Gospel Story Finder

When my sixth-grade class talks about movies, they usually talk about PG-13 or R-rated movies. They ask me, “Have you seen them?” I answer, “No, I can’t watch PG-13 movies. I’m not allowed to watch R-rated movies either.” They laugh at me and say, “You can only watch baby shows.” It hurts me, but I get over it because I know I’m doing what Heavenly Father wants me to do. So even if people tease me, I will still keep my spirit high because I love the Lord. I will follow His teachings and always keep Him in my heart.

Let me focus now on the role of temples in the international growth of the Church. I am convinced that a major part of the solution to retention and leadership building is temple attendance. When Tani and I were married in 1968, there were only 13 operating temples in the Church, and only the New Zealand, London, and Swiss temples were outside of the United States and Canada. After we were married, we moved first to Indiana for four years of graduate work and then to Penn State for my first university position. We remained there for eight years. There weren’t very many temples close to Indiana and Pennsylvania. I think we may have been in the Manti Temple District during those years. As a result, we did not get to the temple very often. However, shortly after moving to Indiana, the Church announced that a temple would be built in Washington, D.C. We sold concessions at the Kentucky Derby and the Indianapolis 500, put on chicken barbecues, and did any number of other things to reach our assessment.

Finally the temple was dedicated in 1974, and we only had to drive three and a half hours from State College, Pennsylvania, to Washington, D.C., to attend the temple. What a glorious experience that was. It was wonderful for the State College Branch members to travel to the temple and have their families sealed for time and eternity. I am convinced that the testimonies and conviction of the converts and the rest of us increased as we attended the temple regularly. Two of the most spiritual experiences I have had in my life were the direct result of going to the Washington D.C. Temple—once to seek an answer to a question and the other to give me unsolicited direction for the members of the branch when I was serving as branch president. In both cases the inspiration of the Spirit came several days after a trip to the temple as the calm, peaceful feeling of the temple stayed with me. Many times in district council meetings we would discuss the principles of leadership that we learned in the temple as our district president would give us assignments and ask us to return to the next meeting and report on those assignments. We developed closeness as a branch family and as leaders.

Perhaps not coincidentally, Father Damien arrived at Kalaupapa in the same year the Napelas did. This Belgian priest would eventually gain international fame because of his demonstration of faith and attitude of selfless service on the island, best captured by his own words: “Suppose the disease does get my body, God will give me another one on resurrection day.”9 From the day of his arrival in 1873 until his death at age 49, his concern was for all the patients, regardless of race or religion. However, the core of his heart seemed to belong to the orphaned children, whom he often led in singing.

Soon after their arrival at the settlement, Jonathan Napela and Father Damien became acquainted. Both had come to Kalaupapa to serve, and both contracted Hansen’s disease as a result of their charity. Damien was 27 years younger than Napela, and the cultural background of each was very different, yet both were firmly committed to their religious orientations. Though ecclesiastical leaders of different faiths, they became dear friends. In fact, one of their contemporaries who lived at Kalaupapa wrote, “After Father Damien arrived in the Leper Settlement, . . . Mr. J. Napela . . . and Father Damien were the best of friends.”11 What makes this relationship particularly unusual is the fact that at this time heated rivalries existed between faiths as they vied for island converts.12 Yet at Kalaupapa, there seems to have developed a different kind of spiritual terrain nourished by the relationship between these two great men and their commitment to improve the decadent moral conditions they encountered upon their arrival at the settlement.

However, as a young teenager, I began to question whether I would be allowed to serve a mission. World War II had kept my father from serving as a missionary, which he badly wanted to do. In my case, the Vietnam War was raging; only two young men from each ward in the United States were given exemptions from military duty to serve missions. The rest had to rely on high lottery numbers to allow them to serve missions. Though my lottery was a few years away, I still worried about this, wondering if I would actually be able to fulfill my childhood dream.
About this time, I attended a stake conference in which Elder Thomas S. Monson was the visiting General Authority. After one session, my mother and I went to meet him. I shook his hand and we talked. I don’t remember any of the conversation except for one sentence. He looked right into my eyes and said, “You will be going on a mission.” I never worried after that; all my doubts were removed.

A few weeks ago I was called to the County Hospital in Salt Lake City by a mother. I didn’t know her. She said her boy was dying from polio, and she asked if I would come down and give that boy a blessing. I picked up a young bishop whom I generally take with me, for I think his faith is greater than mine and I always like having him along. We went down there and found this young lad in an iron lung, unconscious, his face rather a blackish color, with a tube in his throat, and they said he had another tube lower down in his abdomen. He had been flown in from an outlying community.

The mother said to me, “This is an unusual boy, not because he’s my child, but he is an unusual boy.” I think he was eight or nine years of age.

After they put the usual coverings on us, we went in and we blessed that boy. It was one of those occasions when I knew as I laid my hands upon that lad that he was an unusual boy and that he had faith. Having faith in his faith, I blessed him to get well and promised him he would recover.

I never heard any more about him until last Saturday. I was on my way to Murray for a conference, and I dropped in at the County Hospital. I asked if I might see the lad.

The nurse said, “Certainly. Walk right down the hall.”

As I walked down the hall, out came the boy running to meet me. He ran up and asked, “Are you Brother Cowley?”

I said, “Yes.”

He said, “I want to thank you for that prayer.” He added, “I was unconscious then, wasn’t I?”

I replied, “You certainly were.”

He said, “That’s the reason I don’t recognize you.”

Then he said, “Come on in my room; I want to talk to you.” He was an unusual boy.

Well, we went in the room. He still had a tube in his throat.

I said, “How long are you going to have that tube there?”

He said, “Oh, two weeks. Two more weeks and then I’m all well. How about another blessing?”

I said, “Certainly.”

I blessed him again, and then I was in a hurry. I wanted to get out to my conference.

But he stopped me and asked, “Hey, how about my partner in the next bed?” He was a young ­fellow of about sixteen or seventeen.

I said, “What do you mean?”

He said, “Don’t go out without blessing him. He’s my partner.”

I said, “Sure.”

Then I asked the older boy, “Would you like a blessing?”

He said, “Yes, sir. I’m a teacher in the Aaronic priesthood in my ward.”

I blessed him, and then my little friend left and brought another fellow in. Here was another partner. I blessed him too.

Now, except ye believe as a child, you cannot receive these great blessings. We have to have the faith of a child in order to believe in these things, especially when you reach college age and your minds are so full of skepticism and doubt. I guess there are some things that you should doubt, but you can become as little children in these things.

The Brethren endowed as many faithful members as possible before leaving Nauvoo. In January 1846, Brigham Young wrote, “Such has been the anxiety manifested by the Saints to receive the ordinances [of the temple], and such the anxiety on our part to administer to them, that I have given myself up entirely to the work of the Lord in the Temple night and day, not taking more than four hours sleep, upon an average, per day, and going home but once a week.”
On February 3, Church leaders had planned to stop the ordinance work. Brigham Young left the temple to make final preparations to leave for the West the next day, but when he saw a large crowd gathered to receive their endowments, he returned to the temple to serve them. This kept him there another two weeks! More than five thousand Saints received their endowments before heading west.

Humility is a word we hear a lot about, but do we really understand what it is? I don’t believe I did until one morning years ago when I saw humility in a hotel entrance. I was sitting in the entrance of the Hotel Utah in Salt Lake City. From my soft chair I observed with great interest the comings and goings of people through the front door of the hotel. The longer I sat there, the more crowded the entrance became. People were moving in and out, bumping into each other in their haste, then exchanging irritated glances as they hurried on. I couldn’t help thinking how unconcerned we are for others as we move about pursuing our individual goals.
The very next person who came to the door of the hotel provided a real contrast. Elder George Q. Morris of the Quorum of the Twelve, a man in his 80s, reached for the door and held it open for several minutes while others hurried through without so much as a nod of thanks. When there was no one else waiting, he walked into the entrance. He removed his hat and nearly had it knocked out of his hands by a young woman who was in too big a hurry to even notice whom she had bumped into.
I watched Elder Morris for at least six or seven minutes as he made his way across the entrance, always stepping aside for others, at the same time expressing a “Pardon me” or “Excuse me, you go first.” Several times he stopped completely while others rushed by. If people were in his way, he would wait patiently until they stepped aside or moved on without ever realizing he was waiting to get by.
I am sure there was no one in that entrance with a busier schedule or more on his mind than Elder Morris. I have thought since that it would have been more appropriate (if less true to life) had everyone stepped aside for an Apostle of the Lord.
Some of the true marks of humility—kindness, consideration for others, and an awareness of their aims and needs—are often forgotten in our involved pursuits. I have always appreciated more deeply those who manifest the little kindnesses since seeing humility in a hotel entrance.

Three days after my father graduated from high school in 1944, he reported for the Navy. He became a chief petty officer and received his assignment to AO-96, the U.S.S. Tamalpais. The ship sailed across the Pacific, delivering water to famous places like Eniwetok, Leyte, and Ulithi. The Tamalpais received a call into Tokyo Bay in the summer of 1945, so Dad witnessed the end of the war—an iconic moment of the 20th century.[1]
In my office, I display a silk Japanese flag Dad brought from Japan. It’s a joy because I later served my mission there among a wonderful people my dad had never said anything bad about. But I prize this brown and black volume the most of Dad’s things—his military copy of the Book of Mormon. I raise it sometimes when I attend devotional.
Dad eventually started a small business and reared five children. To relieve stress, we’d go to the mountains, including Yellowstone. There, Dad sometimes opened the scriptures. Under the gentle lights, we’d read the Book of Mormon. I don’t remember much of what we read, but I remember what I felt: a quiet assurance of the truth of this book. So, when Dad died the day after Christmas when I was 10, those memories’ importance grew. I thank God that Dad found a way to somehow teach me to love the Book of Mormon.

This story happened in the USA.
Kat rubbed her prosthetic arm nervously as Mom drove down the dirt road. “Mom, I’m scared.”
Mom gave her a soft smile. “I know. But I think you will like summer camp, honey. Think of all the new kids you will meet.”
Kat said nothing, but inside she thought, That’s what I’m afraid of.
Soon they arrived at the day camp. Mom went with Kat to talk to her camp counselor, Brian. “Kat had her arm amputated as a baby,” Mom told him. “It won’t affect how she plays, but sometimes it makes meeting new people a little hard.”
“Don’t worry, Kat,” said Brian. “We’re all happy to have you here.”
Kat had fun meeting the kids in her group. They named themselves the Purple Tigers. They went on a hike, ate cheese and crackers, and had foot races. Kat was one of the fastest in the group.
At the end of the day, Brian announced that they would compete against another group in a sack race. Kat hoped the Purple Tigers would win!
When it was her turn, Kat pulled the sack around her knees and began to jump. But the sack was hard to hold up with one hand, and she tripped over the heavy fabric. Kat fell and rolled onto the grass. By the time she got back up, the other team had finished the race. Kat’s team had lost.
That night at dinner, Kat told her parents about the sack-race disaster. “I don’t want to go back to camp,” she said. “The team lost because of me. They won’t want me to come back.”
“I’m sorry, sweetie.” Mom gave Kat a hug. “I’m sure your new friends still love you. And you know who will always love you no matter what?”
“You will.” Kat smiled a little.
“Yes. We love you! And so does your Heavenly Father. You’re His child too, remember?”
“It sounds like you had fun before the sack race,” said Dad. “Why don’t you give camp one more try?”
Kat nodded. “OK.”
Dad smiled. “Try to notice when people are kind to you. And look for ways to be kind to others. That always helps me when I’m having a hard time.”
The next day at camp, the kids from Kat’s group greeted her with high-fives and hugs. No one mentioned the sack race, and Kat forgot how worried she had been. She told jokes with her new friends while they waited for the activities to start.
Then Counselor Brian walked over to the group. Next to him was a boy Kat’s age. “Attention, Purple Tigers,” said Brian, “we have a new friend today. His name is Rodrigo. Rodrigo only speaks Spanish, so we are trying to find a counselor who speaks Spanish to help him.”
Kat was learning Spanish at her school, but she only knew a little. She was too scared to try to talk to Rodrigo.
Then she looked at him. He looked scared too. Not speaking the same language as the other kids must be hard, she thought. She knew how it felt to be different.
Kat remembered how all her new friends had welcomed her to the group. They made her feel loved, just like Jesus would. She wanted to do that for Rodrigo too.
Kat remembered how to say “hello” in Spanish. So she took a deep breath and walked up to Rodrigo. “Hola,” she said with a smile.
Rodrigo’s worried look went away, and he smiled back. Kat held out her prosthetic hand.
“¿Amigos?” she asked. Friends?
Rodrigo’s smile got bigger. He took her hand and shook it. “Amigos.”
How did Kat follow Jesus?
Illustration by Flavia Drago

As a young graduate student, scientist Hope Jahren investigated the chemical composition of hackberry fruit pits, seeking insight as to their hardy survival in various climates. Late at night, alone in a lab, she exposed their material to X-rays. She describes what happened next and how it affected her:
The readout from the X-ray displayed one clear, unequivocal peak at exactly the same angle of diffraction, each time I replicated the measurement.... It clearly indicated that my mineral was an opal.... I was the only person, in an infinite, exploding universe, who knew that this powder was made of opal. In a wide, wide world, full of unimaginable numbers of people, I was, in addition to being small and insufficient, special... because of the tiny detail I knew about creation.... I finally knew what real research would feel like. [1]

While serving in the Asia North Area Presidency with Elder Takashi Wada, I learned that his wife, Sister Naomi Wada, is an accomplished Japanese calligrapher. I asked Sister Wada if she would draw for me the Japanese characters for the word mui. I wanted to hang the calligraphy on my wall as a reminder to be still and to focus on the Savior. I was surprised when she did not readily agree to this seemingly simple request.

The next day, knowing that I had likely misunderstood her hesitance, Elder Wada explained that writing those characters would require a significant effort. She would need to ponder and meditate on the concept and the characters until she understood the meaning deeply in her soul and could give expression to these heartfelt impressions with each stroke of her brush. I was embarrassed that I had so casually asked her to do something so demanding. I asked him to convey my apologies to her for my ignorance and to let her know that I was withdrawing my request.

You can imagine my surprise and gratitude when upon my leaving Japan, Sister Wada, unsolicited, gifted to me this beautiful piece of calligraphy featuring the Japanese characters for the word mui. It now hangs prominently on the wall of my office, reminding me to be still and to seek the Lord every day with all my heart, might, mind, and strength. She had captured, in this selfless act, the meaning of mui, or stillness, better than any words could. Rather than mindlessly and dutifully drawing the characters, she approached her calligraphy with full purpose of heart and real intent.

Born in 2007, Ishamel was healthy growing up until age nine. One day he returned home from school and reported to his mother that his eyes were itching. The next morning his eyes were swollen, and he was taken to the hospital, where he went through surgery but never regained his sight.
Ishmael had to leave his primary school and got enrolled at a school for the blind in Sierra Leone. It was a difficult time for him and his family because he had to leave his parents to stay at the school’s boarding home. He eventually adjusted to his new environment and began learning how to use braille. Despite his visual impairment, Ishmael has a deep passion for education and a strong desire to always be learning something new.
He accepted an invitation extended to him by Sister Ramatu Kanneh, the bishop’s wife, to attend seminary and Succeed in School (SIS) classes in September 2024. The first day he came, he was met with a warm, welcoming reception from the teacher and the other students. In no time he became close friends with Alfred Kargbeni, who walks him to and from class every day.
To ensure he could fully participate and retain the information covered, he uses an audio recorder to capture the lessons, which he then listens to intently once back home. There, he would carefully transcribe the recorded content using a braille writing instrument. Regrettably, Brother Ishmael’s recorder eventually malfunctioned, leaving him without a means to document the lessons. Nevertheless, he remained dedicated, finding solace in the caring interactions with his fellow classmates.
After one seminary class Ishmael said, “I have made up my mind that this is really the Church of Jesus Christ”. He was then introduced to the missionaries by Alfred, and after obtaining permission from his parents, he was baptized on January 4, 2025. As he continued attending SIS and seminary classes, he developed the desire to read the scriptures, especially the Book of Mormon, so he started inquiring about the possibility of getting a braille copy.
We (the Seminaries and Institutes employees) told his story in one of our SIS meetings, and our colleagues in Utah got him a copy of the Book of Mormon in braille. We were all surprised at the huge size of the book when it arrived. In the suitcase was also a brand-new recorder. You can imagine Ishmael’s joy when we handed him the braille Book of Mormon and the recorder.
Brother Ishmael expressed his gratitude and love for the things he is learning. “SIS has helped me deepen my love for reading and solving math problems,” he says. “I am now more confident in managing my schoolwork. I am also growing spiritually through the things I am learning in seminary.”
Ishmael’s parents are currently taking the missionary lessons as he has been using every opportunity to share with them the things he is learning.

When Leigh got home from school, she found her mother carefully going through a big cardboard box of clothes. “What’s that?” she asked her mother.
“Another box of things from the Ellers.” Her mother held up a green corduroy jumper and asked, “Do you like this one?”
Leigh nodded her head, but after rummaging through the box, she held up a red velveteen party dress with lace ruffles and said, “I like this one better.”
“That’s lovely, Leigh!” her mother exclaimed. “It hardly shows any wear at all.”
“Why do the Ellers give us their clothes?” Leigh asked, examining a white silk blouse.
Her mother looked up and reached out to stroke Leigh’s copper hair, then turned away and sighed, “Because we need them, Leigh, and the Ellers are kind enough to share with us.”
Leigh didn’t mind wearing the Ellers’ pretty clothing, even if it was used. Since the Eller girls went to a different school, no one in Leigh’s school recognized her “new clothes.” Leigh never told anyone about the hand-me-down box.
One day in school Mrs. Kratz, Leigh’s fourth-grade teacher, announced, “I want each of you to think about what you want to be when you grow up.”
All the children moaned—all except Leigh. Leigh had wanted to be a writer ever since she had first learned how to read.
“And,” Mrs. Kratz continued, “I want each of you to be prepared to tell us what you’ve decided in a little speech next Wednesday.”
“A speech!” Leigh gasped quietly. She had never spoken in front of a class before. What will I say? she wondered. What will I wear?
When Leigh got home from school that day, she tore through the house, frantically calling her mother.
“What’s the matter, Leigh?” her mother cried. “Are you hurt?”
Leigh explained breathlessly, “I have to give a speech in class next Wednesday.”
“A speech?”
“I have to talk about what I want to be when I grow up, and I have to do it in front of the whole class! I have to look my best so no one will laugh at me, and I don’t have anything to wear!”
Mother came down from the ladder where she’d been hanging some curtains that she had washed. “What about one of the dresses that the Ellers gave us?”
“Not hand-me-downs,” Leigh protested. “Not this time. For once can’t I have a new dress?” she pleaded.
“Well, perhaps we can afford to buy fabric to make you one,” offered her mother.
Looking at her feet, Leigh barely whispered, “Not a homemade dress. A new store-bought dress—like the Ellers wear. Just this once. Please.”
Mrs. Baugh knelt before her daughter, placed her hands on Leigh’s shoulders, and looked straight into her troubled eyes. “We can’t spend very much on a new dress, but we’ll go look Saturday.”
Leigh was ecstatic as she hugged her mother. Later that night Leigh lay awake in bed, thinking about a store-bought dress. She said “look,” Leigh reminded herself, not “buy.” But I have twelve dollars saved from babysitting, and with what Mother has, I should be able to buy a dress as nice as the Ellers wear. She drifted off to sleep, dreaming about her first trip to one of the fine dress shops in town.
But when Saturday came, they didn’t go to a fancy shop. They went to a factory outlet store that didn’t look much different from the local grocery store. Leigh tried to conceal her disappointment as her mother led her to a rack full of dresses her size. One by one, they pulled the dresses off the rack and held them up to Leigh, looking for the perfect one for her first speech. The dresses were nice but not special—just plain cotton-polyester dresses like Leigh had worn before the Ellers started sending their clothes. Leigh hesitated, then asked, “Where are the fancier dresses, Mother?”
“Oh, Leigh,” her mother sighed good-naturedly. “There aren’t any fancy dresses in here, and if there were, we couldn’t afford them.”
Leigh wandered to the front of the store and peered out the big plate-glass window. Across the street a little girl in a beautiful blue coat and hat was just leaving an expensive dress shop with her mother, who was laden with ribbon-tied boxes. Leigh turned toward the check-out counter in the factory outlet and watched the cashier stuff purchases into plain brown paper sacks.
Mrs. Baugh came up and put an arm around her daughter, then looked out the window at the store across the street. “Maybe someday, Leigh,” she murmured.
“Let’s go home and see if we can find something in the hand-me-down box,” Leigh offered, trying to smile. “The red velveteen dress with the ruffles is much prettier than any of these dresses.”
Back home, Leigh tried on the red dress and was as pleased with how it felt as with how it looked. The velveteen was wonderfully soft, and the red brought out the natural rosiness in her cheeks and the highlights in her hair. Her mother pinned a new hem while Leigh twirled about in her slip, planning her speech.
On Wednesday Leigh practiced her speech aloud one last time while her mother carefully pressed the velveteen dress. Leigh had never felt more confident in her life.
When she got to school, Leigh noticed Linnie Lubette staring at her.
“Is that a new dress, Leigh?” Linnie asked with a sneer.
“Yes,” Leigh answered. “I got it for my speech today. Are you all ready?”
“Of course,” Linnie answered. Then she took Leigh’s arm and jeered, “Didn’t I see that dress at my ward’s Christmas party?”
Stunned, Leigh pulled away and sat down as Linnie started snickering. Then Leigh remembered that the Ellers and the Lubettes belonged to the same ward. Cindy had probably worn the dress to their ward’s Christmas party. If Linnie had admired it, she would remember it. Leigh was embarrassed and wished that she had worn any of her other dresses.
Suddenly she heard her name called.
“Why don’t you go first, Leigh?” her teacher asked. “We’re anxious to hear about your career choice.”
Leigh slipped out of her seat and walked slowly to the front of the room. Before she even had a chance to gather her thoughts, her teacher spoke again. “My, don’t you look lovely today, Leigh. Is that a new dress?”
Before Leigh could respond, Linnie chirped, “It’s not new. It’s a hand-me-down from Cindy Eller.”
Leigh was mortified. Now everyone would know that she wore hand-me-downs! She hung her head to hide the tears that were welling up in her eyes.
The room fell silent.
Leigh felt her teacher’s arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. “We’re both fortunate, Leigh. See this dress that I’m wearing? It’s a hand-me-down too.”
Leigh looked up for the first time and stared through tear-filled eyes at her teacher’s pretty blue dress. “You see”—her teacher turned to explain to the class—“I can’t afford many nice dresses like this. But my sister, who is a doctor, has many beautiful clothes. She shares them with me because she loves me.”
Leigh slowly turned her gaze from her teacher to Linnie, who was shrinking into her seat.
“I’m glad, Leigh,” her teacher continued, “that you have a friend who is kind enough to share her nice things with you. Now,” she said, going back to her desk, “tell us what you want to be when you grow up.”
Leigh cleared her throat. “I want to be like your sister.”
“A doctor?”
“No,” Leigh replied, smiling. “Someone kind enough to share with others.”

When my wife and I were first married, my parents lived in another state. During a break in our university schedule, we decided to go visit them.
We made sandwiches, packed the car, prepared a bed in the backseat for our young son so that he could rest during the 10-hour trip. After a full day in the car, we were beginning to get on each other’s nerves. The preschooler never slept and seemed to gather energy as the day wore on. We knew that if he would just close his eyes and be quiet for a while, he would fall asleep.
After sundown, with two hours of travel still to go, we decided to play a game. The purpose of the game was to try to get an exhausted youngster to sleep. We called it hide-and-seek. Have you ever tried to play hide-and-seek in a car? Let me tell you how we did it. We said to the small boy in back, “Let’s play hide-and-seek.” He enthusiastically agreed. We said, “Close your eyes and don’t open them until we call you. We need time to hide.”
The game started. A front-seat passenger would crouch down in the seat and 10 or 15 seconds later would call, “OK.” Our son would bound over the seat and say, “Aha, I found you!” We would say, “Next time we will hide better. Close your eyes again.” A minute or more would go by. Then we would call, and again he would energetically climb over the seat to find us. Finally we said, “We have a really good place to hide this time. It will take longer. Close your eyes and we will call you.”
A minute, two minutes, five minutes went by. We drove along in silence. The tranquillity was marvelous. We must have traveled 15 miles before we began to whisper quiet congratulations to ourselves on the success of our devious game. Then, from out of the backseat, came the sobbing voice of a heartbroken little boy. “You didn’t call me, and you said you would.”
“You didn’t do what you agreed to do.” What a terrible accusation. It was a defining moment in our lives. We knew that we could never play that game again.

Stake and district presidents, along with bishops, went out to help their members only minutes after the earthquake. The terrible situation in which these priesthood leaders went out is worth highlighting: it was nighttime; the lights were out; destruction abounded; and the earth would not stop shaking. These magnificent priesthood leaders left their families secured and walked out into the darkness, among people who wept, surrounded by destroyed houses. Thus our leaders went out during the night and the following days, facing frequent, strong aftershocks and a tsunami warning. They searched among the rubble, in the midst of commotion, risking their own lives to get to all the members. A bishop declared, “Without as much as a second thought, I ran in search of my Church brothers and sisters and leaders.” He found them. That’s how he spent most of the night.

A few years ago in Australia's Northern Territory, one of the most remote places on earth, I visited the Church's only branch where all of the members are Aboriginees. Because the branch is so isolated-500 miles from its District priesthood leaders-I wanted to know what the members there were learning about the gospel. On impulse, I asked all the children if they could sing, unrehearsed, "I Am a Child of God." I can still feel the assurance I felt then as they gathered and sang every word with earnest smiles, their faces full of light. "Teach me all that I must do, to live with Him someday." I sensed that they were on the homeward spiritual path.

“Before I tracked the time I spent, I thought it was going to be really hard to take time out and read the scriptures—but after realizing how much time I spent on social media, taking 10 minutes out of that felt super easy! I could read at lunch or right before seminary started.
“After I had read the scriptures, I was a lot more aware of what I looked at on social media. If I stumbled across something bad, with bad language or a negative message, I noticed it and tried to avoid it way more than before. I also noticed that my prayers were a lot more sincere and that I was receiving more answers to them. This is definitely something that I hope to continue for a lot longer!”
Izzie J., age 16, California, USA

In 1975 Robert was in a board meeting when his secretary handed him a note saying that President Marion G. Romney was on the phone. Since it was very unusual for anyone to leave a board meeting, everyone was surprised when Robert left to take the phone call. At that time, President Romney asked Robert to serve as a mission president. Later the assignment came to preside over the England London Mission. Shortly afterwards, Robert got another call from Salt Lake City—this time from President Spencer W. Kimball. He asked Robert if he would mind going to a different mission.
Robert replied, “I don’t mind. Send me wherever you want to send me, President.”
Then President Kimball asked, “Do you mind if we ask you to serve longer than three years?”
Robert said, “Okay.”
President Kimball then extended a lifelong call to him to serve as a General Authority.
“President Kimball told me he knew I was disappointed because I wanted to go out as a mission president,” says Elder Hales, “but he said, ‘Don’t worry about it; you will have many missions.’”

Several law enforcement officers were returning home after attending a special school in marksmanship. As they drove through the countryside, they noticed a large barn covered with painted bullseye targets.

It aroused their curiosity to the point that they pulled off the freeway and found the lane that led to the farm where the barn was located. They drove over to the barn and were greatly surprised to see a bullet hole precisely in the center of each bullseye.

The farmer came out to see what the men wanted.

They told him they had never seen such excellent marksmanship. “Who is this person with such outstanding ability? Is it you?” they inquired of the farmer.

He said, “No. It’s my son.”

“Is he here? May we see him?”

“Well, yes, he is around somewhere.”

“Could he show us how he is able to shoot in such a superior way?”

The farmer said, “Well, my son isn’t quite bright. He has a learning difficulty, but if you would like to see how he has done this, let me see if I can find him.”

Soon the farmer returned with his son. He said, “Son, show these men how you shoot your rifle.” The young man walked some distance from the barn, turned, pointed his rifle, and shot. Then he walked over to the barn, found where the bullet passed through the siding, picked up a can of paint, and promptly painted the bullseye around the hole.

As a bishop I occasionally had the opportunity to counsel a brother or a sister who was tired of the hard work of full-time school and a part-time job, or even full-time school and a full-time job, all of this combined with a Church calling and the pressure of keeping commandments, reading scriptures, praying, and attending the temple. As I visited with some of these individuals, they expressed that they just didn’t think they could hold on any longer and were not convinced that all the hard work was worth it. On some level I felt like I could relate. As a bishop there were some long dog days in which I dragged myself to the bishop’s office, feeling strongly that I simply had nothing to give to the ward members that day and even feeling a little sorry for myself. Thank goodness I have a dear wife who knew how to rough me up a bit and kick me out the door on occasion because—and this is very significant to me—every single evening I left that bishop’s office, I felt like I was levitating about six inches off the ground. Isaiah counseled, “But they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint.”26