Gospel Story Finder

Doesn’t he realize he’s making us late for an appointment with the best family I’ve ever taught? my mind screamed as I turned my bike around. I was a missionary in the Taiwan Taipei Mission, and my new companion, Elder Loo, was lagging behind as usual.
I found him talking to a woman who was angrily holding a thick stick in one hand and clenching the arm of a small, whimpering boy with the other. I listened as Elder Loo tried to talk her out of beating the boy. She left without the stick.
When we finally arrived at our destination, my companion taught the family about “the first and great commandment,” to love the Lord. “And the second is like unto it,” he read, “Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself” (Matt. 22:38–39).
I flinched. Although I had taught this discussion many times, it was as if I were hearing the scripture for the first time. I would have helped that little boy if we hadn’t been late, I rationalized. But I couldn’t convince myself.
Following a beautiful discussion on sacrifice and service, we made our way to our next appointment. But before we got far, I realized I was again alone. Elder Loo was helping a drunken man who had wrecked his motorcycle.
As we peddled slowly through the crowded market, my companion stopped again. I watched as he knelt by a crying child who appeared to be lost. The child’s eyes were red and puffy, and his face was streaked with tears. We didn’t leave until Elder Loo had assurances from people who said they would locate the boy’s parents.
I followed in silence, my mind racing. Why hadn’t I noticed the crying child? Or the motorcyclist? Why did he see things I missed?
Then it dawned on me. He saw opportunities to serve because he looked for them. He didn’t trail behind because he was just enjoying the scenery; he was looking for people in need.
I wondered what I would see if I really looked.
The next morning I didn’t race ahead of my companion. We rode side by side, looking, listening, and ready to serve.
Since then, whenever I think no one needs my help, I slow down and take another look. It’s amazing what I see.

Another example was with the young women. When each young woman reached her 16th birthday, together we reviewed her thoughts and concerns about dating. Then we looked at her eternal goals and encouraged her to discuss them with her parents and to remember them on her dates. As the years have gone by, a number of young women have told me how much it helped to remember their “sweet sixteen bishop’s interview” and the commitments they made to themselves and the Lord for achieving eternal goals.

One of the especially happy times in my life happened when I was 17 years old. My friends and I went to a fireside where the speaker taught us about our Savior’s love. He told us that we could have confidence in the Savior, that He would lead us, that He would be there for us, that our faith in Him could increase and we could feel greater happiness than we had ever known.
But we needed to do something: We needed to choose to believe in the Savior and His love, we needed to ask for His help, and then we needed to practice thinking about Him all through the day.
The speaker suggested that to help us remember to think about the Savior, we could listen to the school bell that rang often during the day. Each time we heard the bell, we were to say a silent prayer, even with our eyes open, even walking down the hall. We could thank our Heavenly Father for our blessings, especially for our Savior. We could tell Him of our love and ask for His help. He taught us that in just a few seconds, many times during the day, we could practice thinking about our Heavenly Father and the Savior.
There was something else: The speaker suggested that almost immediately we move from praying for ourselves to praying for someone else—a friend, a teacher, a stranger—and asking Heavenly Father to bless that person.
He also warned us that although all of this might seem awkward at first, if we chose to try, we could truly be filled with His love, our faith really would grow, and we would feel joy.
That sounded wonderful to me. I decided to try.
I could not believe how many times the bell rang each day! When I heard it, I stopped. “Heavenly Father, thank you. Please bless me and bless Dorene. I know she’s having struggles.” It was awkward at first, but soon I found myself thinking about Heavenly Father and the Savior not only when the bell rang but many times during the day. I remember walking across a muddy field one morning and seeing a tiny yellow flower. It was probably a weed, but to me it was beautiful, and I felt that He had created it just for me. I loved Him so much. My faith had increased, and I was happy.

Jenny has suffered from multiple sclerosis for almost 50 years. Lockdown meant Colin was not able to get out and about, so he had to look for other ways to serve. He feels God prepared him, as shortly before lockdown began, Colin was decorating for a member when a neighbour approached him for advice.
He offered his help with painting for her and in return, she offered him donations to give to the soup kitchen where Colin had been volunteering. Soon after that, she contacted Colin to say she was moving away to be nearer her son.
Colin felt strongly he should visit to thank her for her donations. During the visit, he felt impressed to ask her what her maiden name had been and was amazed to find it was Pearson and that they were related through his grandmother’s line.
This, together with a ward goal to find 20 names to take to the temple, spurred Colin to ask a sister who had previously helped him with his family tree, to see if she could find more names for him, not expecting to find that number. As lockdown began, the searches began, and the sister was able to find around 2,500 names to submit to the temple. Research on the Pearson line was quite miraculous as the family had travelled down to the Midlands from Lancashire on the canals, having children in Birmingham and Coventry before settling in Wolverhampton. Extra names added to familysearch.org led to very successful research.
As the sister found the names, Colin meticulously compiled several books of remembrance for all the families. While being unable to serve the living, he has had a very special time serving his ancestors by reconnecting with them. This is particularly poignant as Colin never knew his father. This made passing on the information to his children and grandchildren especially important to him. He now has many books containing “records of [the] dead” (D&C 128:24), all thanks to lockdown.

It was Christmas Eve, and large, soft snowflakes were falling gently. Three small girls—Mary Ellen, Caroline, and Sarah Amelia, who was often called Pet—were home alone while their widowed mother was at work. The three girls were worried about Santa not being able to get down their chimney, so they decided to sweep a path for him from the outside gate to the front door.
After they finished, Mary Ellen, Caroline, and Pet went inside their house and cuddled up in a very large rocking chair. They were beginning to get tired when they heard their family cow, Boss, mooing and mooing. “Poor old Boss,” Pet said. “She must be hungry.”
They were quiet for a minute; then Pet said, “It’s Christmas, and Boss doesn’t have one Christmas present, not even something to eat.”
Caroline came up with a wonderful idea: “Our mattress is filled with nice dried grass. Let’s feed it to Boss.”
So Mary Ellen, Caroline, and Pet pulled the covers off their bed, struggled to get a good hold on the mattress, and pulled it into the front room. They put on their coats and gloves, then dragged the mattress through the doorway and over to the barnyard. They ripped open the mattress and dumped out the grass. Old Boss stopped mooing and got busy eating her Christmas Eve supper. The very tired girls returned to the house. They curled up in the big rocking chair and were soon fast asleep.
When their mother got home, she awakened the girls and told them to go to bed. Mary Ellen, Caroline, and Pet told her they couldn’t go to bed because they had fed their bed to the cow! So their mother let them sleep in the big rocking chair.
Sometime that night Santa came and filled their stockings with yummy things to eat. And the next morning a good neighbor came with a load of hay and straw. So old Boss got a second Christmas present, and Mary Ellen, Caroline, and Pet got a new straw bed.

I continued to study the gospel, however, and one day, late in 1974, I left a note at the chapel in Wollongong, New South Wales, saying I wanted to meet with the missionaries. Once again they began teaching me. Three times they set a date for my baptism, and each time I postponed it. (Once they even had the font filled!)
My indecision came to an end when I was offered an excellent position as a translator for the Australian government. For this position I would have to travel to Canberra each Sunday, making it impossible for me to attend church. I decided not to join the Church, and to take the job.
Not long after I made the decision, I suffered a heart attack, which left me unfit to accept the position. Once again I promised to be baptized, but this time persecution from my former minister friends made me change my mind.
I was then offered a position as a Calvinist bishop, responsible for all the migrants in New South Wales. As I contemplated this offer, I suffered another heart attack—my seventh. I realized then that I could die at any time, and that I wanted to be baptized.
At last, on 15 March 1975, after knowing the truth but putting off acting on it for so long, I was baptized.

During my teenage years, that decision was tested a number of times. I watched friends accept invitations to see movies and go to parties that I knew were not appropriate. Sometimes I was tempted to join them because it looked like they were having so much fun. I mentioned to my bishop this frustration about feeling left out. He helped me keep things in proper perspective by reassuring me that being a teenager only lasts a few years and that those who exercise their agency properly during those years will actually have far more freedom in the future than those who choose a different path.
I realized that I didn’t want poor teenage decisions to affect my opportunities later in life. I tried to date young women and associate with friends who felt the same way. It wasn’t always easy, but my decision to be worthy of the priesthood, enter the temple, serve a mission, and later marry in the temple have made any tough times as a teenager worth it. You will never regret staying clean and pure. If you have already made mistakes that keep you from feeling close to the Spirit, talk to your parents and your bishop. They will know what to do to help you feel whole again.

“In my family we children had to provide our own money. I believe that the things I’ve learned most indelibly came from the mistakes I made. The first year I thinned sugar beets, I learned a good lesson. When beets have grown an inch or two above the ground, they have to be singled out with a short-handled hoe. Bending over from the waist from early morning to late at night is a very tiring job. That first day, after receiving my instructions, I made up my mind that nobody was going to beat me, so I kept up with everybody. When I finished my first row, I saw the owner of the farm running toward me. When he got down to where I was standing, he told me that my work was absolutely unacceptable. I apologized to the farmer, and then I had to suffer the humiliation of people chuckling while I walked all the way back down to the end of the row to redo it. I learned then that it’s not how fast you can do something but how well you do it that counts. That was one of the most important lessons I’ve ever learned.

It was a Thursday afternoon, and Carrie Roberts was on her way home from her piano lesson. She pedaled her bicycle down Mimosa Street past the park.
“Carrie! Carrie Roberts!” someone called.
Carrie turned toward the park. She saw her friend Peggy waving at her.
Carrie rode her bike over to Peggy.
“Hi, Peggy. What are you doing here?”
“I’m helping Mark. He’s practicing his running.”
Mark was Peggy’s retarded younger brother. Although Carrie felt sorry for Mark and knew that he wasn’t responsible for his condition, she felt uncomfortable around him.
Carrie watched Mark run awkwardly around the big track. “Why is he running?” she asked.
“He’s going to be in the Special Olympics next Saturday,” said Peggy proudly.
“What are the Special Olympics?” Carrie asked.
“They’re like the real Olympics, but they’re for handicapped kids,” Peggy explained. “They run races and everything.”
Just then Mark finished his run. He was panting, and his face was red.
Peggy hugged him. “That was good, Mark! Do you remember Carrie?”
Mark grinned a friendly, crooked grin. “Hi, Carrie,” he said. The words were slurred, as though his mouth was full of marbles.
“Hi, Mark,” Carrie replied. She tried to think of something else to say to him, but her mind was blank.
“I have a great idea, Carrie,” said Peggy. “Why don’t you come to the race Saturday? You can be a hugger.”
“What’s a hugger?”
“Huggers hug the kids after they finish their races. Everyone gets lots of hugs at the Special Olympics. Will you do it?”
“Well …” Carrie hesitated, trying desperately to think of an excuse. But she couldn’t. “I guess I can,” she said.
“Great!” Peggy said enthusiastically. “Be at Lincoln Junior High Saturday morning at ten o’clock.”
On her way home, Carrie felt awful. “I don’t want to be a hugger!” she muttered. “I’ll have to think of some way out of it.” She looked up at the sky. “Maybe it will rain.” The thought cheered her up a little.
The first thing Carrie did Friday morning was look out the window. The sky was clear and blue. During school that day, Carrie looked out the window periodically, hoping to see some clouds. But by the time school was out, she had given up hoping for rain. She would have to think of something else.
When Carrie got home, her mother was painting. “Are we having company tomorrow, Mom?” Carrie asked.
“Not that I know of.”
“Do we have to go anywhere tomorrow?”
“I don’t believe so,” Mom said. She put down her paintbrush and looked at Carrie. “I thought you were going to the Special Olympics tomorrow.”
“I am.”
“You don’t sound very happy about it.”
“I guess I’m not too crazy about hugging a bunch of retarded kids,” admitted Carrie.
“Oh, Carrie! They may look and sound a little different, but they’re Heavenly Father’s children, too, and they need hugs just as much as the rest of us do.”
“I suppose so,” said Carrie. But she was not convinced.
The next morning Carrie was almost cheerful as she rode her bike to the junior high school. Late last night she had finally thought of a plan to get out of being a hugger. Reaching the school grounds, she found Peggy standing with Mark. He was wearing a bright red T-shirt.
“Hi,” said Carrie, in a low, raspy voice.
“What’s wrong with you?” asked Peggy.
“I have a cold,” Carrie said. She coughed. “I won’t be able to be a hugger because these kids might catch my cold.”
Peggy gave Carrie a funny look. “That’s too bad.” She turned to her brother. “Come on, Mark. It’s almost time for your race.”
“Good luck, Mark,” said Carrie in her raspy whisper.
Peggy and Mark walked away. Carrie sat down on one of the wooden bleachers near the finish line. She could see Peggy and Mark at the starting line on the other side of the oval track.
Carrie looked around. Lots of the kids looked and sounded like Mark. Boy, am I glad I found a way to get out of being a hugger, she thought.
Peggy left Mark at the starting line with the others and ran across the oval to the finish line. Carrie motioned for Peggy to sit by her, but Peggy didn’t seem to see Carrie. Instead she stayed on the inside of the track. Carrie’s heart sank. She realized that Peggy knew she was faking the cold.
Mark lined up with four other children. The starter’s gun sounded, and the runners took off. At first all five were bunched up together. Then slowly a boy in a blue shirt began to pull away from the others. Soon Mark, pumping his legs up and down, began to catch up to him.
As the runners rounded the curve, Carrie could see the look of concentration on Mark’s face. He was really trying hard!
“Come on, Mark!” Peggy was shouting over and over.
As they got closer to the finish line, the boy in the blue shirt stumbled and fell. The crowd in the stands groaned sympathetically.
“Come on, Mark!” someone yelled.
But Mark stopped. He helped the other boy up and then helped him brush the dirt from his knees. The other runners passed them and crossed the finish line.
Mark held the fallen runner’s hand. Together they crossed the finish line. Mark grinned and raised his arms high.
Carrie felt tears in her eyes. She pushed her way through the crowd and hurried over to Mark. He grinned at her. She held out her arms and enfolded him in a big bear hug.
“That was a great race, Mark!” she exclaimed.
“Peggy is lucky to have you for a brother.”
Carrie looked at Peggy.
“Do you still need a hugger?” she asked.

During a priesthood meeting, I noticed a quorum member wearing jeans and tennis shoes. I wondered, “Why would he come to church in casual clothing? Is he being rebellious? Is he hard-hearted? Does he not feel the Spirit in his life?”
If he truly had a vibrant testimony, certainly he would show more respect for sacred meetings and places.
A week later while my wife and I visited our daughter, we wanted to go to the temple with her. As I opened my suitcase, I was shocked to discover that I had forgotten my dress shoes! Because our temple session was starting soon, I didn’t have time to buy a new pair. So I decided to wear my tennis shoes.
As I was putting on my shoes, I immediately remembered the priesthood meeting. Here I was, preparing to go to one of the most sacred places on earth dressed in tennis shoes. I wondered what others might think. Would they judge me as being rebellious and hard-hearted or lacking the Spirit or a vibrant testimony?
I was ashamed of my previous quick, unfair judgment. Who was I to question someone’s testimony because of his clothing? I knew nothing of his circumstances.
The Savior focused on the spiritual progress of all His Father’s children. As He reminded Samuel, “The Lord seeth not as man seeth; for man looketh on the outward appearance, but the Lord looketh on the heart” (1 Samuel 16:7).
A person’s clothing, appearance, race, or gender should make no difference. We are all brothers and sisters. The fact that this brother was attending church should have been the center of my focus.
We should always try to wear our best clothes when we go to church or the temple.1 However, we shouldn’t judge others on what they are wearing, because we never know their circumstances.
All those around us truly have divine potential. We should offer Christlike love to all of our brothers and sisters no matter their outward appearance, even if they wear tennis shoes in the temple!

9. An International Holiday. Plan with three or four other couples to celebrate the Chinese New Year, Jewish Rosh Hashanah or Hanukkah, Hawaiian Kuhio Day, Irish St. Patrick’s Day, Mexican Cinco de Mayo, or any one of the many holidays from the nations of the world. Find out what the people do on their special holiday, what they traditionally eat, how they celebrate, and why. This may take a bit of study and planning, but it can be very rewarding and interesting. With so many returned missionaries to aid you, this shouldn’t be difficult. One young couple celebrated the Chinese New Year with firecrackers and a Chinese dinner served on a low table. Everyone ate while seated on cushions on the floor. After dinner each person was given a piece of paper and asked to think up an original Chinese proverb. The host couple gave a brief account of how the Chinese celebrate their new year. Background music and artwork from the country had been checked out of the local library, and for a few special hours, everyone enjoyed being part of a distant land.

I didn’t know which was louder—my footsteps in the big, silent house, or my pounding heart. I hurried through the darkness and down the stairs to my parents’ room. I tried to step softly so the stairs wouldn’t creak.
Our hundred-year-old house often creaked and popped at night. Dad said it was the sounds of the old wood and adobe settling as the night cooled down. But it still sounded scary.
Dad was out of town for work, and I felt bad waking Mom up, but I had to talk to her. I stood in the doorway. The moonlight shone through Mom’s white curtains. I felt a little less frightened already.
“Mom?” I called softly.
She turned over. “What’s the matter?”
“I had a bad dream again.”
“Oh no. Come snuggle with me, OK?”
Relieved, I climbed into the big bed. The sheets felt cool and soft. Mom hugged me tightly. “Do you want to tell me about it?”
“It was the dream with the giant shark.”
“You’ve had that dream before,” Mom said. I nodded and tucked my head under Mom’s chin. “Well, you’re safe, sweetheart. Sleep here with me until morning. After school tomorrow, we can talk some more.”
All day I wondered what Mom would say after school about my scary dreams. The shark dream wasn’t the only one. Sometimes I dreamed about a prickly monster. One night I even dreamed that my family was in a car accident.
My dreams really bothered me. Sometimes I screamed and cried in the night. I even felt afraid to fall asleep.
After school, I sat down with Mom. “Are you still thinking about the giant shark?” Mom asked.
I nodded.
“What do you think you’re going to do about those scary dreams?”
“Mom, they’re dreams. I didn’t make them start. I don’t think I can make them stop.”
“Probably not by yourself,” Mom said. “But there’s someone I ask for help when I have a problem I can’t solve by myself.”
“You mean Heavenly Father!” I said.
“Right! You can ask Heavenly Father to help you sleep well at night, with no bad dreams.”
“In my prayers before bed?”
“Then, and any other time you’re thinking about it. I know He will listen to you and help you.”
“How do you know?” I asked.
“I ask Heavenly Father about problems a lot, and He helps me. Just this morning I asked Him what to do about your scary dreams.”
“Did He help you?”
“Yes. I had the idea that you should pray about your dreams, and when that idea came to my mind, I felt the Holy Ghost telling me it was a good thing to do.”
“How did it feel?”
“I felt warm and happy, and I felt sure everything would be OK,” Mom said. “Do you know what I mean?”
“I think so,” I said. And then I noticed that I felt warm and happy inside. “Mom, that’s how I feel right now!” I said.
“That’s the Holy Ghost telling you that what you’re learning is right,” Mom said.
That night, and every night for a long time afterward, I prayed that I could sleep well with no bad dreams. My bad dreams didn’t come back. Heavenly Father answered my prayer.

All afternoon the children had filled the house with happy sounds of play and laughter. But toward evening, when Joseph Smith came with news that some wicked men had gathered into a mob and were looking for him to do him harm, a feeling of worry and fear settled over everyone.
A few minutes later some friends of “Brother Joseph” also came to the house and offered to help him escape or to stay all night and act as guards against the mob.
Instead of the lighthearted play of the afternoon, the children’s thoughts were now heavy with concern. They loved Brother Joseph. He always had a smile and a pleasant word for them, and never seemed in too much of a hurry to stop and talk with them as he walked about the streets of Kirtland, Ohio.
As the adults discussed how the Prophet could be protected, the children went with their playmates to Mother’s bedroom to talk about how they might be able to help their beloved friend.
The oldest boy was just ten and the youngest child only four years old. In solemn whispers they made their suggestions, but no one had any solution until a seven-year-old girl quietly said, “I know what we can do. We can pray and ask our Father in heaven to keep Brother Joseph safe from harm.”
At that very moment Mother passed by the partly opened door and overheard the suggestion. She hurried to the room where the men were talking and whispered something to the Prophet Joseph. He excused himself and went with her, and they arrived at the bedroom door just in time to see the children kneeling together and to hear their simple prayer for his safety.
Tears filled his eyes and then rolled down his cheeks. And as the children arose from their knees by the bedside, he heard one of them say, “I know Brother Joseph will be safe now. The wicked men can’t hurt him at all.” And he saw the other children nod in agreement.
He wiped his eyes and returned to the room where the men were still discussing his safety. Joseph Smith thanked them but assured them they need have no fear for his safety. He urged them to go to their own homes and rest, saying he no longer needed to worry about escape or about being guarded throughout the night, for he knew that the prayers of the children had been heard.
Everyone rested in peace that night and the next morning the thankful children had breakfast with their beloved Prophet Joseph Smith.

“Mommy,” Marla called, frowning, “I’m hungry!”
“Lunch isn’t ready yet, but while you wait, you can play a game,” said Mother.
Marla’s frown vanished. “OK!”
Mother picked up a ball of string, opened the back door, and said, “Follow me.”
Marla skipped along beside her mother. The sun danced on Mother’s hair as they made a big circle with the string in the yard.
“Inside this circle,” Mother explained, “are many wonders of God’s world. While I’m fixing lunch, I want you to count them.”
Marla’s smile faded. “All I see is grass.”
“Look carefully. Not all of God’s wonders are big,” Mother explained.
Marla squatted inside the circle. She spied a purple violet blooming.
Next, she discovered an acorn missed by the squirrels. The brown shell had cracked open, and a sprout was curling out of it. Marla gazed at the tall, leafy branches above her. Will this little sprout grow that big? she wondered.
Nearby an earthworm poked its way through the earth, seeming to wave hello.
Her eyes now saw tiny ants zigzagging through their grass jungle.
When Mother returned, Marla proudly shared her discoveries with her.
“What a good detective you are,” Mother praised her. “But I see one of God’s wonders that you missed—a very large one, compared to all these others.”
“Where? Where?” Marla asked, looking around.
“Why, you, of course!” Mother told her. “You’re the most special of God’s wonders in that circle to me.”

When I returned home, I went to my room, knelt on the floor, and began a sincere conversation with Heavenly Father. I told Him that I felt something special about the Mormon Church but that I didn’t want the adversary to delude me. I prayed that He would help resolve my confusion and show me which church was true.
Afterward I felt a great desire to read the Book of Mormon. I prayed again for strength and direction. During my prayer, I felt a strong and good feeling—an interior warmth. I knew I was not alone at that moment. A thought came instantly into my head: “Read the book!”
I opened it and began reading. Before I had finished the introduction, tears began running down my face as the Lord revealed to me the mystery of the Native Americans. The Book of Mormon seemed prepared especially to respond to my concerns. I felt great joy to have my questions answered. It was as though the ancient Americans had spoken from their graves to tell me about their lives and to testify that they also knew Jesus and that He had suffered for them as well.
Amazed with my discovery, I sought out the missionaries and listened to their lessons. On Easter Sunday, March 31, 1991, I descended into the waters of baptism—the best decision I had ever made.

When my mission ended, all those experiences helped me stay hopeful in the chaotic and superficial world back home. I returned home at a very difficult time for my family and my country. There were many political and economic problems, and many families were emigrating to other countries because of the lack of employment and education opportunities. I couldn’t believe that things had changed so much in such a short time, even within my own family. Some of my loved ones and friends had also passed away. I felt so overwhelmed with all the difficulties surrounding me.
One day, feeling discouraged, I took out my study notebook and began to write about the feelings in my heart. I thought of the many experiences I had had while serving others on my mission. Recalling those special experiences was exactly what I needed to lose myself even more in His work, to serve and continue to develop the gifts that He has blessed me with. That day a very special phrase that my mission president’s wife always repeated to us stood out to me: “You can do hard things.” I have tried to remember that continuously, including while learning to use a prosthetic hand and trying to live a normal life.

From England:
“In my calling as branch president, I decided one day to invite our whole community to join us in fasting [and giving a fast offering] for the people of Ethiopia. I had 4,000 leaflets produced, which we distributed to homes in our area.
“One of the leaflets was delivered to a nonmember, and his wife felt impressed to take part. It was the name of the Church on the leaflet which first impressed them.
“The husband came to the chapel with the fast offering as invited, and I met him there. I gave him a tour of our small building, shared my testimony with him, and invited him to come to church Sunday. He came, and I introduced him to our missionaries, who arranged to call on the home.
“I was privileged to join with the missionaries on several joint teaching visits, and I developed a close relationship with the family.
“On the evening of March 2, the night before the date I had set, I baptized the wife. Her husband will follow soon, and their daughter.
“We have now met other families through this one, who are being taught. As for my wife and me, we have set another date!”

I recall an experience with a zone leader in England who came to me during the lunch break at zone conference. He said, “We are teaching a lady who is blind and nearly deaf. She wants to know if the Book of Mormon is true. What shall we do?” I did not have an answer at that moment, but I said, “I will let you know after our conference.” During the afternoon session I had the distinct impression come as to how to help her. After the meeting I said to the zone leader, “Have this sister hold her copy of the Book of Mormon and turn its pages very slowly. When she has done this, have her ask if it is true.” Though she could not read nor hear the words, she felt the spirit and power of the Book of Mormon, and it changed her life.

Two years ago, in beautiful Heber Valley just east of Salt Lake City, a loving mother and devoted father returned to that personal haven called home to discover that their three eldest sons lay dead. The night was bitter cold, and the fierce wind swept the falling snow, which covered the chimney, releasing deadly carbon monoxide fumes throughout the house.
The joint funeral service for the Keller boys was one of the most touching experiences of my life. The residents of the community had placed aside their daily tasks, children were excused from school, and all thronged to the chapel to express their deep feelings of condolence. So long as time and memory endure, I shall remember the scene of three shiny caskets, followed by grief-stricken parents and grandparents making their way to the front of the building.
The first speaker was the wrestling coach of the local high school. He paid tribute to Louis, the oldest boy. With an emotion-filled voice, and choking back the tears, he told how Louis was not necessarily the most gifted wrestler on the team, but added, “No one tried harder. What he lacked in athletic skill he made up with a determined heart.”
Then a youth leader spoke of Travis. He told how Travis had excelled in Scouting, in Aaronic Priesthood work, and was such a sterling example to his friends.
Finally, a distinguished appearing and obviously competent elementary school teacher told of Jason, the youngest of the three. She described him as quiet, even shy. Then, without embarrassment, she told how Jason had, in the scrawled penmanship of a boy, sent to her the sweetest and most welcome letter she had ever received. Its message was brief—just three words: “I love you.” She could barely complete her talk, so deep-felt were her emotions.
Through the tears and the sorrow of that special day, I observed eternal lessons that had been taught by those boys whose lives were honored and whose mortal missions concluded.
A coach expressed the determination to look beyond athletic prowess and into the heart of each boy. A youth leader made a solemn vow that every boy and girl would have the benefit which the program of the Church provided. An elementary school teacher looked at the small children, classmates of Jason. She said nothing, but her eyes revealed the determination of her soul. The message was unmistakably clear: “I will love each child. Each boy, each girl will be guided in the search for truth, in the development of talent, and be introduced to the wonderful world of service.”
And the audience, including Elders Marvin J. Ashton and Thomas S. Monson, will never again be the same. All will strive toward that perfection spoken of by the Master. Our inspiration? The lives of the boys who now rest from care and sorrow, and the fortitude of parents who trust in the Lord with all their hearts, who lean not to their own understanding, and who in all their ways acknowledge Him, knowing that He will direct their paths. (See Prov. 3:5–6.)
Let me share with you a portion of a letter sent to me by the noble mother of these three sons. It was written soon after their passing.
“We do have days and nights that right now seem so overwhelming. The change in our home life has been so drastic. With almost half our family gone now, the cooking, washing, and even shopping are different. We miss the noise and clutter, the teasing and playing together. Such are gone. Sunday is so quiet. We miss seeing the sacrament blessed and passed by our sons. Sunday was truly our family together day. We ponder the thought: no missions, no weddings, no grandchildren. We would not ask for their return, but we could not say we would ever have willingly given them up. We have returned to our Church duties and our family responsibilities. Our desire is to so live that the Keller family will be a forever family.”

We had gone up the canyon to study, but the mountain air and warm sunshine made it too relaxing to concentrate. So I just lay there in a kind of sleepy intoxication while Sarah continued her story. I rolled over to let the sun warm my face when I noticed two young boys climbing the mountain beside us—a trek that was pretty rough going. As the boys pulled themselves up by grasping branches and roots as anchors, rocks and earth under them slid down into the water. Sometimes the roots they grabbed pulled right out of the dirt, and they would slide down the face until they found something to grab onto. The small avalanche they created continued without them into the water below.
Sarah had finished talking, and I looked over and saw the boys had finally made it to the top of the mountain. Self-satisfied, they happily scanned the world from their new vantage point and never noticed the scars they had left on the fragile mountainside.