Gospel Story Finder

I saw an example of this principle in nature when I was an undergraduate student working as a diver in Monterey Bay, California. One of my duties was to go with my dive Buddy Chris in search of specific invertebrate animals for the lab classes of the professor we worked for. Our favorite place to dive was a site called Deep Reef. This was a massive granite reef about 80-90 feet below the surface.

We went there because we knew that is where millions of invertebrates decided to settle.

I use the word decided because many marine invertebrate animals have a larval stage at the beginning of their life cycle that swims around in the water column for a time before settling, metamorphosing and then cementing themselves to the bottom where they will spend the rest of their life which could be short or long depending on where they choose to settle.

There is a large body of literature that deals with how these larvae make their choice. Some of what we know so far indicates that they use certain cues that originate from the surface of different structures indicating what elements or minerals are present, or what food availability exists, or even if other organisms of their own kind are nearby. Some larvae will actually flutter close to the bottom, bouncing up and down as they probe and try to get a good reading before making their decision. Many larvae make a good choice and yet for some reason, others make a poor choice and put their lives in danger.

I found that those larvae that chose to settle on small pieces of granite rock broke off and now unassociated with the massive reef or even on the fringes and outcroppings of the reef itself were easy prey for me. I would simply pick them up or knock them off the edge and put them in my bag and take them to their doom. But those animals that chose to settle firmly centered on that massive granite reef structure, closely associated with others of their own kind were impossible for me to collect effectively.

Many of you here today are in your larval stage and must soon make a choice as to where you will settle and metamorphose, which will affect the rest of your life. What cues are you using to help you in your decision? Will you settle in the center of the rock of Christ, firmly attached and supported by others who have made the same choice or will you choose some other option, on the fringes or completely unassociated?

I have spoken here of heavenly help, of angels dispatched to bless us in time of need. But when we speak of those who are instruments in the hand of God, we are reminded that not all angels are from the other side of the veil. Some of them we walk with and talk with—here, now, every day. Some of them reside in our own neighborhoods. Some of them gave birth to us, and in my case, one of them consented to marry me. Indeed heaven never seems closer than when we see the love of God manifested in the kindness and devotion of people so good and so pure that angelic is the only word that comes to mind. Elder James Dunn, from this pulpit just moments ago, used that word in his invocation to describe this Primary choir—and why not? With the spirit, faces, and voices of those children in our mind and before our eyes, may I share with you an account by my friend and BYU colleague, the late Clyn D. Barrus. I do so with the permission of his wife, Marilyn, and their family.

Referring to his childhood on a large Idaho farm, Brother Barrus spoke of his nightly assignment to round up the cows at milking time. Because the cows pastured in a field bordered by the occasionally treacherous Teton River, the strict rule in the Barrus household was that during the spring flood season, the children were never to go after any cows who ventured across the river. They were always to return home and seek mature help.

One Saturday just after his seventh birthday, Brother Barrus’s parents promised the family a night at the movies if the chores were done on time. But when young Clyn arrived at the pasture, the cows he sought had crossed the river, even though it was running at high flood stage. Knowing his rare night at the movies was in jeopardy, he decided to go after the cows himself, even though he had been warned many times never to do so.

As the seven-year-old urged his old horse, Banner, down into the cold, swift stream, the horse’s head barely cleared the water. An adult sitting on the horse would have been safe, but at Brother Barrus’s tender age, the current completely covered him except when the horse lunged forward several times, bringing Clyn’s head above water just enough to gasp for air.

Here I turn to Brother Barrus’s own words:
“When Banner finally climbed the other bank, I realized that my life had been in grave danger and that I had done a terrible thing—I had knowingly disobeyed my father. I felt that I could redeem myself only by bringing the cows home safely. Maybe then my father would forgive me. But it was already dusk, and I didn’t know for sure where I was. Despair overwhelmed me. I was wet and cold, lost and afraid.
“I climbed down from old Banner, fell to the ground by his feet, and began to cry. Between thick sobs, I tried to offer a prayer, repeating over and over to my Father in Heaven, ‘I’m sorry. Forgive me! I’m sorry. Forgive me!’
“I prayed for a long time. When I finally looked up, I saw through my tears a figure dressed in white walking toward me. In the dark, I felt certain it must be an angel sent in answer to my prayers. I did not move or make a sound as the figure approached, so overwhelmed was I by what I saw. Would the Lord really send an angel to me, who had been so disobedient?
“Then a familiar voice said, ‘Son, I’ve been looking for you.’ In the darkness I recognized the voice of my father and ran to his outstretched arms. He held me tightly, then said gently, ‘I was worried. I’m glad I found you.’
“I tried to tell him how sorry I was, but only disjointed words came out of my trembling lips—‘Thank you … darkness … afraid … river … alone.’ Later that night I learned that when I had not returned from the pasture, my father had come looking for me. When neither I nor the cows were to be found, he knew I had crossed the river and was in danger. Because it was dark and time was of the essence, he removed his clothes down to his long white thermal underwear, tied his shoes around his neck, and swam a treacherous river to rescue a wayward son.”

Nate was walking home from school on Monday. He saw something shiny. It was a yellow truck in a sandbox. Yellow was his favorite color! He put the truck in his pocket.
At home, Nate took out the truck to play. But when he looked at it, he didn’t feel so good.
On Tuesday, Nate passed the sandbox again. This time he saw an orange truck.
This will go great with the yellow truck, Nate thought. He put it in his pocket. But when Nate got home, he felt bad inside.
The same thing happened Wednesday, when Nate took a purple truck.
On Thursday he took a green truck.
Each time he took a truck, Nate felt worse. But he still wanted to collect more.
On Friday, as Nate reached to grab a white truck from the sandbox, he heard a voice above him.
“I see you like trucks.”
Nate jumped back. A woman was smiling at him.
“My son, Cayden, is about your age,” the woman said. “He has been losing a lot of trucks lately. Do you know where they are?”
Nate gulped. He knew he was in trouble. But he also knew that telling the truth was the right thing.
“I have them at my house,” Nate said. “I’ll go get them!”
Nate ran home. He told Mom what had happened. They said a prayer. Nate told Heavenly Father he was sorry. He asked for the bad feelings to go away. Then they took the trucks back to the sandbox.
“Sorry I took your trucks,” Nate said to Cayden.
“Thanks for bringing them back,” Cayden said. “Want to play?”
Nate smiled and nodded. Playing with trucks had never been so fun. And next week, he would make better choices!

Live theater was my passion! As a young adult, I threw myself into acting and singing on the stage. I was blessed with talent and hoped to establish a career performing professionally. I won the most challenging roles I could get and always behaved professionally in order to win the respect of my fellow thespians.
I was thrilled when the most influential director in our area told me that he would be holding auditions for an operetta and that he wanted me to try out. The show would be performed in our area’s most prestigious venue, and it seemed that my director friend already had me in mind for the leading role.
The script was unavailable for perusal before the audition, but the operetta was based on a novel by an 18th-century philosopher, which I read. I also became familiar with the show’s music, which was exceptionally beautiful and challenging.
The audition went well, and I was soon informed that the leading role—the most important part—was mine! I believed that this role was a huge opportunity.
I walked on clouds of excitement—until the script arrived. As I read it, my elation rapidly floated away. While the novel and the music were worthy, the script was irreverent and contained suggestive and inappropriate stage directions. I knew that I shouldn’t be involved in this production. It was a terrible disappointment.
Suddenly I had a dilemma. Theater etiquette dictates that after accepting a role, an actor does not quit because the production schedule does not allow time for changes in cast. Backing out now would be considered very unprofessional. I feared losing the trust of the theater company, offending the director, and even losing the opportunity to continue performing elsewhere.
Of course, I was tempted to rationalize! A voice strutted across my mind, proclaiming, “You can’t quit now. The script isn’t so bad. The good in the show will make up for the naughty parts.” But the Holy Spirit was always in the wings of my heart—firmly, patiently, unwaveringly cuing me that I needed to exit the operetta.
I knew what I had to do. Trembling, I picked up the phone and dialed the director.
“Hello, sir,” I said when he answered. “This is Annie.”
“Annie! I’m so excited about the show. Did you get the script?”
“Yes, I did, and I … I …”
I burst into tears. Talk about unprofessional!
Somehow, between sobs, I managed to explain to the director why I could not be in his show. And then I waited for the world to end.
The dear man laughed. He respected my choice. At first he tried to talk me into staying with the show, but he relented. He said he would still adore me even if I didn’t want to be in his operetta. And he simply asked me to bring the script to him right away so that he could give it to somebody else. I hung up the phone, mortified at my weeping but grateful for the director’s affectionate, understanding response.
I wiped away my tears and then grabbed the script and jumped into my car. As the engine started, the radio also came to life. It was preset to the local classical music station, and to my amazement, the tune playing was the overture of the very same operetta. I had never ever heard it played on the radio before.
I felt like Heavenly Father was playing this music for me. He wanted me to understand that He loved me and that He approved of my choice. The music coming over the airwaves was one of God’s tender mercies. Through it I felt the comfort of His love.

President Brigham Young grew to know that God provides for those who give freely of their substance to others. He wrote:
The first year that I came into this valley I had not flour enough to last my family until harvest, and that I had brought with me, and persons were coming to my house every day for bread. I had the blues about [it] one day; I went down to the old fort, and by the time I got back to my house I was completely cured. I said to my wife, “Do not let a person come here for food and go away empty handed, for if you do we shall suffer before harvest; but if you give to every individual that comes we shall have enough to last us through.’
I have proven this many a time, and we have again proven it this year. I have plenty on hand, and shall have plenty, if I keep giving away. More than two hundred persons eat from my provisions every day, besides my own family and those who work for me.
I intend to keep doing so, that my bread may hold out, for if I do not I shall come short.
Do you believe that principle? I know it is true, because I have proven it so many times. [JD 3:332–33]

A major goal of Aaronic Priesthood quorums is to offer opportunity for significant service. The Aaronic Priesthood Quorum Guidebook helps train presidencies to plan and carry out such quorum activities.
For example the teachers quorum in the Grandview First Ward, Salt Lake Wilford Stake, had a project to serve others anonymously—an idea that excited even normally uninvolved quorum members. On one occasion when the ward Young Men president was digging a root cellar, the boys finished the job in the middle of the night and then left their calling cards: “The Grandview Ward Phantoms.”
They also baked bread and pies—with help from mothers—and left them on neighbor’s doorsteps. They dug out snowbound driveways and sent cards to those who were sick. Tangible rewards of service were immediately apparent to the busy teachers quorum president when one of his quorum members secretly repaired his bicycle for him, leaving only the “Phantom” calling card as explanation.

“What’s wrong?” Carol’s mother asked as they cleared away the dinner dishes. “Your birthday is just a week away and I thought you’d be happy and excited. It’s always been such fun to have your birthday in December. Your father and I named you Carol because having you for a daughter makes it seem like Christmas all year round.”
“I’ve always been excited before, but this year is different,” Carol answered.
Her mother looked puzzled. “What’s different about this year?”
“Well,” Carol began, “today at school Julie, Kay, and Krista decided to have a birthday party for me and they want it to be a caroling birthday party.”
“That sounds fun!” her mother exclaimed. “And I’ll make some hot chocolate for everyone. But why aren’t you happy about the party?”
“Mom, you don’t understand. You know I can’t sing. All that comes out when I try is a squeaky and embarrassing sound, especially when compared to the beautiful sounds Julie and Krista make when they sing. I love to hear them,” Carol explained.
“Everyone can sing,” declared her mother. “And I’ve always enjoyed listening to your singing.”
“That’s just because you’re my mother and so it doesn’t count,” Carol said. “You love me anyway, no matter how I sound.”
“Indeed I do,” Carol’s mother answered as she finished washing the last dish. “And I hope you won’t let the party plans spoil your birthday.”
For the next two days Carol thought about her problem. How could she go on a caroling party and not let everyone hear her squeaky voice?
She suggested that the party be changed to a sleigh ride, but the girls said they’d rather go caroling.
I wonder if I could learn to sing before the party, she thought, trying to be a better sport.
Every time she was alone she would practice “Oh Come, All Ye Faithful,” and “Joy to the World,” but the songs didn’t sound at all the way Julie or Krista sang them. Her voice squeaked and cracked and she couldn’t reach the high notes.
“Why does my birthday have to be in December?” she grumbled. “But the party’s for me so I have to go.”
John, her little brother, poked his head into her room and teased, “If I were you, I’d just mouth the words!” Then he laughed and hurried to shut the door before she could answer.
“Very funny,” Carol called after him and threw a pillow toward the closed door.
Sitting glumly on the edge of the bed, Carol suddenly beamed, “That’s just what I’ll do,” she said. “I’ll mouth the words. No one will even hear my squeaking.”
That night as she and her mother were doing the dishes, she confided. “I’ve figured out how to have fun at my party.”
“I’m glad,” her mother answered. “I’m sure you’ll have a good time.”
The night of the party, Carol bundled up in her warmest clothes and left with a big smile on her face.
“Happy birthday,” Julie and Krista greeted.
“We’ve never been caroling before. We can hardly wait,” several other girls said.
“We’re all here,” Kay shouted. “Let’s go.”
The group stopped first at Mrs. Caulder’s house where strains of “O Little Town of Bethlehem” floated onto the crisp night air. Carol moved her mouth with each word but didn’t make a sound.
This is great, Carol thought, as they walked on. I’m going to have a good birthday party after all.
“Do you have a cold or something?” Kay asked Carol. “You haven’t been singing.”
Carol was embarrassed. “I didn’t think anyone would notice.”
“What do you mean?” Kay persisted.
Carol tried to laugh. “I wasn’t singing because I can’t.”
“Neither can I,” Kay admitted.
“But you were singing!” Carol said.
“Sure! Anybody can sing Christmas carols. They’re so beautiful they make you forget everything else!”
“Not if you have a squeaky voice like mine!” Carol argued.
“Mine’s funny too. But I just think about the words,” Kay explained. “I could never sing a solo, but in a group like this it’s great.”
Think about the words, Carol reminded herself as the girls began singing “Silent Night” at the Langstons.
Carol listened carefully to Kay—“Round yon virgin mother and Child, Holy Infant, so tender and mild.”
Kay’s voice strained at the notes and squeaked almost as much as Carol’s, but the words came out loud and clear and full of meaning.
Carol joined in the third verse, but the squeaks and high notes were still there. She strained and tried harder, but nothing helped. She was sure Krista was staring at her out of the corner of her eye.
“I can’t do it,” Carol said to Kay as they walked on.
“You’re still worrying about the notes,” Kay said. “Think about the words instead.”
“I’ll try,” Carol promised.
The crisp winter air became colder as the girls moved on to the next house and started singing.
Carol took a deep breath and joined in, “Hark! the herald angels sing.” At first the words came softly and reluctantly, but as she thought about their meaning, Carol sang with enthusiasm. “With th’ angelic host proclaim Christ is born in Bethlehem!” Her heart suddenly took over and she felt as if she just had to let the whole world hear those beautiful words.
“Wow,” Krista whispered to Carol as they walked on. “You really sing with feeling. Everyone is sure to get the Christmas spirit when you’re around.”
“But I don’t have a beautiful voice like yours,” Carol protested.
“That doesn’t matter,” Krista said. “It’s the enthusiasm that counts.”
“That’s right,” Kay agreed, and winked at Carol.
“Let’s sing ‘Carol’s carol’ again,” Julie called as the group stopped before the next house. “That sounded great.”
Carol’s heart was filled with happiness as she thought of the meaning of the words and then sang out with the other girls, “Glory to the newborn King!”

Next week I will have the opportunity to go to the House of the Lord in order to perform sacred temple ordinances on behalf of a cousin who did not live long enough to complete these for himself. His life ended tragically in the company of a supposed friend early one cold, wet autumn morning, when the car he was riding in careened off the road, hit a telephone pole, and then was literally ripped in half when it slammed into a tree. Members of his extended family would like to believe that my cousin died instantly, since the injuries that his body sustained were too horrific to describe. It was no longer a fit or sustainable tabernacle for his spirit, and thus a merciful God allowed his mortal probation to come to an end there amidst the dead leaves and litter at the side of a road in the hilly midlands of Staten Island, New York.

While I am in no position to judge him, I fear that my cousin was still woefully unprepared when his life ended. He had experienced a very tempestuous and violent youth, and his adulthood was marred by perverse and even satanic practices that he encountered and too frequently embraced when he wandered into "forbidden paths" and became lost. Nevertheless, he and I stayed in touch over the years and we conversed frequently on the phone or via email. I had grown up viewing him as a wayward younger brother, born out of season and out of context, who should have been an heir to the blessings of the gospel had things worked out differently for him. Despite his many incorrect choices, I was not ready to abandon him. As time passed we spoke with increasing frequency about gospel-related topics and about the purpose of our life here on Earth. In small but consistent increments I could see his heart softening, and I was quite confident that one day, with the Savior's help, he would be strong enough to turn away from his sinful past and enter the waters of baptism. I had looked forward to that day, had prayed for that day, and had worked toward that day. When I was a young man, I had made a promise to my grandmother that I would not forget my cousin nor would I fail to stay in contact with him, no matter how troubled he might be or how much trouble he might find himself in. I'd like to believe that I kept that promise while my cousin lived, and by completing his temple work, I shall continue to keep that promise now that he has passed beyond this life.

The Savior taught: "Thou shalt live together in love, insomuch that thou shalt weep for the loss of them that die, and more especially for those that have not hope of a glorious resurrection. And it shall come to pass that those that die in me shall not taste of death, for it shall be sweet unto them; and they that die not in me, wo unto them, for their death is bitter" (D&C 42:45-47).

My cousin lost his life, based in part on his own choices and, more specifically, as the direct consequence of the driver of the car in which he rode being incapacitated by drugs and alcohol. That man how faces many years in prison as a result of his choices and their tragic consequences. I do not believe that my cousin was ready to leave this life so soon, but I do believe that he had already reversed his fall and was moving with increasing speed in the right direction.

James Henry Rollins, a refugee from the mobs in Missouri, moved his family to Nauvoo and sought the Prophet’s help: “I went with him to his store and he asked Newell K. Whitney if he had any work for me to do. He replied nothing that he knew of then, that he had sufficient help at present. Joseph said to me, ‘I have work for you’ and he took me thro in the back of the store and showed me about the cords of hickory wood. He asked me if I were a good hand with the axe. I laughed and said, ‘Well, some little.’ He said the clerks here were too shiftless to cut their own wood. I asked him if he had a sharp ax. He turned to Lorin Walker and said, ‘Get the ax for him. I want him to chop up this wood,’ which I did and piled it up the same day. The next day he came to the store and unbarred the outside cellar door and he would unlock it from the outside. When the doors were opened and then asked me if I thot I could straighten up things and I told him I would try and see what I could do.
“He was pleased with the change I had made with the appearance of the cellar. …
“… At this time a good deal of work was being done on the Temple which the workmen received orders for their labor on the store.
“It was very much crowded for two or three days, and as I stood in the counting room door looking at the faces in the house, there were a great many very familiar with me, and they came to me as they were waiting for their pay, asked me if I could wait on them. Joseph being in the store at the time said to me, ‘Why don’t you wait on these people.’ I told him when I was ordered I would do so with pleasure. He then said, ‘go and wait on them.’ I then went to work behind the counter on the grocery side and payed off many orders this day and the next, the store being crowded constantly and at least 50 to 100 people to be waited on from morning until night and being so very close with so many present was very oppressive to us all.
“When Joseph came in, and saw us looking tired and pale, he told us to shut up the store that night and not open again for two or three days, which we did until we got rested. Then opened again for business” (“A Sketch of the Life of James Henry Rollins,” Archives of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, Salt Lake City, 1888, pp. 11–12).

Dear Topher,
You asked me in the letter I got from you yesterday if I was afraid to die. I guess I should be, kind of. But I don’t feel scared. Mom told me what Grandma Clanton said before she died about four years ago. She said she would be leaving Mom and the rest of us for just a little while and to not be frightened. She said she’d be happy and that we shouldn’t worry about her. That helped me a lot.
Another reason I’m not afraid is because I have a testimony of Jesus. He died so that we might all live again and so that families can be forever. I have an older brother in Heaven. Maybe I’ll be able to see him. And my Uncle Eugene. And my ancestors. I kind of got to know some of them when my parents were working on their family history. One of them, Nathan Twiggs, carried a chair on his back all the way across the plains—and not just so he would have something to sit on when he got tired walking! His grandfather, Thomas Twiggs, made it and used to sit on it with Nathan on his knees and read the Book of Mormon to him. Dad said it was in that chair that Thomas got his testimony.
If I could choose between staying or leaving, I would stay here on earth for a while because when I think of leaving my family, I feel sad. But Heavenly Father knows best, and Mom said that we were all probably both happy and sad when we left our heavenly parents to come down here.
Oh, I wish I could see that play you are going to be in, Topher! It sounds like it will be fun. I laughed when you said you brought a friend to dress rehearsal and you pointed to Bigfoot and said he was your bishop, and your friend said, “No wonder everyone is so reverent—I wouldn’t want to upset him, either!”
Take care of yourself, Topher. Kiss a kangaroo for me. I think they’re cute.
Your pen pal,
Cindy
Dear Topher,
I’m Cindy’s mother. You probably don’t know me. Or maybe you do, a little. Cindy most likely told you about her family in some of her letters. She’s told us a good deal about you.
Cindy passed away last week, Topher. She wanted me to tell you good-bye and that she would see you later. She said for you to work on your testimony every day because it will help make your trials much easier to bear. And you know what, Topher? It does. It does!
Write us when you can. We would like to keep in touch.
Love,
Cindy’s mom
Dear Cindy’s family,
I cried a lot when you told me about Cindy. Then, well, it’s hard to explain, but a warm feeling came over me. It felt like the sun when it pushes down through a bunch of dark, wet clouds. I know Cindy is happy, just as she said she would be. And what she said about you asking me to work on my testimony? Well, I am. I want one, too, so that when things get hard or confusing I can be strong—and happy, even when I’m sad.
I’ll write again soon.
Love,
Topher

They returned to work, and Oliver began to wonder if he could translate as well.30 He believed that God could work through instruments like seer stones, and he had occasionally used a divining rod to find water and minerals. Yet he was unsure if his rod worked by the power of God. The process of revelation was still a mystery to him.31
Joseph again brought Oliver’s questions to the Lord, and the Lord told Oliver that he had power to acquire knowledge if he asked in faith. The Lord confirmed that Oliver’s rod worked by the power of God, like Aaron’s rod in the Old Testament. He then taught Oliver more about revelation. “I will tell you in your mind and in your heart, by the Holy Ghost,” He declared. “Behold, this is the spirit of revelation.”
He also told Oliver that he could translate the record like Joseph did, as long as he relied on faith. “Remember,” the Lord said, “without faith you can do nothing.”32
After the revelation, Oliver was excited to translate. He followed Joseph’s example, but when the words did not come easily, he grew frustrated and confused.
Joseph saw his friend’s struggle and sympathized. It had taken him time to tune his heart and mind to the work of translation, but Oliver seemed to think he could master it quickly. It was not enough to have a spiritual gift. He had to cultivate and develop it over time for use in God’s work.
Oliver soon gave up on translating and asked Joseph why he had not been successful.
Joseph asked the Lord. “You have supposed that I would give it unto you, when you took no thought save it was to ask me,” the Lord replied. “You must study it out in your mind; then you must ask me if it be right.”
The Lord instructed Oliver to be patient. “It is not expedient that you should translate now,” He said. “The work which you are called to do is to write for my servant Joseph.” He promised Oliver other opportunities to translate later, but for now he was the scribe and Joseph was the seer.33

When I was 18, I was living in Lima, Peru, where I was born and raised. At that time my father came across a good friend he hadn’t seen in a long time.
My father was impressed that his friend looked younger and was well dressed. He asked his friend what had happened to him to create this transformation. “Did you just win the lottery?” he asked. The friend responded, “Well, something better than that. Now I am a Mormon, and I want to share the gospel with you and your family.”
My father thought his friend was joking, so he said, “OK, if you want to send your missionaries, do it.” But this man was very serious about it, and within a few days the missionaries came and knocked on our door. That was the beginning of a wonderful experience.

Today was Kvitka’s baptism day. She had been thinking about this day for a long time. She had imagined it all. Wearing a special white dress. Tato (Dad) baptizing her. And all her friends and family there, smiling proudly.
But today was going to be a bit different than Kvitka had imagined.
Some things were the same. She was wearing a special white dress, just like she imagined. Babusya (Grandma) had sewn this dress for Mama to be baptized in when she was young. And now it was Kvitka’s turn.
Tato was going to baptize her. Just like she had imagined. Kvitka watched him dip his hand into the water in the font.
“Nice and warm,” he said. He smiled at Kvitka. She smiled back. Then she looked at the chairs that she had helped Tato set up.
There weren’t many. That was the biggest difference. Kvitka had always imagined that many people would come to her baptism. But there would only be a few.
Ever since COVID-19 had started making people sick, many things were different. She and her little brother, Vlas, had school at home. They wore masks when they left their apartment. And nobody met in big groups. Not anywhere. Kvitka wanted to help keep people safe, but sometimes it was hard.
Like when you couldn’t invite everyone to your baptism.
“Kvitka! You look beautiful!”
Kvitka looked up to see Babusya walking through the door.
“Hi, Babusya!” Kvitka hopped off her chair and ran over.
“You look just like your mama did,” Babusya said. She touched the white flowers in Kvitka’s hair. They matched the lace flowers on her dress. Kvitka liked flowers. Her name meant “flower” in Ukrainian.
“Are you excited to get baptized?” Babusya asked.
“Yes,” Kvitka said. “Only, nobody is here.”
“Nobody!” Babusya said. She looked around. “But I see Mama, Tato, Vlas, and little Melania. And there’s the bishop. And even two missionaries. That’s not nobody.”
Kvitka shrugged. “But none of my friends are here.”
“That must make you sad,” Babusya said. “But we do have two surprise guests.”
Kvitka perked up. “Who?”
“Your aunt Pavlina,” Babusya said. “And your cousin Emma!”
“Really?” Kvitka asked eagerly.
Babusya smiled. “When they get here, will you do me a favor?”
Kvitka nodded. “What?”
“Well, when you get baptized, one thing you promise is to stand as a witness of Jesus Christ. Do you know what that means?”
Kvitka did know. Her family had been studying baptismal covenants for weeks!
“It means to be a missionary!”
“Very good,” Babusya said. “Your aunt and cousin have never been in one of our Church buildings before. Will you be a missionary and help give them a tour?”
“Yes!” Kvitka said.
When Aunt Pavlina and Emma arrived, Kvitka and Babusya did just that. They showed them the Primary room, her classroom, and the chapel. Then they came to the baptismal font. Kvitka told them she wanted to be baptized to follow Jesus Christ. She felt a light, comforting feeling as she spoke. Aunt Pavlina and Emma smiled at her. She hoped they felt the same feeling.
Soon it was time for the baptism. Kvitka held her breath as Tato dipped her all the way under the water—just like she had imagined. There may have only been a few people watching, but they were smiling just like she had imagined. And she was sure Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ were smiling down at her too. That was easy to imagine.

I knew of a couple in the Tongan islands who discovered what their mission together was. Years ago as a young missionary, I was impressed by this couple who were always helping the missionaries and others. Every time I went to their home I would find them reading the scriptures or making a meal for a missionary or taking care of a neighbor’s child or preparing a Relief Society lesson or doing some sort of service. They were not blessed with children of their own, but they were always helping other people’s children.

Years later, back in Tonga as the mission president, I was asked if I would visit an elderly widow named Luisa. When I was given the address, I realized it was the lady I had come to appreciate so many years before.

It was late afternoon when we drove up to her home. I was surprised to see that hardly anything had changed. It was a neat, clean home, but a very humble one. As I walked up to the house I noticed her waiting by the open door. As she held her hand out I realized that she had gone blind. Embracing her, I realized also that she had not long to stay in this life as she had a frail body of skin and bones.

We sat and visited, and she talked about her desire to help the “poor” people. I suggested that she may need some help herself. She kindly informed me that she was rich and had nothing to worry about.

I was a little confused and began to inquire. I found that she and her husband had often saved money to pay their air fare to the New Zealand Temple only to end up lending it to someone else who needed it more. When all the facts came out, I said to her, “Luisa, how can you say you don’t have anything to worry about? You have no husband, you have no children, you’re blind, you are in poor health, you live in a poor home, you haven’t been to the temple. How can you say you’re rich?”

Then she stopped all of my questions by quietly informing me that she was rich because she knew the Lord was pleased with her life. She said, “I know I will be with my husband soon. I know the Lord will bless us with a family. I may not have done all that I could do, but I know that the Lord is pleased with what I have done.”

Consider D&C 6:7, wherein the Lord says, “Seek not for riches but for wisdom, and behold, the mysteries of God shall be unfolded unto you, and then shall you be made rich. Behold, he that hath eternal life is rich.”

Luisa had taken the time to discover her mission and calling in life and had done whatever was necessary to fulfill it. She had obtained the “wisdom” spoken of.

Giselle
After we were sealed in the temple, a lot of things were not working well.
After September 11, 2001, it was hard for us to renew our visas. I was sad because I had just graduated from a community college and applied for a full scholarship at the University of Maryland. I didn’t get the scholarship, and the lab André worked for was closing.
We thought that maybe the time had come for us to go back to Brazil.
André
Our bishop told us we could help a lot of members in Brazil and grow in ways we might not in the United States. He counseled us to stay close to the Church.
“Go to Brazil and serve the Lord,” he said.
After living in Brazil for some time, our stake president came to our house and called me to serve as bishop. I somehow knew I was going to be called. For a couple of nights before my call, I couldn’t sleep. I was thinking and studying.
Giselle
I wondered what was going on. I saw him change before his call.
André
When I started my calling, our ward had 80 active members. When I was released, many more attended church regularly, and 12 missionaries went into the field from our ward. It was great!
Around the time I was released, President Dieter F. Uchtdorf was released from the First Presidency. I remember President Russell M. Nelson saying that President Uchtdorf had new and important responsibilities in the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles.
Three months later, I was called as first counselor in the mission presidency. I didn’t serve a mission, but I love my calling. I love working with the missionaries. The Lord knows me. He knew I needed to be released as bishop so I can serve in the time and place that is right for me now.

I sat in my motel room on a snowy January night, deeply discouraged. I had recently finished serving more than 34 years in prison for some serious crimes and injuries, and I was contemplating doing something that would have sent me straight back to where I had just been. My plans since my release had fallen apart—and as I had few resources and my prayers seemed to be going unanswered, my options felt limited.
A sound outside caught my attention. Looking out my window, I spotted the motel owner shoveling snow in the parking lot by himself. “Oh, that’s not right,” I thought, so I joined him. I didn’t think much of my act of service that night. But to my surprise, the next day the owner reduced the cost of my room. And while I stayed there over the following five weeks, he never asked me to pay full price.
His generosity was more than a financial blessing that I deeply needed. His kindness was also an answer to my prayer when I was losing hope. Through him, I understood that God was aware of me—and that I needed to take some steps to return to Him.

Sometimes familiarity and routine have the tendency to rob otherwise sacred moments of their full meaning. For me, I had let the sacrament lose some of its intended meaning. Each week, I listened to the sacred sacramental prayers while seated in nearly the same pew in the same chapel, surrounded by a familiar congregation.
But the COVID-19 pandemic disrupted this routine and reset my perspective.
Unable to join others in the chapel, I found myself receiving the sacrament in a new setting—gathered around my dining room table with my small family. Doing something familiar and routine in this new setting brought a fresh perspective and, with that new perspective, renewed meaning.
Although I had participated in the sacrament ordinance hundreds of times in my lifetime, doing it where I ordinarily joined my family for a meal and conversation highlighted the familial undertones of the sacrament in ways I hadn’t appreciated before.
One Sunday in particular, as I knelt and uttered the words, “We ask thee in the name of thy Son, Jesus Christ” (Moroni 4:3), my attention went to my precious four-year-old son sitting close to me. There he sat with his arms folded, listening to the prayer, radiating innocence and goodness.
With this brilliant sight in my mind, I continued to offer the prayer. As I spoke the words, “the body of thy Son,” a question entered my mind. What would it be like to willingly sacrifice this innocent son of mine and submit him to incomprehensible pain and suffering?
In a word, unimaginable.
Pondering this impossible question, I continued with the prayer. The words “take upon them the name of thy Son” brought another question to my mind. God is also a Father. How could He sacrifice His Son? As I looked at my other family members, who, like me, desperately needed the sacrament, the simple but profound answer came: divine love (see John 3:16).
It seemed as if the windows of heaven briefly opened to reveal a portion of our Heavenly Father’s pure love—so great a love that He sacrificed His truly innocent, perfect Son for us, His other children.
In view of this sacrifice, no matter the difficulties and inequities of life—including a deadly pandemic, disrupted economies, civil unrest, an unbelieving world, and general uncertainty—how could we seriously doubt His love for us?
Lest we forget, the sacrament serves as a weekly reminder of this deep and enduring love. In routinely considering the unparalleled gift of His Son, we can find comfort and overcome the temptation to doubt the Father’s love or concern for us during challenging times.
Without properly considering the eternal fatherhood of God and His role in Jesus Christ’s Atonement, the sacrament ordinance feels incomplete to me now. It stands as a constant reminder to me of the sacrifice of Jesus Christ and expression of Heavenly Father’s love for me.
And it is because of this lesson in love that I will always treasure our at-home sacrament experience.

My dad is not a member of the Church. Since my mom, brothers and sisters, and I are all active in the Church, we are sometimes at odds with him. There was a time in my life when my father and I just couldn’t seem to get along because he was unkind about my beliefs and I was angry at him for not agreeing with me.
In an effort to smooth things over between us, my mom tried to help me see things through Dad’s eyes. “How would a person without the gospel see this situation?” she asked me gently.
Since that time, I have thought a lot about what she said. I have tried to be more patient and forgiving, and I am trying to improve my relationship with my father.
It has helped me to know that Heavenly Father will not give me anything I can’t handle. It has also helped me to know that my earthly father loves me, even though we may not always agree. I still pray for my father to join the Church, but he now knows that I love and respect him no matter what.

There are moments in our lives that can shape our core selves. We usually don’t perceive at the time that these experiences will prove pivotal. We tend to regard them as fairly routine or mundane. It is only in the process of time that we come to sense something of their importance for us personally. Nor do these events have to involve spectacular happenings - some very “small and simple things” can imprint themselves on our minds and hearts and influence the pattern of our lives. I had one such experience as a six-year-old child.
The year was 1979, the location - Dublin, Ireland. The event was the building of the Finglas Chapel (now Dublin Ireland Stake centre). In those days members were expected to help with the manual labour of constructing a chapel. My Mother, brothers and I, went along to help. I was six. Nowadays young children would not be permitted on building sites and, obviously, there were limits to what we could do. So, we carried bricks from one portion of the site to another so that they could be used to construct the building and the carpark.
I don’t recall all that happened, but I do recall carrying what seemed like very heavy bricks. No doubt I was slow. I am sure that sometimes I wanted to play more than I wanted to work. I am confident that I contributed little to that great endeavour. But I look back upon that work with happiness. It helped to bring me to God and His Church - represented not just by bricks and mortar - but more crucially by God’s covenant cause.

Early in the 1500s William Tyndale saw the need to make an English translation of the Bible directly from the Hebrew and Greek text rather than from the Latin Vulgate. As a scholar trained in Latin, Hebrew, and Greek, Tyndale was able to identify many errors in the Latin translation and would often turn to the Hebrew and Greek texts in his teaching. But his work of translation was interrupted by church leaders who were opposed to the people having a knowledge of the scriptures. Tyndale was pursued and eventually imprisoned. He suffered mental and physical torment for 18 months, until 6 October 1536, when he was taken from his cell and tied to a stake. There he uttered a loud prayer: “Lord! open the king of England’s eyes.” Tyndale was strangled and burned at the stake for heresy.

Since then Tyndale has become known as the father of our present English Bible. About 92 percent of Tyndale’s translation survived in the English King James Version. It was prepared by a committee of scholars, printed in 1611, and widely used.