Gospel Story Finder

Like Sister Chieko N. Okazaki, I have discovered that some lives are woven together in a divine pattern of friendship and kindness (see Ensign, May 1993, page 84).
I was 15 years old when I came in contact with a pair of missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in my hometown of Tilburg, the Netherlands. My parents were charmed with these two young men, and when the missionaries asked if they could take me to church, my parents agreed. I was raised in a Christian home, so I did know of a Heavenly Father. But I had never thought about life or about his plan for us. At church and from the missionary discussions, I soon discovered the true gospel. My life changed, and I asked my parents for permission to be baptized. They refused, but that did not stop me from living according to the laws of Heavenly Father.
About this time, I became acquainted with Ans, a young woman who was a little bit older than I was. Later she told me that she had been searching for the truth and was so impressed by the enthusiasm I radiated that she decided to investigate the Church. She lived in another town, so our contact stayed rather superficial. However, I later learned that she joined the Church.
During this same time period, I took my friend Angela with me to a Young Adult camp. The experience convinced her to investigate the Church, and she was baptized several months later. She moved to the United States, but we stayed in contact and our friendship continued.
Unfortunately, my life took another direction after I introduced Ans and Angela to the gospel. I moved to Dordrecht and distanced myself from the Church and was not baptized. But no matter what I thought of the Church or what I was doing with my life, both Ans and Angela stayed in touch with me. They avoided talking about the gospel, but they were there for me when I had questions. I had not lost faith altogether, and it continued to work on my conscience. Then Ans moved closer to where I lived, and our friendship blossomed. She visited me often and showed her love for me in small, subtle ways.
I am now married to a wonderful husband and have two sweet children. About a year ago I came across a book in the public library about the history of the Church, and I checked it out. I was very touched by the book’s description of the hardships the pioneers endured; they were willing to go through many things because of the gospel. Reading the book revived my testimony. I knew the Church had to be true!
Great was their surprise when I told my friends that I wanted to be baptized. Ans and I shed many tears of happiness after my baptism. Angela could not be there, but I felt her support and encouragement.
I am very grateful to Heavenly Father for these friends. Our lives have been woven together over the years, and the pattern is getting more clear all the time. I truly believe what Sister Okazaki said: “We can never afford to be cruel or indifferent or ungenerous, because we are all connected, even if it is in a pattern that only God sees” (Ensign, May 1993, page 85).
My investigation of the Church lasted 15 years. And though the missionaries who first taught me were disappointed to see my testimony wither, their work wasn’t in vain. If they had not sown the seed, I wouldn’t be who I am today. I will never be able to thank them enough for what they did. The seeds they sowed I shared with others—and they, in turn, continued to nourish the seed in my heart until it flowered in joy and our hearts were woven together in faith and love.

Brother Carlstrom, in his daily journal, narrates the contentment he reveled in one evening: “We made camp. Some of us wanted to sleep on the beach, but after a while we were forced to higher ground by the unusually high tide. … The day’s end caught most of us watching the beauty of the coast as wild fowl flew … before us. As the sun sank … , it filled the sky with all shades of reds and oranges, with slight traces of pink. … It was replaced by the moon, almost full, as it came over the mountains in back of us, painting the ocean’s surface with flickering light. It was soon joined by other heavenly bodies and God’s handiwork was displayed before us. We had just received our compensation for an afternoon of hard, uphill riding, and we all were thankful.”

Li Hsiao-lung, 17, of the First Ward, said having a temple in Taipei continues a history of conversion in her life. “When my brother was baptized, he recognized that the gospel is precious. He decided to share this sweet fruit. He invited me to church, and I heard the missionary discussions. He got me excited about reading the scriptures. He taught me how to pray. Since I’ve been in the Church, I feel like my understanding keeps growing and growing. I think that when I go to the temple, it will help me to keep growing and understanding.”

One of the best inspiration stories I know is a football story about a young man playing fullback for the University of Oklahoma. The University of Oklahoma had gone ten years without losing a conference football game, had gone 47 straight games without losing to anyone: Army, Navy, Notre Dame, Texas, Alabama—you name the team—they played them and beat them. But on this particular day, while playing the University of Nebraska at Norman, Oklahoma, it looked as if they were going to be beaten. It was late in the game, they had the ball deep in their own territory, and they were behind. The winning streak was going to go down the drain, but in a second down and long-yardage situation, the ball was handed off to the tailback, a young man named Billy Vessels, who ran 67 yards for a touchdown that snatched victory from defeat. His run prolonged that great winning streak. The news media said, “That touchdown run was, without a doubt, the best run in the history of Oklahoma football and maybe in the history of football per se.”

On Monday, when the coaches looked at the film, they found that something strange had happened on this particular play. Billy Vessels did make a great run, but the play went differently than they had thought. The quarterback, Claude Arnold, took the snap from center and handed off to Vessels, the tailback, who was going to run around the right end. The fullback was a young man named Leon Heath; he wore number 40 on his jersey. His job on this play was to hook the end, to block him in, so Vessels could run around him. As the ball was snapped, the end came across too far. The average player would have thought, “Get back over there. The coach said you’d be right there. Get over there.” Players move around from time to time, and they are not always located where we coaches draw them on the board. Instead of trying to hook the end, Heath just drove him out of the play, and Vessels cut inside, got around the corner, and eventually was confronted by the cornerback. Vessels made a quick left, cut behind the line of scrimmage, and ran into the offside linebacker. What a hit! Two great athletes going full speed. Vessels was struggling to stay on his feet and eventually to break the tackle. Just when it looked as if he were going down, into the film came number 40, the man who had just blocked the end. Heath got a shoulder pad into the linebacker and knocked him off the tackle. Vessels spun free, balanced on his hand, headed for the sidelines and then for the tall grass of the end zone, which was about 60 yards away. Billy Vessels—six-foot-two, 210 pounds of Heisman-trophy-winning, All-American tailback—could run like the wind. As he was on his way to the end zone, here came the weak side safety, the man who plays on the weak side of the formation. You could see that he was going to get Vessels on about the 15-yard line. When Vessels got to the 25, he had to make up his mind what he was going to do—run over him, stop, call time, say “King’s X,” or something else. Just as he had to make up his mind, into the film came number 40, Leon Heath, moving like a freight train. He hit the safety, put him about eight rows up in the grandstand, and Vessels walked into the end zone for the greatest run in the history of Oklahoma football.

That’s an inspiring performance. If you and I are going to get where we would like to get eventually, we had better follow Heath’s example and not only complete that first assignment but also go get a linebacker. And if we really want an exalted hereafter, we had better hitch up our belts and go get the safety.

On October 25, 1995, Derrick Parke, of Carey, Idaho, died suddenly of a heart defect while playing racquetball with a friend. At the time of his death, he was attending his first semester at Ricks College and had just completed his mission papers. Derrick was known as an outstanding athlete in football, basketball, and track. He was an example to many for his sportsmanship, athletic ability, integrity, and kindness. The following is adapted from his father’s talk, given at his funeral.
As the bishop of the Carey First Ward, I was given the unique opportunity to interview my own son prior to filling out his mission papers. When the interview came to a close, and Derrick was about to sign his name on the line, I said, “Derrick, wait a minute. I want all the cards on top of the table. Are you worthy to go on this mission?”
He then looked me straight in the eyes and said, “Dad, I am.” And with that, he took the pen in hand and signed his mission papers.
Three days later he died.
But I don’t think that this was coincidental. Heavenly Father had a hand in this. I know that Derrick had a far greater mission to attend to, and that’s why he was taken. As I look back upon his life, there was never a better time for him to go. It was Derrick’s time to go home; he was ready. He lived his life in such a way that he was ready.
The walls of Derrick’s room are covered with laminated pictures of his success stories in sports; his trophies line the foot of his bed. But at the head of his bed is an 8-by-11-inch picture of the Savior. Derrick had his priorities in order. He knew what was first. He knew that the Lord was first, and that these other things were second.
I know that many young people would envy some of the successes that he’s had in sports. But the greatest success is to have the Savior by the head of your bed and to recognize that great blessing in your life. I know that we are an eternal family, and I know that Derrick knows that too. And Derrick knows that because he understood why he was on the earth.
It was this understanding that drove Derrick to do what is right. I know he had his personal prayers. He read the scriptures and attended seminary. The way Derrick lived his life showed that he loved the Savior.
President Boyd K. Packer once said that most people live and die, without knowing why they are here (see Ensign, Nov. 1983, p. 16). But that was not the case with Derrick. He knew why he was here. He had a strong testimony of the gospel of Jesus Christ. Not only was he desirous to be a missionary, but he was willing to pay the price to be worthy to serve a mission. And like everything else he did, he paid the price.
And because of this, he was ready to serve wherever the Lord chose to call him. It just so happened that the Lord called him home.

This difficulty of understanding about water recalls the story of a sailing ship that had become disabled in a storm. It drifted aimlessly for many days. The crew and passengers became famished and parched from lack of food and water. Finally another ship came into view. They signaled frantically for water. The other ship replied, “Let down your buckets where you are.” This communication made no sense at all, for they supposed they were far out to sea in typical ocean water. Again the famished ones requested water. Again the signal came, “Let down your buckets where you are.” They could not know that they had drifted into the mouth of a great river and that the water beneath them was fresh and could save their lives. The water of life lay just beneath them, yet they were dying for lack of this knowledge.

When I was a deacon, a member of our bishopric challenged our deacons quorum to read the standard works in a year. He explained that we could accomplish this goal by reading five chapters a day, and I decided to do it.
A few nights later, a guideline for accomplishing the scripture reading challenge was dropped off at my house, and I realized that it would be hard to do this by myself. I asked my family if they would join me. After some discussion, they agreed it would improve our family scripture study. We decided to start that night.
It was not easy. Some days it felt almost like a chore. I remember one night when I had to wake my family up late at night so that we could read. We were determined not to miss a night of reading, and we didn’t.
It took some creativity to reach our goal. When my dad was on a business trip we would put him on speakerphone and read together. We kept a copy of the scriptures in the car in case we were ever on the road.
As we read, our lives changed. We grew spiritually, and I found that I handled trials better. My dad was laid off from work. It was a difficult time for our family, but we gained valuable insight on Heavenly Father’s plan for us through our scripture study. I know Heavenly Father was blessing us.
When my family finished our challenge we decided that we would not stop reading and learning. We started rereading the Book of Mormon the very next day. My life has been changed forever, and I know that daily scripture study is a habit I will not break. The Spirit whispered to me that the things I read are true. We can do hard things. As I prepare for a mission I will be armed with the power of God because I acted upon this challenge from my Church leader.

We lived on a hill, but it wasn’t so steep that it couldn’t be used for pick-up games of baseball in the spring and summer. The street was the ribbon that tied together the lives of each boy on our block.
After supper was over, the boys would gather on the same corner, and when enough were there, we’d pick sides. We used a rubber ball that we bought at Mr. Pinelli’s variety store for a quarter. We’d play baseball until it became dark.
One breezy June evening, Ricky Cray, the best hitter on the block, was up to bat. My best friend, Chuck Grable, was next to me in the “outfield,” which was the stretch of road between Mr. LaSalle’s and Mr. Kominski’s.
Ricky sized up a belt-high pitch and plastered the ball a good 20 feet beyond my grasp. I put my head down and furiously chased the ball. Suddenly, I came upon two sets of the shiniest black shoes I’d ever seen. I looked up and there were two young men in suits, smiling. One of them was holding the rubber ball.
“Lose something?” he said cheerfully. He flipped the ball to me and I heaved it toward my friends, just as Ricky crossed home plate.
Chuck came over to me. “Who are those guys? That one made a nice catch.” We didn’t see men in suits in our neighborhood often.
“I don’t know. Maybe they’re selling something. Like books.”
“I think they’re police,” confided Chuck.
“No, they’re too young. And they’d be more secret. Look, they’re stopping at every house on the street.”
The next hitter popped a lazy fly ball toward Chuck who easily snagged it. We went to take our turn at bat. Home plate was near our house, and the two men in suits were just stepping to the door.
Father answered. I heard one of the young men say they were from a church and they had a message about families. Father sized them up.
“Are you selling something?” he asked.
“No, sir,” replied the one who had fielded the ball.
“Are you honest?” Father asked. It would have been an odd question from anyone but my father. That’s the way he was, a man who took himself and others at face value.
“Yes, sir, we try to be,” the same man answered without hesitation.
“Are you boys from around here?”
“No. Elder Cone is from Bountiful, Utah. And I’m from Boston.”
Father smiled. “Then come into my house. I’m Joseph Rosa, and this is my wife, Leslee.” As soon as the one said he was from Boston, I knew my father would invite them in. A little thing like that, being from Massachusetts. Yet it changed our lives forever.
We saw the young men in the suits and white shirts many times over the following weeks. Father and Mother listened to them, prayed with them, studied with them, and fed them pasta until they almost could no longer get into their suits. When the elders came, Father pulled me out of the baseball games. “If what they say is true, then you need to hear it also,” he told me. I could see how important this was to my parents. Father’s eyes blazed as the missionaries taught us. “Yes, that seems right. I’ve always believed that,” he often said.
“We have reached a decision as a family,” Father told the missionaries one night. They both looked nervously at each other. “We would like to be baptized.” The two young men almost leaped into the air. The following night, Father and I went to a department store and bought our church clothes. A week later, the four of us were baptized. Never again did my parents talk about the missing piece. We had found it.

I served my first mission in Brazil and had some marvelous spiritual experiences. It has been wonderful to see what has happened in Brazil since then. In those days, all of Brazil was just one mission. There were no stakes and only a few branches. Almost every branch I served in at that time is now a stake—or multiple stakes! In São Paulo, the third largest city in the world, there was one little branch when I first arrived; now there are twelve stakes, four missions, and a temple.
During my mission, I had the opportunity of teaching a Protestant minister. My companion and I taught him every week for six months. He attended meetings in our little branch, but he remained a minister teaching in his church. He had been invited many times to be baptized. He had studied, and I knew that the spirit had touched him often, but still he waited. Finally, one evening I reminded him that he knew that the Church was true, because of the inspiration of the Spirit, and that he had sufficient knowledge now to be baptized. Therefore, we would not be teaching him regularly until he was ready to accept the invitation to be baptized.
A short time later my companion, Elder Darwin Christensen, and I were on a streetcar going to a baptism with some converts. When the streetcar stopped, our investigator-minister got on, and upon seeing us, he asked, “Where are you going?” I told him that we were on our way to a baptism. He said urgently, “I have to talk to you Monday night.”
We rearranged our schedule and went to his home that Monday evening. He asked us some questions that were on his mind about the Church. Then, as though he couldn’t wait any longer, he said, “What do I need to do to be baptized?” He continued, “I am sure that you’ve been wondering why it has taken me so long to decide. I wanted to study everything so that I would have the correct answers and never be an embarrassment to the Church. This Wednesday night I am going to the directors of my church and announce to them that I’m leaving my position and joining The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
On Wednesday he resigned from his job as a minister, and on Saturday he was baptized a member of our Father in Heaven’s true Church. The next week I finished my mission. He was my last baptism.
You are always concerned for the people you have baptized, and you always wonder how they’re doing. About seventeen years after that first mission, my wife, Carol, and I had an opportunity to travel to Brazil. When we landed in Rio de Janeiro, our taxi driver happened to be a Church member. We told him who we were, and I talked to him about being in Brazil on my mission. No sooner did we get checked into our hotel room than our telephone rang. I thought, Who could be calling us here at this hour? It was someone from the mission office, inviting us to dinner at the mission home the next evening. We arrived at the appointed time, the door opened, and there stood my ex-Protestant minister convert. He was the mission president! What a thrill!
Then, while I was attending general conference in April 1985, I heard the name of Helio da Rocha Camargo read, and I had the opportunity to raise my hand to sustain Elder Camargo as a member of the Second Quorum of the Seventy. My ex-minister was now a General Authority! That was another thrill. In April 1990 I was also called as a General Authority, and I was assigned to Brazil. When we arrived at the airport in São Paulo, there to greet us was Elder Camargo, now the Area President of Brazil. What a joy it was for me to serve as one of his counselors in the area presidency.
When Brother Camargo was baptized, there wasn’t even a stake in all of Brazil. There were only a few tiny, struggling branches. Think of all the things that he has seen since then! He has played a major role in the growth of the Church in Brazil. He is a great man. People have much love and respect for him. He is now the president of the temple in São Paulo.
The Lord has told us, “And if it so be that you should labor all your days in crying repentance unto this people, and bring, save it be one soul unto me, how great shall be your joy with him in the kingdom of my Father!
“And now, if your joy will be great with one soul that you have brought unto me into the kingdom of my Father, how great will be your joy if you should bring many souls unto me!” (D&C 18:15–16.)
As a young man I read the above scripture and thought that the promise referred to the kingdom of our Father in Heaven in the next life. I now know of the joy we can share with them during this life also.
It has been a great joy for me to see many souls come into the Church. To be in Brazil and work with Elder Camargo again has been a special joy. And to realize that that joy has multiplied through his service as a leader and through his family is rewarding. His sons have served as missionaries. I was at a stake conference not long ago at which one of his sons presided as stake president.
Our Father in Heaven’s promises of great joy for our labors in teaching and bringing souls unto Him is true in this life as well as in the life hereafter.

Detail from Christ and the Rich Young Ruler,by Heinrich Hofmann
I was reading my scriptures one day when, for about the hundredth time, I read that Christ was the Father and the Son. Having been raised in the Church, I know that God and Jesus Christ are two separate beings. I had always been confused when the scriptures referred to Christ as the Father, but I never had tried to figure out what it meant. However, for some reason, this time I really wanted to know. I went and asked my mom if she knew, but she didn’t either. We researched it, using the scriptures and an article called “The Father and the Son,” which was published by the First Presidency and Quorum of the Twelve Apostles in 1916 and reprinted in the April 2002 Ensign.
We already knew that Christ is the Son because He is the Son of God. We learned He is called the Father for at least three reasons: because He is the Creator (or “Father”) of the earth, because we take upon us the name of Christ when we are baptized (just like a baby takes his or her father’s name), and because Christ does His Father’s will, which means He has the authority of the Father and is therefore called Father. That explained why the scriptures sometimes refer to Christ as both the Father and the Son. I know that God loves us and wants us to understand things, so He blessed my mom and me so that we were able to understand the scriptures.

Annette was excited when she got a part in the musical her city’s community theater was putting on. She sang in two numbers and had lines to memorize! The rehearsals had taken up a lot of her summer, but Annette didn’t mind because everything about being in a play was fun.
There were three other children in the play—two girls and a boy. Because they were in only three scenes, she and the other children had lots of time to explore the theater while they weren’t rehearsing. They looked in prop rooms and costume rooms and watched people building and painting sets. Heather, who was the oldest, had been in plays before, and she knew her way around backstage.
On the night before the play opened, Heather said to Annette, “Come see what I have!”
Annette followed her. She couldn’t wait to see what Heather would show her.
“Look, someone put free sodas here for us,” Heather said, showing her a small refrigerator in a room that looked like an office.
In the refrigerator were some bottles of Annette’s favorite soda. She was really thirsty, and the drinks looked delicious.
“Go ahead, take one,” Heather said.
“I don’t know …” Annette said. She just wasn’t sure about this.
“It’s OK. They mean for us to take them. I’ve come here before to get one. No one said anything.”
So Annette decided it must be OK. She opened a bottle of soda and took a big drink. It tasted wonderful.
“Let’s go finish these in the restroom,” Heather said.
That seemed strange to Annette. But Heather was older, so Annette followed her to the restroom stalls to drink their sodas.
When Annette realized that they were hiding, she began to wonder if they were doing something wrong. Were they not supposed to take the sodas? She began to worry. After the dress rehearsal was over, even the applause couldn’t get rid of the sick feeling in her stomach.
The next day Annette wasn’t excited about going back for opening night. All the way to the theater, she thought about the soda she had taken. Before she got out of the car, she told her mom about what happened.
“Do you think they really were for us?” Annette asked. She hoped her mother would say yes so she could feel better again.
“How do you feel about it?” Mom asked.
“I feel terrible.”
“That’s the Holy Ghost telling you that you did something wrong.”
“But I can’t put the soda back! What do I do now?” Annette asked.
“Well, you can pray and ask for forgiveness. After the performance you can show me where you found the drinks, and I’ll find out who they belonged to. Then you can pay for the drink with your allowance.”
Annette bowed her head right then and said a silent prayer. In her prayer she said she was sorry she had taken something that didn’t belong to her. After the prayer she felt better.
“I’m very proud of you, Annette,” Mom said.
“You are?”
“Yes. Even though Heather told you it was the right thing to do, you listened to the Holy Ghost telling you that it wasn’t. We all make mistakes. But learning how to repent is an important part of growing up. Now, go break a leg.”
Annette laughed. “Break a leg” is what people in the theater say to wish someone good luck.
“I will,” Annette said as she waved goodbye to her mom. While she put on her makeup and costume, she felt happy. She had learned a lot more than how to be a good actress this summer.

All these experiences were a fulfillment of a blessing I had received before leaving on my mission that said I would bring many people into the Church who would become great leaders. But now I was facing a transfer that I was not excited about, completely unaware of what was in store for me in my new area. The transfer was to Agoura Hills, California. I believed my mission president was an inspired man, but why Agoura Hills? The area was very affluent but very low in baptisms. You could count on one hand the baptisms in that area for the past several years. I had been one of the top baptizers in the mission for several months, but now all that would probably change. Then I remembered the words from a song that was sung at my farewell: “I will go where you want me to go, dear Lord.” So I went.
It is every convert’s dream to find the missionaries who baptized him and let them know about the change they brought to his life with the gospel. I also had that dream, especially because so many members of my family had been baptized after the elders left our area. I was now serving a successful mission. I had a sister attending Ricks College, another sister on a scholarship at BYU, and a brother and a sister both preparing to go on missions. I had lost track of the elders who had converted me. I wanted to find them and let them know how many lives they had touched.
My second Sunday in Agoura Hills, just before sacrament meeting started, a man in the ward came up to me and asked me about myself. I told him I was from Wyoming, and he said they had sent a son on a mission to Wyoming. A sensation of electricity ran through my body, but I knew it was not likely that this was one of the elders that I knew. So I asked, “What mission? The Colorado, Utah, or Montana mission?”
He said his son had served in the Billings Montana Mission, and when I asked him if he had ever been in Lander, Wyoming, where I was converted, the man answered yes again. I asked him a few dates and names and soon discovered that the man I was talking with was the father of one of the elders who had converted me. I said, “Your son is one of the elders responsible for bringing me and my family into the Church.” The man immediately introduced his wife, and tears filled her eyes as she realized that she was seeing a direct result of the sacrifices she and her family had made to send their son on a mission. Brother Miller introduced me to other members of the ward, and every time he told them who I was he choked up. I sat in sacrament meeting with tears streaming down my face as I thought of the mysterious ways the Lord had worked in my life. Who could have predicted that Elder Miller would come to my home and I would go to his almost nine years later?
I was able to see Elder Miller again, and he looked the same except for the three little daughters clinging to his leg. I finally had the chance to tell him thank you. He too was overcome with emotion as he told me what a feeling of satisfaction he had, seeing someone he had taught having as much success in the gospel as my family and I were.

My father’s a soldier and is fighting in a war a long way from us. But Mother and I get letters regularly that help bring him home for a while. First, we read my letter and laugh at the funny things he writes. When my mother opens her letter, however, she sits by the window and reads it alone. Once in a while she reads me part of it, but mostly she reads it silently, then stares out over the fields for a quiet time.
Once I even saw Mother cry, and I knew she must really be missing him. That was only for a minute, though, and I pretended not to see. Then she wiped her eyes on her apron, folded the letter, and put it into a box. When she stood up, she smiled. “We must keep busy, Carrie,” she said as she smoothed my hair with a gentle hand. “Would you like to pin the pattern for me so I can cut more material?”
I like to work with Mother. We talk about many things, like Father and the war or school; and before I even know it, time has passed, and I am hemming one apron as she is sewing the seams of the second.
One day as we worked, a heavy knock sounded at our door and I jumped up from my chair to see who it was. “Hello, Mr. Briggs,” I said as I swung the screen door wide. “Will you please come in? Mother is sewing, but I’ll get her for you.”
He nodded and stood with his hat in his hand, waiting.
“Mother!” I said excitedly. “Mr. Briggs has come to see you.”
She smiled and smoothed her hair, then untied and removed her apron. With her head held high, she went to greet our visitor. “May I offer you a lemonade, Mr. Briggs?” she asked.
“No, thank you, ma’am,” he replied.
I left them alone and stood by the front door, looking at his motor truck parked beyond the front fence, with BRIGGS EMPORIUM emblazoned on the side of it in bold red letters. After only a few minutes, Mr. Briggs came out onto the porch with Mother.
“I’m sorry,” he was saying quietly. “If you’d like, I can keep the aprons and see how business is in Clarion County. The agreement will be the same, Mrs. Clancey. But with times as they are, well …” He shrugged and waited for my mother’s reply.
She nodded and folded her hands, then forced a halfhearted smile. “Yes, do that, Mr. Briggs. It’s the only way they’ll have a chance of being sold. And you did sell quite a few in Nelson last month. Maybe Clarion County will be a better territory.”
Mr. Briggs quickly nodded and said, “I certainly hope so, Mrs. Clancey, for both of us. But may I give you an advance?” he offered. “Just a little, to help you get by? I’m bound to sell some, you know.”
Mother raised her chin slightly and shook her head. “Thank you, but no,” she replied. “If they don’t sell, I’d only have to pay it back. I’ll just wait and see. Now, how much do I owe you for thread?”
After they settled their account, we stood on the porch and waved good-bye as Mr. Briggs and his traveling emporium drove down the dusty lane. Then Mother seemed to slump ever so slightly against the porch railing. She reached into her pocket and drew out some change.
“He could only sell three aprons, Carrie,” she said with a sigh. “It paid for the thread, and that’s about all. What’s left is for tithing. Would you please put it in the jar for me, dear?”
I took the change and frowned. “Maybe you should have taken the advance Mr. Briggs offered, Mother. We’re running out of a lot of things.”
“Mr. Briggs would not have minded, dear, but I would have,” she said with a smile. “Now do as I say. Put the money in the tithing jar, then fetch the pail. We’ll forget about aprons for a little and weed the strawberries.”
I knew we were out of flour and low on soap, but mother was always firm about God’s portion, so I did as I was told. Then I grabbed the pail and joined her on the back porch. She rolled up her sleeves and talked as we walked toward the strawberry patch. As we came closer, we could see white blossoms on the stems, but the nearer we got, the more red dots we saw among the lush green plants. The strawberries were ripe!
She clasped a hand to her mouth in surprise. “Oh, look, Carrie!” she gasped. “Aren’t they lovely? And they’ve gotten ripe without our noticing them at all.”
The aprons were gone from her mind as we knelt to pick the sweet ripe fruit. As I plunked them into the pail, I thought about the aprons, however, and how hard we had worked on them. Then, without considering, I asked, “Do you mind very much that we’re poor, Mother?”
She looked up in shock and quickly brushed back her hair. “Poor … ? Carrie, do you really think we’re poor?”
I was sorry I had spoken in such a thoughtless manner. “Well,” I stammered. “The aprons … I mean, Mr. Briggs sold only three.”
She rubbed the back of her hand against her forehead, then threw back her head and laughed. “Darling, darling, daughter! Where did you ever get the idea that being without money means that we’re poor? Have I made you think that way? If I have,” she said with a smile, “let me explain something. Making and sewing aprons while your father’s away is useful. We make a little extra money and keep busy. But your father sends money home, and we have a roof over our heads, clothes on our backs, food in our stomachs, and we owe no one anything!” Still smiling, she grabbed my hand. “Besides all that, how can you think we’re poor, when we’re sitting in the middle of God’s good strawberries with the juice staining your mouth?”
She pulled me closer and put her arms around me tightly. “Look at that blue sky, Carrie,” she said, pointing heavenward. “Feel the warm breeze. And don’t you realize the amount of love your father and I have for you? All of those are riches—not riches that can be spent—but they’re riches of a far deeper, more lasting kind. They’re blessings from God. What more in all the world could we possibly want—or need?”
I looked at the sky, then smiled and asked a playful question. “Well, how do we tithe our strawberries, Mother?”
She laughed again and replied, “That’s easy, Carrie. We simply find someone to share them with. In fact, after dinner when it’s cooler, we’ll walk down the lane to Mrs. Fremont’s and give her a basketful of strawberries!”
I not only loved mother—I liked her too. She had an answer for everything, and I learned many things at her side. Maybe one of the most important things I learned was what she told me that day. For I began to look for and appreciate all I received, because I finally realized that God’s blessings don’t always come in the way or manner we expect. But somehow they always come—just when they are needed most.

As the winter afternoon sun slid behind the expansive snow- covered ski hill, the freezing mountain air sharply bit our cheeks and noses, acting almost like a stern usher instructing us to find our cars and trucks in the ski resort parking lot. There in our comfortable cars, heaters would soon warm cold fingers and toes. The sound of the frozen snow crunching with each step we took confirmed that this was extreme cold.
Our family had enjoyed a fun-filled day on the ski slopes, which was now coming to a frosty close. Arriving at the car, I reached in my coat pocket for the keys and then another pocket and another. “Where are the keys?” Everyone was anxiously waiting on the keys! The car battery was charged, and all the systems—including the heater—were ready to go, but without the keys, locked doors would deny entrance; without the keys, the engine would not provide power to the vehicle.
At the time, our primary focus was on how we were going to get into the car and get warm, but I couldn’t help but think—even then—there just might be a lesson here. Without keys, this wonderful miracle of engineering was little more than plastic and metal. Even though the car had great potential, without keys, it could not perform its intended function.
Let’s now end where we began, stranded in the frigid parking lot asking, “Where are the keys?” By the way, later that evening I did miraculously find the keys that had fallen out of my pocket on the mountain. The Lord has shown us that He will not leave us standing in the bitter cold without keys or authority to lead us safely home to Him.

I heard one of my brethren tell of a recent visit he made to a prison. There he noticed a young man, handsome in appearance and intelligent in his ways.

My brother said to the prison official, “What is that young man doing in here?”

The reply was that one evening he had taken his mother’s car, had obtained some beer and drunk it, and then, out of control of himself, he drove the car down the sidewalk and killed two girls.

I do not know how long he will be in prison, but I do know that he will never entirely get over his feelings concerning the act that put him there. On such small hinges turn the gates of our lives. Little mistakes, which seem so unimportant in their beginnings, determine the eternal courses we follow.

Born in Ixelles, Belgium, 5 October 1935, Charles Didier recalls that his father, Andre, a Belgian Army officer, was captured at the beginning of World War II. After escaping, he stayed hidden and saw his family only during occasional surprise visits. Elder Didier looks back on a time after his own ninth birthday:
“Because the secret police were looking for him [his father], we were searched—and barely escaped. We went to where he was hiding in Antwerp Province, and from there to live with my great-grandmother in Flanders.” Then Belgium was liberated. “I vividly remember the soldiers trying to get away on bicycles, the airplanes coming, the shooting, and the Allied troops coming into the village.”

I’ve been a competitive swimmer for about five years. During one season, my coach and I realized I was progressing enough to swim on the varsity (advanced) team. But I knew that varsity practice times conflicted with in-person seminary, one of my favorite places to start my mornings and a key way I was coming closer to Christ.
I really struggled with this decision. As I prayed about it, I felt impressed that joining the varsity team was something God wanted me to do. I took a leap of faith and prepared myself to begin both varsity swimming and online seminary.
Waking up for early morning seminary had rarely been difficult for me. Though I was tired, I knew I was headed to a place of peace and learning. But waking up around 4:45 for swim practice was isolating and dark. And the practices were more difficult than any I had experienced.
In this time, I remembered a talk I loved by President Russell M. Nelson. A quote from the talk stood out to me:
“When you reach up for the Lord’s power in your life with the same intensity that a drowning person has when grasping and gasping for air, power from Jesus Christ will be yours. When the Savior knows you truly want to reach up to Him—when He can feel that the greatest desire of your heart is to draw His power into your life—you will be led by the Holy Ghost to know exactly what you should do.
“When you spiritually stretch beyond anything you have ever done before, then His power will flow into you.”
As I reflected on this quote, I came to understand on a deeper level what it felt like to be drowning. On the one hand, I sometimes felt like I was literally drowning. My body was being pushed to its max in the water, and I was often literally gasping for air. I also felt like I was drowning in darkness and isolation. I desperately needed air and saving.
To show Heavenly Father and the Savior that I wanted to reach up to Them, I focused on taking action. I attended the temple, studied the scriptures daily, participated in online seminary, and prayed for help and a positive attitude.
As I look back on this immensely difficult time, I can testify that “His power [did] flow into [me]!” Jesus Christ strengthened and enabled me. Sometimes it was hard to see in the moment, but when I look back and pray to see how I have grown, I see the Savior’s hand in my life. I know that He lives and loves me! Because of Him, all things are possible when we believe.

Harlow Ward members in the St Albans Stake enjoyed a wonderful morning of outdoor service at a meadow nature reserve in Harlow town in October. Members of all ages, including teenagers and full-time missionaries, helped to rake, clear and dispose of grass cuttings. Their work allowed for the growth of a wild-flower meadow in the spring, which will add to the beauty of the area and improve its ecology.
Ward community outreach specialist, Edith Cells, who organised the activity, was delighted to receive feedback from Volunteer Conservation Coordinator, Andrew Tomlins, who said; “Your efforts have made it possible to mow almost the entire meadow – it is looking a lot more like it should at this time of year. If it was just our small group we would have done only a fraction of what was achieved.”
Andrew hopes the Church members will return in the spring to do more work. This is the second time the Harlow Ward has worked with Andrew on local conservation projects, and the members and missionaries are becoming known to Harlow Council’s parks department as a force for good in the town.

At age 72, Desideria found her health growing worse. By 1886 she was confined to her little home in San Lorenzo near Nopala. One dreadful evening, thieves broke into her house, beat her, and escaped with $3,000.5 Desideria survived. Instead of despairing, Desideria waited in faith for the Lord’s help. She had already learned from her dream that the Lord was aware of her situation.
Then in October 1886, an Apostle and two mission presidents unexpectedly visited the area. José Yáñez told them about his mother’s suffering. The brethren came swiftly to Desideria’s home. Desideria was delighted to meet Elder Erastus Snow of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles and have him place his hands upon her head for a priesthood blessing.
During the brethren’s visit, the new mission president, Horace Cummings, surprised Desideria with important news. He told her that the first translation of the entire Book of Mormon in Spanish was near completion in Salt Lake City. Desideria quickly requested a copy of the forthcoming scripture.
A month later, President Cummings returned to Desideria’s home with a copy. Of the experience, he wrote: “Visited old Sister Yáñez, an invalid and gave her an unbound Book of Mormon which I had sent to Utah for. It was the first in Spanish that had been received in Mexico. … She seemed much pleased with it.”6 This would be the last visit of a missionary to Desideria during her lifetime.

One day I went with my family to watch a rugby game in a school field. I saw an elderly woman walking around, looking for a restroom. I went over, took her hand, and guided her to the restroom. I waited by the door until she came out. She was so pleased with my help, and thanked me. She asked me my name, and I told her, “Charity.” She smiled and said, “You sure act like your name.” I felt really good that day, and I continue to try to find ways I can help others.