Gospel Story Finder

Many years ago two General Authorities called a very young man to be a new stake president. In his response, the new stake president said he would give total devotion to his calling and would not ask any of the members of his stake to be more devoted than he. Then he bore his testimony that he believed the gospel with all his heart and proposed to live it.

Later at lunch one of the General Authorities asked this new stake president whether he knew absolutely that this gospel is true. He answered that he did not. The senior Apostle said to his fellow Apostle, “He knows it just as well as you do. The only thing that he does not know is that he does know it. It will be but a short time until he does know it. … You do not need to worry.”

A short time later, the new stake president testified that following a spiritual experience, “I shed tears of gratitude to the Lord for the abiding, perfect, and absolute testimony that came into my life of the divinity of this work.”

Warmed by the medicine man’s healing fire inside the earthen lodge, Little Wind’s all-day vigil is over. For the valiant heart of the old buffalo—injured in a senseless and shameful slaughter two days before—is still beating.
Curled against the shaggy warmth of the great beast, the exhausted boy dreams of the sky people, then sleeps …
The first long, frosted slivers of light pierced the night sky over the tablelands. Ten Days Walking stepped out of his tepee, pulled a buffalo robe around him, and headed toward the earthen lodge. He entered quietly and stood for a long moment in the little bit of night still hiding inside, his eyes upon Little Wind, his son, who lay asleep with his head pillowed against the old buffalo. The ancient beast’s sides no longer rose and fell with a steady cadence.
Ten Days Walking stepped closer and put his ear to the animal’s side, but there was no heartbeat.
Little Wind stirred, then awoke. The look on his father’s face told him all he feared to know. His dark eyes widened and studied the creature beside him, then his vision was blurred by a thin veil of tears. “He only sleeps, Father.” Little Wind whispered with wishful uncertainty.
“It is the long sleep, my son,” Ten Days Walking uttered with reverent matter-of-factness. “The Great Spirit has called it home.”
“But I prayed so hard. It cannot be!” Little Wind buried his face in the old creature’s soft fur and wept.
Ten Days Walking sat down beside the boy and leaned back against the still warm bison. Gently and slowly he ran his large hand through Little Wind’s long hair, then he spoke. “Was it not this great one’s time, small warrior?” he asked. “No man or beast can remain on this earth place beyond his given time. This old four-legged had fathered countless of its kind and given much majesty and dignity to Mother Earth. Would it not perhaps be wrong now, maybe even selfish, to deny it its blessed rest?”
Little Wind could not—even in his pain—deny the simple wisdom of his father’s words. He nodded through his tears and snuggled himself against the big warrior who enclosed him in his great robe.
For a long while Little Wind watched the new light grow brighter in the lodge, spilling down through the hole in the center of the thatched roof and shedding its glow on the old buffalo. Then he muttered softly, “Grandfather says that life is like a blossom and that death is like the flower unfolding. What does he mean, Father?”
Ten Days Walking smiled knowingly. “Red Owl Watching means that to become like the Great Spirit, we must first become like a little child, like a … blossom … that opens into its greater self in the brighter light of heaven.”
Little Wind looked confused. Ten Days Walking’s smile broadened and he went on. “What your grandfather means is that he is anxious to leave his earth lodge and enter the great lodge of your Father and mine and to share in the wondrous things that await every valiant warrior who has served his Creator well.”
Little Wind didn’t know if he felt better because of his father’s strong arms around him or because of his wise counsel. Maybe it was both. Whatever it was, it was something to cling to every time his eyes returned to the old buffalo or to the lodge where his Grandfather, Red Owl Watching, lay in a long illness. “Will Grandfather die soon also?” he wondered out loud.
Ten Days Walking held his smile. There was a sadness in his voice at the thought of the old man’s leaving, but also the sound of hope. “Yes, it will very soon be his time. But as time rushes by like wind over a bird’s wing, my son, we will soon be together again. It is all part of a very wise plan.”

Following is a true account of a middle-aged businessman who very keenly felt the Comforter enticing him to do good.

Brother Johnson (the name is fictitious) had been plagued with an enslaving smoking habit for two decades. He very much wanted to be active in the Church, but somehow this habit was a seemingly insurmountable barrier between him, the Lord, and Church activity.

One windy, wintry day at work, disgusted with his inability to refrain from smoking one cigarette after another, he felt a subtle spiritual prompting which made him leave his work and tell his employees he’d be gone for the rest of the day. Despite the chilling weather and the deep, new-fallen snow, he hiked into a secluded mountain canyon. Intent on seeking the Lord in private circumstances so he might pray fervently aloud, he hiked until the snow was hip-deep and he could walk no farther.

Then and there he approached the Lord with great humility. He pleaded with the Lord to strengthen him so that he might be free from the insidious power that nicotine held over him. After mighty prayer, he arose a new man.

The chains were broken. And as he followed the Lord’s admonition in John 8:32, six months later he was called to be the bishop of his ward. He served faithfully and well.

I would like to like to share a story of James and Drusilla Hendricks. They are my great, great, great, grandparents. They were a young married couple when they joined the church in 1835. They gathered with the saints in Missouri and settled in Clay county. In Missouri at that time, there was a lot persecution and conflict between members of the Church who were gathering there and the other settlers. In one such conflict which has been called the Battle of Crooked River, James Hendricks was shot in the back by the mob and was paralyzed from the neck down.It was only two days after this, that the Governor of Missouri, Lilburn Boggs issued his infamous executive order stating that "the Mormons must be treated as enemies and must be exterminated or driven from the State.”

The young Hendricks family sold what they could and left their home and their farm in Missouri. They crossed the Mississippi river into Quincy Illinois where they found shelter in a temporary dugout home. Within a few weeks of arriving in Quincy, they ran out of food and faced starvation. In her own words Drusilla said, “I had one spoonful of sugar and one saucer full of corn meal. I made much of the meal and put the sugar on it and gave it to my children. That was the last of the eatables of any kind we had in the house or on the earth. We were in a strange land among strangers. I went to work and washed everything and cleaned the house thoroughly as I said to myself, If I die, I will die clean.”

Not long after, they were visited by a neighbor, Rueben Allred. He had a feeling that the Hendricks family was out of food and was prompted by the spirit to bring them a sack of flour. Because of this, the family was able to survive. The lived sparingly for another 2 weeks, but eventually found themselves again in the same condition. They had nothing and were on the verge of starvation, yet again.

As she had done before, Drusilla decided to wash and clean their home, and then wait to die. She was just finishing cleaning the doorstep when another neighbor, Alexander Williams, came with 2 bushels of meal on his shoulders. He said he was busy working on his own crops when the spirit spoke to him saying, “Brother Hendricks’ family is suffering.” He immediately dropped everything he was doing and came running.

Brother Allred and Brother Williams were instruments in the hands of God. They lived worthy of the Spirit, they were receptive to the promptings, and most importantly, they acted on the spiritual promptings they received. The Hendricks family was provided for and preserved in their most critical and trying time.

“Last night I woke up and started to cry,” she said quietly.
“What for?”
“The problem I face is, what if your teachings are true?”
“They are.”
“Mark, you can’t be right. God would’ve told more people. How many Mormons are there?”
“Four million.”
“And those four million are right, and everybody else is wrong?”
“The priesthood has been restored.”
“I know that’s what you believe.”
“What’s wrong?” he asked her. “What’s really bothering you?”
“Okay, I’ll tell you. My mother. All last night I worried about my mother. She’s dead.”
“I’m sorry.”
“So am I,” she said, fighting back the tears. While she waited to gain composure, she picked up a small gold leaf from the ground and examined it.
“My mother was a good person. Dad and Mom were always dedicated Christians. I never was. When I was 14, I rebelled against them. I did everything I could to hurt them. When I was 17, I ran away from home. I wound up in California, living with a group of other girls who had also left their homes. We were pretty wild.
“One day I went with some other girls to hear an evangelist speak. We went on a lark, but as he spoke, my heart softened and all the bitterness left me. I made a promise to dedicate my whole life to Jesus. As soon as I could scrape up the money, I took a bus home.
“All the way home on the bus, I thought how happy Mom and Dad would be to see that I’d finally accepted Jesus as my Savior. When I arrived home, I found that my mother had died four weeks earlier. She never saw me as a Christian. We were never united as a family.”
She let the leaf slip from her hand and fall to the ground. “What about my mother? Is she to be condemned for never hearing about Joseph Smith?”

A lifetime of spiritual experiences for Lorenzo Snow was climaxed following the death of President Wilford Woodruff. President Snow, who was then serving as President of the Quorum of the Twelve, went to the Salt Lake Temple. Dressed in his temple robes, he knelt to pray, reminding the Lord that he had often prayed that President Woodruff would outlive him, so that he would not be required to carry the heavy responsibilities as President of the Church. But he then told the Lord that he would do whatever was required of him.
After his prayer, President Snow waited for an answer from the Lord, but nothing came. Later, as he was walking through a corridor, a glorious manifestation was suddenly opened up to him: The Lord Jesus Christ appeared to him. President Snow later told his granddaughter about the experience, showing her the spot in the temple where it had occurred. She wrote:
“Grand-pa came a step nearer and held out his left hand and said: ‘He stood right here, about three feet above the floor. It looked as though He stood on a plate of solid gold.’
“Grand-pa told me what a glorious personage the Savior is and described His hands, feet, countenance and beautiful white robes, all of which were of such a glory of whiteness and brightness that he could hardly gaze upon Him.
“Then he came another step nearer and put his right hand on my head and said: ‘Now, grand-daughter, I want you to remember that this is the testimony of your grand-father, that he told you with his own lips that he actually saw the Savior, here in the Temple, and talked with Him face to face.’”

It was finally here. My favorite time of the summer: Young Women camp. I was super excited because I was bringing my best friend, who was of another faith.

A few weeks earlier I had started bringing my friend to Mutual. She enjoyed the first activity and wanted to keep coming back. The other girls and I talked a lot about Young Women camp, so when it was almost time for camp, she asked if she could come. I said yes, of course, but the problem was convincing her parents. They weren’t keen on the Mormon religion and had denied her going with me to church before.

I went over to their house to bring the papers for camp and talked to her parents about letting her come, but I wasn’t sure they would let her go. That night I prayed earnestly to Heavenly Father that her parents’ hearts would be softened. I called back the next day and they had agreed to let her go!

I was glad my friend was coming to camp but nervous at the same time. I was scared that she would feel out of place when we played gospel-oriented games or sang hymns around the campfire. I was also scared because I felt like my friend didn’t really care for religion. I spent a lot of time praying that things would all go well at camp.

It turned out that I hadn’t needed to worry. All of us, including my friend, had fun playing games, hiking, and laughing. It was the night hike and testimony meeting, however, that were my favorite parts of camp.

It was stake camp, and every ward had their own campsite. For the night hike, the girls were separated into several groups and then each group took turns going from one campsite to another, where they had different speakers talk on women who had “lived as they believed” (that year’s camp theme). As we sat around the campfires and listened to the different speakers talk about courageous women, we felt the Spirit so strongly.

I glanced from time to time at my friend but couldn’t read her expression and couldn’t tell if she was paying attention to anything the speakers said. As we neared the end of the night hike however, my friend turned to me and the first words out of her mouth touched me deeply.

“I’m going to camp every year.”

I smiled and silently thanked Heavenly Father that my friend had been able to feel the Spirit. She had enjoyed the games and having fun, but she had felt the Spirit, and it was what made her want to come back again.

The next night was our last night at camp and our testimony meeting. My friend was confused as to what a testimony was so I quickly explained as best I could. She didn’t look too excited. After the opening prayer, the bishop and several young women bore beautiful testimonies and the Spirit was very strong.

My friend, who never liked to talk in public, stood up to share her feelings. She explained that even though she was of a different religion, watching us girls read our scriptures and pray had touched her. She said that after being here at camp, she wanted to start being a better person and was going to try to be nicer to her family. She also said that coming to camp was probably the best decision she had ever made. She sat down and I glanced over at her and saw there were tears in her eyes. I had never seen her become emotional or cry, but the Spirit of the Lord touched her so deeply it moved her to tears.

This experience at camp taught me a lot about how the Spirit touches the lives of others and about the power of testimonies. The Spirit can speak to everyone regardless of who they are. I now better understand the importance of having a strong testimony and sharing it with others. The gospel can touch the lives of those you would never expect.

Katie Daines, 16, of the Manhattan Second Ward, used a history assignment at school as the reason to write a short history of her great-great-grandparents, Nels and Ingra Carlson. Katie found that her relatives joined the Church in Sweden and emigrated to the United States to join the Saints in Utah. While waiting on the ship in New York harbor, Ingra gave birth to her son, John. Eventually, the family moved to Utah, where they lived and raised their children.
Now Katie, who has lived all her life in New York City, can look out on the harbor and see some of the same sights and shoreline that greeted her ancestors on their journey. Their willingness to be pioneers for their faith reminds Katie that she too is willing to be a pioneer for her beliefs. As she faces being one of only a couple of members of the Church in her school, she learns to be an example.

An old fable, and one of my favorites over the years, tells this story:
A Japanese scholar each evening talked with workmen from a factory. One night he told the men that he would bring them something of beauty on the morrow. One man asked the scholar to bring him a rose, another asked for a branch, and the third requested a lily. The next evening he handed out the rose, the branch, and the lily.
“There is a thorn on my rose,” said the first man. The second complained, “There is a dead leaf on my branch.” “There is a clump of dirt on my lily,” cried the third.
The scholar took all his gifts back and said, “You had a beautiful rose and saw only the thorn; you had a lovely green branch and saw only the dead leaf; and on the glorious lily you saw only the clump of dirt.”

When President Oaks gave this talk in 2007, I immediately identified with his message, as I had had an epiphany on this topic about nine years earlier around midnight in my laundry room. I had recently had our sixth child and was feeling very inadequate, with a messy house, a career placed on the back burner, and so much left to do. As I was sorting socks and feeling overwhelmed with my lengthy, undone to-do list, I thought to myself that I could stay up all night and I still wouldn’t finish my to-do list. And then the thought burst into my mind: maybe there was nothing wrong with me; maybe there was something wrong with my list. I stopped sorting socks and went to bed praying that God would help me decide what I should accomplish each day “for good.”

Well, that was the last day I sorted my kids’ socks. I determined that their sorting their own socks was a great life skill and that it was just fine to wear two different socks. I changed my to-do list to an accomplishment list to focus on my priorities. I also started creating a new list: my selected neglect list. This list contains good stuff, not the prioritized best stuff; it contains items that I have consciously chosen to neglect for now. In choosing my priorities, I have pondered on President Oaks’s advice to base our priorities on gospel principles and strengthening our families, not on socks.

With the expansion of the Church in Europe, there are now countries where the Church has been for less than 15 years. I spoke with a mission president serving in his homeland of Russia who has been a member for only seven years. He told me, “The same month I was baptized I was called as a branch president.” Did he feel overwhelmed at times? Absolutely! Did he try to implement the full range of Church programs? Fortunately not! How did he grow so strong in such a small congregation, in such a short time? He explained, “I knew with all my soul the Church was true. The doctrine of the gospel filled my mind and my heart. As we joined the Church, we felt part of a family. We felt warmth, trust, and love. We were only few, but we all tried to follow the Savior.”
They supported each other, they did the best they could, and they knew the Church was true. It was not the organization that had attracted him, but the light of the gospel, and this light strengthened those good members.

Mother sat back and started the amazing story of a little boy and his mother who was very ill. “Gobo was a three-year-old boy in 1857. His mother knew that she was dying and could no longer care for him, so she tucked him into the branches of a tree on the Talbots’ property. Ruth Talbot soon found the starving boy and gently coaxed him from the tree. Tired and cold, little Gobo climbed down and into the arms of his new mother. The entire Talbot family cared for Gobo as one of their own.
“When the family was taught by Mormon missionaries and joined the Church, they had a strong desire to follow President Brigham Young’s counsel to join the Saints in America. The Civil War was starting, and it was dangerous to bring Gobo to America because he was black. When the ship’s captain refused to allow Gobo on the boat, Henry Talbot knelt and asked for Heavenly Father’s guidance. He knew that Gobo would not be able to take care of himself if left behind.
“An idea came to Brother Talbot—his prayer was answered! He would roll Gobo into a large rug and smuggle him on and off the ship. Gobo was afraid to be wrapped inside the dark, heavy carpet. However, he had faith in the prophet’s counsel to go to America, so he remained very still and quiet. No one knew of the precious treasure tucked away in the old, faded rug.
“Once in America, Gobo was excited to start his new life there. He wanted to meet the prophet and see the temple that the missionaries in Africa had told him about.
“The family journeyed mostly by train. At one station, they were startled by an angry mob boarding it. Someone had told them that a child slave was being smuggled through. Gobo was not a slave, but the mob would not have believed it.
“Quickly Sister Talbot lifted her large hoop skirt and hid him underneath. Gobo pulled his knees tightly against his chest and held his breath until the mob left and his mother took him upon her lap. She reminded him that he was a child of God and explained that their home with the Saints in Utah would be a place of acceptance and love for their entire family, including Gobo. She assured him that their fellow brothers and sisters in the gospel understood what it was like to be persecuted and judged. Surely they would not turn Gobo away.
“Sister Talbot was right, and as soon as they could, the Talbots adopted Gobo.
“Once in Utah, Gobo grew into a righteous, hardworking sheepherder. He was always faithful to his baptismal covenants. In 1886, when a tablet of paper cost two cents, he willed his entire life savings—some five hundred dollars—to help build the Salt Lake Temple. Years later, the temple work was done for Gobo and he was sealed to Ruth and Henry Talbot in the very temple he helped build.”

Many years ago, I saw the meaning of love in a couple, Keith and Geneva, who demonstrated their love for each other for over 56 years of marriage. Marriage can bring many joys. In the deeply personal covenants of marriage, it can also provide a rich opportunity to provide support for each partner during times of illness or trial. For Keith and Geneva, their love for each other was tested after 27 years of marriage and six children.
At age 52, Geneva was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis, a degenerative nerve disease that took away Geneva’s ability to run, to dance, and eventually even to walk or stand. A talented sculptor and artist, she lost the ability to use her hands to sculpt. Due to the debilitating nature of the disease, the divorce rate is high among couples where one of the partners is diagnosed with MS. Geneva valiantly battled the disease for 29 years. One of the reasons Geneva was able to meet the illness with such courage was the constant, devoted care of her husband, Keith. Keith cherished his dear wife. He loved her with all his heart. He made changes in their home to make things easier for Geneva. He adjusted his own schedule to meet her needs. He stood by her during all her medical appointments and treatments. He lifted her literally and figuratively as the disease progressed in her body. He lived to make her life a joyful experience, regardless of the progression of the disease.
As I watched the love between Keith and Geneva flourish and deepen over many years and many trials, I eagerly anticipate seeing the great joy they will experience as they have resurrected bodies and continue in their life and marriage together throughout eternity, free of physical disease and pain. They loved each other with all their hearts.

Don’t run too far ahead!” Dad called. “It’s getting dark, and I don’t want you to fall.”
Vincent stopped and turned around. “But you’re walking so slowly. I want to get to the festival before all the mooncakes are gone!”
“They won’t run out of mooncakes,” Dad said as he and Mom caught up. “At least, not until you get there!”
Vincent could hear drums beating as they got close to the park. Strings of colorful lanterns hung from the trees, lighting up the dark night. Families were eating on blankets, getting ready to watch the full moon together.
Mom found an empty spot on the grass and laid down their blanket. She handed Vincent some coins to buy food.
“Thanks!” Vincent couldn’t wait to go exploring. He counted his coins as he walked. Twenty ringgits! That was enough for a mooncake. But which kind did he want? Ham? Egg yolk? Durian? Finally he picked one full of black sesame paste. He wandered from stall to stall as he ate, staring at all the different foods. Stacks of chicken on skewers. Giant pots of spicy broth and noodles. Maybe he could use the last of his coins to buy shaved ice with ice cream!
Pretty soon he’d wandered into an area that didn’t have as many lanterns. The darkness gave him an idea.
I wonder how far I could walk with my eyes closed? He shut his eyes and took a step. Then another. Then his foot caught on something. He was falling!
Ouch! His chin hit something sharp. It was a big metal drain cover! He reached up and touched his chin. He was bleeding.
“Dad? Mom?” he called out. He hurried back toward the lanterns, and someone helped him find his parents.
“We were getting worried!” Mom said. Then she saw his face. “We need to go to the hospital.”
Pretty soon Vincent was sitting with Mom and Dad in the hospital waiting room. He was so scared. Was he going to be OK?
He folded his arms tight and thought about Jesus. He and his family had been baptized a few months ago. The missionaries had said that Jesus could help him feel comfort.
Jesus Christ will help me. Jesus Christ will help me, he thought over and over again. And soon he did feel a little calmer. He knew the Holy Ghost was with him.
Dad squeezed his hand.
“Everything will be OK,” Mom said.
Vincent nodded. He knew she was right.
When the doctor came, she stitched up his chin. It hurt, but not too much. She told Vincent that he would probably have a scar. But that was fine with him. Whenever he saw it, he would remember mooncakes, the festival, and a time he felt comforted by Jesus and the Holy Ghost.
This story took place in Malaysia. Go to page 14 to learn more about this country!

When I was called as the stake president of the Mesa Arizona Maricopa Stake, Elder W. Mack Lawrence, at the time a General Authority Seventy, invited my wife and me into the stake president’s office and extended the calling. I dutifully accepted. Then he invited us to enter the high council room and prayerfully consider men to recommend as my counselors. As I entered the room, I saw pictures of all the stake presidents who had previously served in the stake since it was organized, and my heart sank. They were great leaders both in the Church and in the community.
I looked at my wife and said, “Kathleen, I don’t think I can do this. I’m not in their league.”
She said, “Don’t talk to me about it. You had better talk to Elder Lawrence.”
To my surprise, when I told him that I didn’t think I could fulfill the calling, Elder Lawrence responded, “Well, I suppose you’re right.”
But then he said, “You can’t do it, Brother Andersen, but the Lord can. He has the power to do His work, and if you will be worthy and work hard, He will do it. You will see.”
And He did.

Miguel opened the door to his abuelo’s (his grandpa’s) shoe shop. He smelled the leather that Abuelo worked with. It was one of his favorite smells.
“Hi, Abuelo!”
Abuelo was kneeling down and tracing a customer’s foot onto a piece of paper. He didn’t look up. Abuelo’s hearing wasn’t very good.
Miguel sat down at a workbench. He looked at the stacks of cut leather. He imagined what Abuelo would make with each one, using his hammer and pliers.
The tools reminded Miguel of something else he loved. Abuelo always gave him a piece of candy whenever Miguel helped clean up.
But Miguel was hungry now! He knew he wasn’t supposed to take a treat without asking, but it looked like Abuelo would be busy for a while. “Maybe I don’t have to wait,” Miguel thought.
Miguel reached under the counter for the candy jar. It was full of his favorite candy—sweet and spicy with chili powder! As he opened it, Miguel felt a little uncomfortable. But the candy looked so tasty. He hurried and put it in his mouth.
Pretty soon the customer left. Abuelo picked up a piece of leather and dunked it in some water. That helped keep the leather soft and easy to work with.
Miguel gobbled the rest of the candy as fast as he could. Then he walked over to Abuelo.
“Hello!” Abuelo said with a smile. “I’m glad you came to see me.”
Miguel hugged Abuelo. He hoped Abuelo couldn’t tell he’d eaten a piece of candy. Miguel pushed the worry away.
“It looks like you’re busy today,” Miguel said, pointing to the stacks of leather. “Do you need any help?”
“Sure! Could you pass me that thread?”
Miguel reached for a long piece of thread. He tugged it between his hands. It was tougher than it looked.
“Wow, that’s strong.”
Abuelo chuckled. “It has to be, to last through the wear and tear of life.” Abuelo pulled the thread through the leather. Then he got that look on his face that Mamá sometimes called the “Wise Abuelo” look.
“You know, we need to be more like this shoe,” Abuelo said with a nod.
Miguel squinted at the leather. “Um. We do?”
“Yes, indeed. We need to stay strong. That way Satan’s temptations won’t make us fall apart.”
The red candy flashed through Miguel’s mind. He knew he should tell Abuelo about it.
Abuelo took an old shoe off the shelf. “See this big hole?”
Miguel could probably fit his hand through the hole. “Yeah.”
“This was once a small hole that could’ve been fixed easily. But they waited, and now it’s going to be much harder to fix. Bad habits and bad choices are like that hole. Best to fix them early.”
Abuelo nodded again, and the Wise Abuelo look turned back into a smile. They kept talking as Abuelo worked. The whole time, Miguel kept thinking about the red candy stick.
When Abuelo finished, Miguel helped him clean up. Then Abuelo reached for his jar of candy.
Finally Miguel couldn’t take it anymore. “I took one of your candies!” he blurted out.
Abuelo set down the jar. “What was that?”
Miguel told him about taking the candy without asking. “I’m so sorry, Abuelo! I’ll never do it again, I promise!”
Abuelo gave Miguel a big hug. Miguel felt so much better.
“Thank you for being honest. That’s more important to me than just about anything else.”
On the walk home, Miguel felt just like one of Abuelo’s new pair of shoes. Strong as can be, and ready for life!

After lunch Pa came into my room. He sat down on the edge of my bed and looked me straight in the eyes. “Did I ever tell you about the oak tree that I used to play on when I was about your age?” he asked.
“No, Pa.”
“Well, I found this old tree that had fallen across Miller Creek. The trunk of that tree was about as big around as this room. My folks always knew where to find me in the summertime. I would play on that tree until dark. I pretended that I was shipwrecked and that I was the captain. I fought off dangerous pirates and enormous sharks. I had the greatest adventures on it that I could imagine.”
I hadn’t really known much about Pa when he was a kid. It felt strange to imagine him as a little kid on that tree, letting his imagination run free. I wished that I could have been there with him.
“My adventures on that fallen trunk are some of my happiest memories,” Pa continued. He looked over at me. “I think that every youngster ought to have something happy to remember about growing up. Something he can hold on to.”
“Yes, Pa,” I said.
“So,” he said with a crooked grin, “I’ve thought a lot about what you said and how you feel about that barn. Maybe that’s what you’ll remember when you’re older.” Pa leaned down and picked up the drawings off the floor. “Do you still want to try to rebuild that old relic out there?”
“Oh yes, Pa!” I hugged him as hard as I could.
Pa stood and walked toward the door, then stopped, held out his hand, and said, “Well, come on then. We’d better get started.”

I know of a young priest who was asked by his bishop to fellowship an inactive quorum member. The bishop indicated that others had failed in their attempts to recover the boy. The final words of the bishop’s commission were: “Please save _________.” After many tries and failures, the miracle was wrought—the inactive returned to full activity in the quorum. It was thrilling for me to hear the hero in this experience bear testimony of the joy which he received as a result of his soul-saving efforts.

Recently, workers at the Mesa Temple welcomed a busload of Church members from the interior of Mexico. They had been traveling for five days. The bus had broken down. These humble families had been sacrificing and saving their pesos for many months to buy the roundtrip tickets. They had slept on the floor of the crowded bus. President Wright of the temple said their leaders were rather embarrassed and even apologetic for their ravenous hunger, especially that of the children. After paying for the bus, there was no money for food. But that didn’t matter—they were going to the temple, and they made it!

Faith? Devotion? Humble belief in God’s eternal love? Can you imagine the special love Christ must have for those with such faith!

Michael was more than six feet tall, with long arms, skinny legs, thick glasses, and hair that looked as though it had been styled by a brisk wind. Michael had a passion for reading. In middle school, I’d often pass the library on my lunch break and see him with his nose in a book. We had some classes together, but I didn’t consider him a friend. I suppose the only token of friendship we shared was an occasional hurried hello or nod in the hallway between classes.
Often, I heard others say things about Michael that were anything but complimentary. He was an easy target because he was different. He was tall but not athletic. And he was always reading. I didn’t really care about him, and from what I could tell none of my peers did either.
But I began to see Michael differently one day when I least expected it—at work, teaching second-graders the basics of basketball.
Every Saturday during the fall and winter, I coach basketball and soccer for first- and second-graders. I’ve learned how to develop patience and a positive attitude because, if I’m not enthusiastic, they won’t be.
One second-grade girl in particular really knew how to test my ability to have a positive attitude. She tested the other coaches as well. We were getting ready for the day’s activities when one of the other coaches let out a huge sigh and said, “Oh, brother! She’s here.” Another coach said, “It’s going to be a long day whenever Wendy is here.”
Standing in the doorway was Wendy. She was autistic and didn’t fit in well with other children. Wendy often yelped and grunted, and she couldn’t stand still for very long. She had the habit of touching other children’s hair, which made them uncomfortable and caused disruption. Sometimes she pushed and even slapped other people, both children and coaches. I had to agree. It was going to be a long day.
Wendy walked to the middle of the gym floor, lay down, and started crying. It looked as though one of us was going to have to spend our whole day on “Wendy Patrol.”
Then something unexpected happened. In came Michael. He walked to Wendy and gently picked her up. In a voice hardly above a whisper, he calmly said, “Come on, Wendy, I’ll do the warmups with you so you won’t be alone.”
Michael was Wendy’s big brother. For the rest of the morning, he never left Wendy’s side. He was so patient and caring. I could tell that Michael loved his little sister and wanted her to fit in and be happy. Maybe he wanted those same things for himself.
I started to think about Michael’s trials. All day at school, he heard put-downs and snide comments from people who thought they were being clever. And then I thought about his home life, dealing with a sister who had a difficult condition. Yet these trials brought out the best in him. He was compassionate and Christlike.
It was at that point I recognized Michael for what he was—a hero, a true hero, right there in a small school gymnasium early on a Saturday morning.
My attitude toward Michael changed. I am grateful I was able to see a side of him I didn’t know existed. I’m grateful, too, that when Michael made eye contact with me that Saturday morning, I gave him a sincere smile. I tried to be his friend after that.
There are heroes like Michael among us. We all need heroes close by, people we can learn from and model our lives after. If I watch them long enough and pattern my life after theirs, perhaps I can one day be somebody’s hero, too.