Sister Aisha thought it was weird?
Amalie stopped picking the flowers. She rubbed the soft petals between her fingers. Maybe she shouldn’t give flowers to Sister Aisha.
No, Amalie thought. She knew she should give them to Sister Aisha. They might not make everything better. But Amalie still wanted to help, even in a small way. She could give the flowers to Sister Aisha at church tomorrow.
Amalie spent a long time picking the best flowers. She put them together and placed them carefully in her bike basket. Then she hopped on her bike and rode home. The bright yellow of the flowers looked pretty with the deep green of the forest in the background.
When Amalie got home, she tied each bouquet with a ribbon. She gave one to Mom.
Mom smiled big when she saw it. “Thank you! They’re beautiful.” She put the flowers in a vase on the table.
The next day, Amalie took the other bouquet of sunflowers to church. She found Sister Aisha sitting alone on a bench.
“Hi,” Amalie said. “I picked some sunflowers for you.”
Amalie held the flowers out. When Sister Aisha saw them, she smiled. Amalie hadn’t seen her smile in a long time. Her eyes were filled with light.
“Thank you,” Sister Aisha said. She gave Amalie a hug. “These are my favorite flowers.”
Amalie smiled too. She hadn’t known they were Sister Aisha’s favorite flowers! But the Holy Ghost had prompted her to make a bouquet for Sister Aisha, and Amalie was grateful she had listened.

Here in Salt Lake City in 1985, Bishop Steven Christensen, through no fault of his own, was cruelly and senselessly killed by a bomb intended to take his life. He was the son of Mac and Joan Christensen, the husband of Terri, and the father of four children. With his parents’ consent, I share what they learned from this experience. After this terrible deed, the news media followed members of the Christensen family around relentlessly. On one occasion this media intrusion offended one of the family members to the point that Steven’s father, Mac, had to restrain him. Mac then thought, “This thing will destroy my family if we don’t forgive. Venom and hatred will never end if we do not get it out of our system.” Healing and peace came as the family cleansed their hearts from anger and were able to forgive the man who took their son’s life.

The moon was big and round and bright, just as it should be on the night of the Moon Festival. I held my glowing paper lantern higher, hoping that the Old Man in the Moon would see me amid the other children. The whole park gleamed with brilliant Chinese lanterns.
I dashed up the hill to where my parents and sisters sat on a blanket, nibbling moon cakes. My eldest sister, Mei Lai, was gazing at the moon. I knew that she was probably dreaming about that boy who took her to the dance last Saturday. That’s a girl for you! I thought. I’m glad that I’m not a girl.
Not that Mei Lai didn’t have a right to think about love tonight. Everyone thought about love during the Moon Festival, or Mid-Autumn Festival, the proper name that my sister preferred to call it. On this night the Old Man in the Moon supposedly wove an invisible red thread around couples who would one day get married.
Even I was thinking about love. But not that kind. I was thinking about how I could love my neighbors. My Primary teacher had told us last Sunday that we should, and ever since then, I had been wondering how I could ever do it. I couldn’t think of any neighbors in our apartment building that I even liked—especially not that new boy down the hall! Why, he didn’t even speak Chinese! The first time I saw him, I just kept looking at his eyes. I had never seen such blue eyes, except maybe on TV.
Once I had tried talking to him in the English that I was learning in school. “Where are you from?” I asked.
Looking at me oddly, he lifted up his nose and declared, “I’m an Aussie.”
Whatever an Aussie was, I certainly didn’t know. I went home and asked Mei Lai, who knew English well.
“An Aussie is someone from Australia,” she told me.
My mother’s voice interrupted my thoughts. “Sun Ling, it will soon be time to go home.”
“Oh, let me run once more through the park.”
“Well, you be careful with that lantern. Remember that you have a lighted candle in it.”
“I will.” As I sprinted down the hill, I looked up at the Old Man in the Moon to see if he was still watching me and my glistening paper lantern. I ran and ran, with my eyes turned upward toward the beautiful full moon.
Suddenly—CRASH! Was it a wall? No, it was a body. Another person and I tumbled over and over each other. It was the Aussie. When we finally stopped, we raised our tousled heads and looked at each other. I blurted out, “What are you doing here? This is a Chinese holiday!”
It was a good thing that he couldn’t understand my Chinese. I indignantly grabbed my lantern, which miraculously lay unharmed on the grass. In my mind I grumbled, Even if I wasn’t looking where I was going, it wasn’t really my fault. After all, he’s the one who doesn’t belong here.
A sizzle and a flare made us both jump up. His colorful paper lantern was in flames. My mother’s words flashed through my mind, “Be careful with that lantern.”
I looked at him. Then I cocked my head in amazement. Out of those blue, blue eyes tears were dribbling! It had never occurred to me that an Aussie could cry too.
The boy’s lips began to quiver, and he said, “My dad gave me that lantern.”
I didn’t understand all his words, but I understood what he meant. And I felt awful! I tried to remember how to say I’m sorry in English, but all my words came out in Chinese.
Suddenly, in Chinese, he said, “I’m sorry too.”
I blinked with surprise. Why he knew some Chinese words after all. He smiled at me. I smiled back.
The next day I strode into the house, banging the door happily behind me.
“What’s that huge grin for?” Mei Lai asked as she stirred vegetables and pork together in the wok.
“Oh, I’ve been learning to love my neighbor. Jim’s my friend now.”
“Who’s Jim?” she asked
“He’s the Aussie I told you about,” I replied, peering over the sizzling wok. I perched on a tall stool. “Do you know what? Before he came here, Jim had never even heard of moon cakes. So I gave him one with an egg-yolk center. When he bit into it, he sort of shriveled up his nose and tried to smile. I could tell that he didn’t like it.”
“So, do you think he’s still your friend?” Mei Lai laughed.
“Well, I did let him try a lotus-seed moon cake after that, and he ate every bit of it and smacked his lips.”
“I’m glad that you gave him something he likes,” said Mei Lai.
“I did give him one other thing that I hope he likes. I gave him my Book of Mormon.”
“Your Book of Mormon!” exclaimed my sister. “Whyever did you do that?”
“Well, because it’s the most special thing that I could share with a friend,” I answered.
“But how do you expect him to read it?” she said. “He doesn’t even read Chinese.”
“Joseph Smith translated the characters of the Book of Mormon from another language. Maybe God will give Jim the gift to translate too.”
“Look,” Mei Lai explained, “Joseph Smith was a prophet. Not everyone receives the gift to translate another language.”
I looked at my sister intently. “Mei Lai, I’m still glad that I gave the Book of Mormon to him.”
It was the week before Christmas. Someone knocked at our door, and Mei Lai opened it to blond-haired Jim. My friend didn’t see me sitting in the corner, so he spoke in English to my sister. “I read your book,” he said, holding up a blue book with Chinese characters of the Book of Mormon engraved on it.
“You read it!” she gasped. “But—but you don’t know Chinese, do you?”
“No. What I meant to say,” Jim explained, “was that my tutor read it to me. He comes every day to teach me Chinese, and so we have been reading it together. In fact, my tutor was wondering if he could get a copy of his own. Also, would it be possible to get a copy in English for my father?”
My sister finally closed her mouth from her astonishment. She smiled, motioning to me.
Jim turned and saw me. “Oh, Sun Ling,” he said in halting Chinese, “this book you gave me is very interesting. I am curious to find out more about it. Can you help me?”
“I’ll be happy to help you,” I replied slowly to make sure that he understood my words. “I can think of no better way to love my neighbor from Australia.”

The Prophet’s parents, Joseph Smith Sr. and Lucy Mack Smith, married in Tunbridge, Vermont, USA, in 1796. After six years of fairly successful farming, the Smiths moved to nearby Randolph to try their hand at storekeeping.3

The line of goods Joseph Sr. acquired with the help of Boston-based creditors moved quickly to eager new customers—not for cash but for promises of payment once harvests came in at the end of the growing season. As he waited for promised payments to pay off his creditors, he jumped into a new investment opportunity.

In those days Chinese markets were clamoring for crystallized ginseng root. Though Joseph Sr. had a hard-cash offer from a middleman for $3,000 for the ginseng root he had collected and prepared for shipment, he decided on the riskier but potentially more lucrative strategy of taking the product to New York himself and contracting with a ship’s captain to sell his goods in China on consignment. By eliminating the middleman, he stood to make as much as $4,500—an immense sum in those days.4

As bad luck or sinister planning would have it, Joseph Sr.’s shipment ended up on the same boat carrying the son of the middleman with whom he had declined to do business. Taking advantage of the situation, this son sold the Smith ginseng in China “at a high price” and kept the proceeds while spinning tales that the venture had been a bust, producing only a chest full of tea as reward.5

Meanwhile, just as this swindle was unfolding, the payments for a large inventory of merchandise had fallen due at the Smith store. In the face of demanding creditors, the Smiths hit a desperation point. To pay their debts, Lucy gave up a wedding gift of $1,000 that she had saved for years, and Joseph accepted $800 for the family farm in Tunbridge.6 The farm was the one thing that would have at least guaranteed a modicum of economic stability and long-term physical security in the often harsh world of the early American frontier. Now, penniless and landless, the Smiths would be forced to move eight times in 14 years, constantly looking for a way to provide for their family.

Much of what I know came from my family. When I was about eight years old, my wise mother asked my brother and me to pull weeds with her in our family’s backyard garden. Now, that seems a simple task, but we lived in New Jersey. It rained often. The soil was heavy clay. The weeds grew faster than the vegetables.
I remember my frustration when the weeds broke off in my hands, their roots stuck firmly in the heavy mud. My mother and my brother were soon far ahead in their rows. The harder I tried, the more I fell behind.
“This is too hard!” I cried out.
Instead of giving sympathy, my mother smiled and said, “Oh, Hal, of course it’s hard. It’s supposed to be. Life is a test.”
In that moment, I knew her words were true and would continue to be true in my future.
The reason for Mother’s loving smile became clear years later when I read of Heavenly Father and His Beloved Son speaking of Their purpose in creating this world and giving spirit children the opportunity of mortal life:
“And we will prove them herewith, to see if they will do all things whatsoever the Lord their God shall command them;
“And they who keep their first estate shall be added upon; and they who keep not their first estate shall not have glory in the same kingdom with those who keep their first estate; and they who keep their second estate shall have glory added upon their heads for ever and ever.”
You and I accepted that invitation to be tested and to prove that we would choose to keep the commandments of God when we would no longer be in the presence of our Heavenly Father.
Even with such a loving invitation from our Heavenly Father, Lucifer persuaded a third of the spirit children to follow him and reject the Father’s plan for our growth and eternal happiness. For Satan’s rebellion, he was cast out with his followers. Now he tries to cause as many as he can to turn away from God during this mortal life.
Those of us who accepted the plan did so because of our faith in Jesus Christ, who offered to become our Savior and Redeemer. We must have believed then that whatever mortal weaknesses we would have and whatever evil forces would be against us, the forces of good would be overwhelmingly greater.
Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ know and love you. They want you to return to Them and become like Them. Your success is Their success. You have felt that love confirmed by the Holy Ghost when you have read or heard these words: “For behold, this is my work and my glory—to bring to pass the immortality and eternal life of man.”
God has the power to make our way easier. He fed manna to the children of Israel in their wandering to the promised land. The Lord in His mortal ministry healed the sick, raised the dead, and calmed the sea. After His Resurrection, He opened “the prison to them that were bound.”
Yet the Prophet Joseph Smith, one of the greatest of His prophets, suffered in prison and was taught the lesson we all profit from and need in our recurring tests of faith: “And if thou shouldst be cast into the pit, or into the hands of murderers, and the sentence of death passed upon thee; if thou be cast into the deep; if the billowing surge conspire against thee; if fierce winds become thine enemy; if the heavens gather blackness, and all the elements combine to hedge up the way; and above all, if the very jaws of hell shall gape open the mouth wide after thee, know thou, my son, that all these things shall give thee experience, and shall be for thy good.”
You might reasonably wonder why a loving and all-powerful God allows our mortal test to be so hard. It is because He knows that we must grow in spiritual cleanliness and stature to be able to live in His presence in families forever. To make that possible, Heavenly Father gave us a Savior and the power to choose for ourselves by faith to keep His commandments and to repent and so come unto Him.
The Father’s plan of happiness has at its center our becoming ever more like His Beloved Son, Jesus Christ. In all things, the Savior’s example is our best guide. He was not exempt from the need to prove Himself. He endured for all of Heavenly Father’s children, paying the price for all our sins. He felt the suffering of all who have and will come into mortality.
When you wonder how much pain you can endure well, remember Him. He suffered what you suffer so that He would know how to lift you up. He may not remove the burden, but He will give you strength, comfort, and hope. He knows the way. He drank the bitter cup. He endured the suffering of all.
You are being nourished and comforted by a loving Savior, who knows how to succor you in whatever tests you face. Alma taught:
“And he shall go forth, suffering pains and afflictions and temptations of every kind; and this that the word might be fulfilled which saith he will take upon him the pains and the sicknesses of his people.
“And he will take upon him death, that he may loose the bands of death which bind his people; and he will take upon him their infirmities, that his bowels may be filled with mercy, according to the flesh, that he may know according to the flesh how to succor his people according to their infirmities.”
One way He will succor you will be to invite you always to remember Him and to come unto Him. He has encouraged us:
“Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.
“Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls.”
The way to come unto Him is to feast upon His words, to exercise faith unto repentance, to choose to be baptized and confirmed by His authorized servant, and then to keep your covenants with God. He sends the Holy Ghost to be your companion, comforter, and guide.
As you live worthy of the gift of the Holy Ghost, the Lord can direct you to safety even when you cannot see the way. For me, He has most often shown the next step or two to take. Rarely has He given me a glimpse of the distant future, but even those infrequent glimpses guide what I choose to do in daily life.
The Lord explained:
“Ye cannot behold with your natural eyes, for the present time, the design of your God concerning those things which shall come hereafter, and the glory which shall follow … much tribulation.
“For after much tribulation come the blessings.”
The greatest blessing that will come when we prove ourselves faithful to our covenants during our trials will be a change in our natures. By our choosing to keep our covenants, the power of Jesus Christ and the blessings of His Atonement can work in us. Our hearts can be softened to love, to forgive, and to invite others to come unto the Savior. Our confidence in the Lord increases. Our fears decrease.
Now, even with such blessings promised through tribulation, we do not seek tribulation. In the mortal experience, we will have ample opportunity to prove ourselves, to pass tests hard enough to become ever more like the Savior and our Heavenly Father.
In addition, we must notice the tribulation of others and try to help. That will be especially hard when we are being sorely tested ourselves. But we will discover as we lift another’s burden, even a little, that our backs are strengthened and we sense a light in the darkness.
In this, the Lord is our Exemplar. On the cross of Golgotha, having already suffered pain so great that He would have died were He not the Begotten Son of God, He looked on His executioners and said to His Father, “Forgive them; for they know not what they do.” While suffering for all who would ever live, He looked, from the cross, on John and on His own sorrowing mother and ministered to her in her trial:
“When Jesus therefore saw his mother, and the disciple standing by, whom he loved, he saith unto his mother, Woman, behold thy son!
“Then saith he to the disciple, Behold thy mother! And from that hour that disciple took her unto his own home.”
By His actions on that most sacred of days, He voluntarily gave His life for each of us, offering not only succor in this life but eternal life in the time to come.
I have seen people rise to great heights through proving faithful in terrible trials. Across the Church today are examples. People are driven to their knees by adversity. By their faithful endurance and effort, they become more like the Savior and our Heavenly Father.
I learned another lesson from my mother. As a girl she had diphtheria and nearly died. Later she had spinal meningitis. Her father died young, and so my mother and her brothers helped support their mother.
All her life, she felt the effects of the trials of illness. In her last 10 years of life, she required multiple operations. But through it all, she proved faithful to the Lord, even when bedridden. The only picture on her bedroom wall was of the Savior. Her last words to me on her deathbed were these: “Hal, you sound as if you are getting a cold. You ought to take care of yourself.”
At her funeral the last speaker was Elder Spencer W. Kimball. After saying something of her trials and her faithfulness, he said essentially this: “Some of you may wonder why Mildred had to suffer so much and so long. I will tell you why. It was because the Lord wanted to polish her a little more.”
I express my gratitude for the many faithful members of the Church of Jesus Christ who bear burdens with steady faith and who help others to bear theirs as the Lord seeks to polish them a little more. I also express love and admiration for caregivers and leaders across the world who serve others while they and their families endure such polishing.
I testify that we are children of a Heavenly Father, who loves us. I feel President Russell M. Nelson’s love for us all. He is the Lord’s prophet in the world today. I so testify in the sacred name of the Lord Jesus Christ, amen.

The Mia Maids had a problem.
“Two of the most popular girls (in Mia Maids) decided that ‘having fun’ was more important than living the gospel,” explains Sarah Tunnell of the Snohomish (Washington) Second Ward. “They stopped coming to church.”
Sarah, first counselor in the Mia Maid presidency, and Tresa Brown, the president, felt they needed to do something to help keep others from making the same mistake.
“I had just finished reading the Book of Mormon for the first time,” Sarah says. “And I said, ‘If everyone would just read the Book of Mormon, they’d have a testimony, and the possibility of their going inactive would be a lot smaller.’”
Sarah and Tresa looked through a clip art book, found a calendar, and worked out a schedule for reading the Book of Mormon. They also outlined a system for calling all the Mia Maids and reminding them of their reading goals.
“We had a presidency meeting that night,” Sarah continues. “The Laurel president happened to come by, and she said, ‘Hey, we want to do that!’ So we said, ‘Okay, but we can’t leave out the Beehives.’ So we called the Beehive president, and she said, ‘Us too!’ We started the next week.”
The idea was simple. “You can’t really bribe them. They can buy their own candy or ice cream. We decided the best thing was to provide a calendar and then just remind them and encourage them. Anyway, that was the limit of what we could do with our teenage income, which is nonexistent.”
Since then, the program has gone through some fine tuning, tailoring daily goals to individual abilities, incorporating “catch-up” days for those who get behind, coordinating with seminary reading schedules to avoid duplication, etc. And some have read more than others.
“I haven’t read as much as I’m supposed to,” one Beehive admitted. “But thanks to Sarah, I have read something.”
And the major goal, “Just to have them open the book, to have some kind of daily contact with it,” as Sarah says, has been met by just about everyone. In fact, last Sunday in ward council meeting, they were discussing a Book of Mormon reading program for the entire ward.

When I went to Russia as a volunteer English teacher, I knew very little Russian. But as I lived among the Russian people, I began to have the desire to serve them and share the gospel with them. So I started working harder to learn the language.
I started by reading a children’s version of the Book of Mormon in Russian. Armed with a Russian/English dictionary, I struggled through a chapter a day, looking up nearly every word. Then I taught myself to pray in Russian, feeling foolish as the foreign words stumbled off my tongue. Finally, I started learning to bear my testimony. To practice, I would write it in Russian in my journal. It didn’t take long for me to decide that it was hard to learn Russian.
Nearly three months into my stay in Ufa, Russia, another English teacher and I planned a trip to a faraway city called Saratov. We were met at the train station by a wonderful Latter-day Saint family who opened their hearts and their home to us. Our time there was soon over, and we were once again on the train, ready for the 20-hour train ride back to Ufa.
We shared our small compartment with two businessmen who made us a little nervous. They were extremely polite though, so we soon felt safe.
When we were leaving Saratov, the family we had stayed with explained the importance of being an example. They said, “Don’t forget that everyone is watching you. Everyone.” They gave us a few missionary pamphlets and challenged us to give them away before we got home. Dubiously, I eyed the two men across from us. I sighed and decided they probably wouldn’t be interested.
But when I got out my scriptures to read, the men were curious and started asking questions. We gave them the pamphlets, which they read.
Later on the trip I started writing in my journal. The men asked why I wasn’t writing in Russian, so I showed them that I often did. The pages I happened to show them contained my testimony. They asked to read it, and I willingly obliged. They also eagerly started reading the Russian copy of the Book of Mormon I gave to them. As they asked questions, I felt as if the room would burst from the Spirit that filled it. One of the men asked if I could feel in my heart “the fire” that was in his and asked if I knew what it was. In my broken Russian I explained it was the Holy Ghost.
I had him read 3 Nephi 11. As we read of the Savior’s ministry among the people on the American continent, tears came to his eyes. He stopped reading and quietly asked, “Does Jesus Christ love me like He loved those people?”
With tears in my eyes I answered, “Yes, He knows you, and He loves you. That is why He wants you to know the truth about His gospel.” He looked at me for another moment and then dropped his eyes to read further. When we arrived in Ufa, we gave him the missionaries’ phone number.
It took a special 20-hour train ride to teach me that I don’t need to be on a full-time mission to serve the Lord and share the gospel. I don’t know if the little seeds that were planted that night have grown. But I do know that miracles occurred. I was converted, even if those men were not.

Max’s family visited the temple grounds every week. He always brought his video game with him. Otherwise it would be too boring to just walk around. On the way home, Max’s sisters joked and giggled beside him in the car, but he didn’t hear them. He was too focused on his game.
When they all got home, Max walked inside. He was so proud of himself. He didn’t even have to look up to make it to the living room. So much gaming must have made his brain bigger.
“Max, how did you like the temple?” Mom asked. He didn’t answer.
“Max!” she said a little louder. He jumped. He hadn’t seen her sit down next to him.
“Did you like the temple?” Mom asked again.
“It was nice,” he said. His eyes moved back to the game.
“Did you feel anything special?” she asked.
Max sighed and paused the game. Couldn’t she see he was busy?
“I don’t know, Mom. I guess it was all pretty special,” he said with a grin.
Mom didn’t smile back. “Max, I’m a little worried. It seems like you’re playing that thing more and more.”
“Mom, I’m fine,” Max said. “I’m just having fun. I can stop anytime.”
“Oh, really?” Mom said. Now she was smiling. “How about you stop playing your games for a week? And maybe when we go to the temple you’ll be surprised.”
A whole week! What would he do? He worried about giving up his games, but he loved Mom and thought he could give it a try.
Max sighed. “OK. I’ll do it.”
Mom gave Max a big hug. Max looked at his game and frowned. What had he gotten himself into?
The first two days were the worst because all he could think about was his game. He was so bored that even cleaning sounded good. So he did all his chores, and since he had more time before dinner, he did his sisters’ chores too.
After dinner, Max helped with the dishes. Then he thought of something else to do.
“Hey, Dad, wanna play catch?”
Dad smiled. “I’d love to! It’s been too long. Grab your mitt.”
Max went to bed feeling happy. He usually played video games until he fell asleep, but tonight he didn’t even want to. He thought of what he was going to do tomorrow. It seemed like he had so much more time now.
The week raced by. Max spent time with his family, helped his sisters, read the scriptures, and even started learning how to crochet! He had to admit that using his time differently felt pretty good.
Soon the day of the temple trip came. Max had totally forgotten what Mom had said about a surprise. He was just excited to spend time with his family.
The sun was setting as Max’s family walked around the temple grounds. The sky was red, orange, and yellow. Max felt something special as he watched the light shine on the temple windows. This is what it must feel like to live with Heavenly Father, he thought.
Max knew he was feeling the Spirit. He thought about how serving and spending time with other people made him feel happier than always playing his games did. He felt closer to Heavenly Father too.
Mom walked up beside him. “What are you thinking?”
Max looked up at the Angel Moroni glowing gold in the sunset. “That this is even better than video games.”
Mom wrapped her arm around his shoulders. “Surprise,” she said.
Max just smiled.