Gospel Story Finder

The day the bad people flew airplanes into buildings and killed lots of people, I said in my bedtime prayer, “Bless all the good people, but don’t bless the bad people.” After I finished my prayer, my mom explained that we need to pray for bad people to help them choose the right. In my next prayer, I said, “Bless all the bad people so they will turn into good people.” I am glad I can pray to help people be good and choose the right.

It happens almost every Sunday evening. After church and after the dinner dishes are washed, nine-year-old Xinia (pronounced ZEEN-ya) gets out a pencil and several sheets of lined paper and starts writing her letters.
She sits at the kitchen table, absorbed with her writing. Sometimes she’ll look up to ask someone how to spell a word or to say something she remembers about the person she is writing to. But during most of her letter-writing time, she seems to be in her own world—or in the world of the person who is lucky enough to get her letter.
Who is she writing to? “The missionaries,” she answers with a smile. The letter she is working on now is for Elder Ed McCoy, a close friend of the family, who is serving a mission in California. Ed is the only member of his family who belongs to the Church, and Xinia makes sure that he gets at least one letter every week—hers.
“He used to come to our house for Sunday dinner,” she says. After he left for his mission, Sunday evening just didn’t seem complete without visiting with Ed—even if only through a letter. Before long, she started writing letters to the other missionaries, too. Now Xinia writes a letter nearly every Sunday evening to all six missionaries from Belize City. Sometimes she also writes to missionaries who served in Belize and have now returned to their homes. Every Monday morning, her mother mails a stack of Xinia’s letters to places such as Honduras, England, Canada, and the United States.

Another Cooper family tradition: At least once a week everyone tries to do something nice for another family member as a surprise.
Thanks for making my bed! You know how much I hate doing that.
You’re welcome. It needed to be done, and you weren’t here, so …
Hmmm. Nobody’s done anything special for me yet, and the week’s almost over.
Later that morning …
Somebody pumped up my bike tire for me!
Now you know where I was while you were making my bed.

I would like to close with an experience that occurred recently.
For three days in a row, my son Duffy (who is our eleven-year-old and plays on the school football team) leaped from some hidden corner of our home to throw a body block on me, in professional style. The last time he did this, in my effort to avoid the attack, I fell on the floor and knocked over the lamp and found my right elbow wedged up somewhere near my eyebrow. I completely lost my patience, and I scolded him for making me his tackling dummy.
His response melted my heart when he said with tears rolling down both cheeks, “But, Mom, you’re the best friend a guy could have. I thought this was as much fun for you as it was for me.” Then he added, “For a long time now I’ve planned what I will say in my first interview as a big time trophy winner. When they ask me how I got to be so great, I’ll tell them, ‘I practiced on my mother!’”

I soon learned that in the United States, most children my age had many things that I didn’t have. One of those things was a bike, and I wanted one badly. Somehow, my dad got me a bike for $5. Unfortunately, it had one major defect: it was a girl’s bike! It was humiliating for me to ride it. I found my shiny new dream machine in a mail-order catalogue, and it cost $65. I decided to earn the money to buy the bike myself, so I started working in the cotton fields every day after school. I would drag a long canvas bag up and down the rows of plants, filling it with cotton. Each afternoon, I could usually pick between twenty and forty pounds of cotton. I was paid two cents a pound, so I could usually make at least fifty cents a day.
As the end of the harvest drew near, I realized that I was not going to earn enough money for the bike. I told my dad, and he agreed that if I could raise half the money, he would pay the other half. Even after I had earned my part, the bike didn’t show up immediately. But then on Christmas morning, I got my beautiful new bike. From that experience, I learned that sometimes when we work very hard to reach a goal but fall short of reaching it, we can ask someone for help. Just as my father helped me, our Heavenly Father will help us, too.

I commence my message this morning with a question: Have you ever taken a vacation with your entire family? If not, you are in for some surprises when you do. My wife and I a few years ago joined our children, their companions, and the grandchildren at Disneyland in southern California. Beyond the entrance to the famous theme park, the group rushed to what was then the newest feature—Star Tours. You enter a simulated rocket, take your seat, and fasten your seat belt. All of a sudden the entire vehicle begins to vibrate violently. I think the mechanical voice which comes over the loudspeaker calls it “heavy turbulence.” (I have never returned to this featured ride. I get all the real turbulence I can handle just flying from place to place fulfilling my responsibilities.)
After recuperating for a few minutes, we journeyed to the feature with the longest line. It is called Splash Mountain. The crowd filed round and round in a serpentine pattern. The music, which was piped through the loudspeakers to the waiting throng, contained the words of the song:
Zip-a-dee-doo-dah, zip-a-dee-ay,
My, oh my, what a wonderful day!
Plenty of sunshine, headin’ my way,
Zip-a-dee-doo-dah, zip-a-dee-ay!
By now we were ready to board the boat which would carry us in a vertical dive that evoked screams from the passengers in the boat ahead as it roared down the waterfall and glided to a stop in the water below. Just before taking the plunge, however, I noticed on one wall a small sign declaring a profound truth: “You can’t run away from trouble; there’s no place that far!”
These few words have remained with me. They pertain not only to the theme of Splash Mountain but also to our sojourn in mortality.

“I always like to help the missionaries. Others need to know the gospel. They need to be happy,” says Irene Marques. She is a diminutive, dynamic Gypsy woman who sells clothing in the marketplace. Among the silver rings on her fingers is a child’s CTR ring, a gift from one of the missionaries she aided. Unable to join the Church for several years because of opposition from her family, she nevertheless introduced many other people to the missionaries and the gospel. She has retained that same missionary zeal since her baptism three years ago by an old friend, Joaquim Jose da Silva Aires, president of the Coimbra District.

I can share with you a simple example from my own life of what parents can do. When I was about five or six years old, I lived across the street from a small grocery store. One day two other boys invited me to go with them to the store. As we stood coveting the candy for sale there, the older boy grabbed a candy bar and slipped it into his pocket. He urged the other boy and me to do the same, and after some hesitation we did. Then we quickly left the store and ran off in separate directions. I found a hiding place at home and tore off the candy wrapper. My mother discovered me with the chocolate evidence smeared on my face and escorted me back to the grocery store. As we crossed the street, I was sure I was facing life imprisonment. With sobs and tears, I apologized to the owner and paid him for the candy bar with a dime that my mother had loaned me (which I had to earn later). My mother’s love and discipline put an abrupt and early end to my life of crime.

It took my friend and me almost four hours to hike up the steep path to the waterfall. When we finally arrived, covered in sweat and dirt, we basked in the euphoric reward of the powerful spray and the roar of the cascading falls.
And then I had this automatic thought come to mind: “You should take a picture of this and post it on Instagram.”
Seriously? I was out in nature, enjoying time with a friend, and one of my first thoughts was to share this moment on social media?
I spend a lot of time capturing life moments. Most of the time, photos just end up saved in my camera roll and thoughts end up jotted down in my journal, but they are fun to share on social media sometimes too. I wish I was better at just living in the moment, but I still love documenting the happiest moments in my life. When I’m having a hard time, it’s comforting to look back through my favorite memories.
But for someone who documents a lot of my life, I tend to forget to capture the greatest things I can record: my spiritual experiences.
There was a period of my life when I was really struggling and decided to start a habit of writing down three things I was genuinely grateful for every day. Some days were harder than others, so I had to take notice of even the smallest gifts or figure out a way to add to my own sunshine, like taking the time to enjoy a few chapters of a book.
But a thought occurred to me one day.
What if I recorded my spiritual experiences like I recorded life on social media? What if I documented moments when I recognized God’s hand in my life?
The Book of Mormon uses the word “remember”—including variations like “remembrance” and “remembering”—approximately 220 times.1 Helaman tells his sons Nephi and Lehi, “O remember, remember, my sons, the words which king Benjamin spake unto his people” (Helaman 5:9). He’s not just saying to recall Benjamin’s teachings; he’s saying to act on them.
When the resurrected Jesus Christ visits the Americas, he tells the Nephites, “If ye do always remember me ye shall have my Spirit to be with you” (3 Nephi 18:7). Christ isn’t just telling them to keep His image in their minds; He’s telling them to pattern their lives after His.
We can learn from that. We can act on what we believe, not just recall something we’ve forgotten. As 3 Nephi 29:3 says, “The Lord will remember his covenant which he hath made unto his people,” meaning that the Lord will take action to fulfill the covenants He made.
Remembering changes our behavior. It involves documenting what we experience.
And regarding spiritual matters, it means acting on—and sharing—what we believe.
But because there’s always contrast in the scriptures, we also get to learn from the people who don’t remember what God has done for them. For example, no matter how many miracles they’ve seen, Laman and Lemuel always forget how good God has been to them. After Nephi miraculously builds a boat by inspiration from God, his brothers still rebel and tie him up. Nephi writes, “They did forget by what power they had been brought thither” (1 Nephi 18:9).
This is why capturing our spiritually defining moments is so important.
I spend so much time capturing my life and being afraid I’ll forget some life experience that is important to me. But what would be way worse than losing the memory of a waterfall hike or a good time with a friend would be losing the memory of how much God loves me and has blessed me throughout my life.
So along with filling out my gratitude journal to capture my spiritual moments, I started keeping a list of times I felt the Spirit. Some of these experiences include:
Reading a profound Liahona article2
Having a spiritual conversation with my aunt
Enjoying a beautiful midnight rainstorm
Elder Neil L. Andersen of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles taught: “Embrace your sacred memories. Believe them. Write them down. Share them with your family. Trust that they come to you from your Heavenly Father and His Beloved Son. Let them bring patience to your doubts and understanding to your difficulties. I promise you that as you willingly acknowledge and carefully treasure the spiritually defining events in your life, more and more will come to you. Heavenly Father knows you and loves you!”3
If you’re struggling to feel or to remember your spiritual experiences and want to see God’s hand in your life more clearly, consider creating a list of moments you feel the Spirit each day. Doing so will help you understand how He speaks to you. And when it’s appropriate, don’t forget to share your experiences with friends and family so they can also “have glad tidings of great joy” (Alma 13:22).
There have been plenty of times in my life when I’ve been just like Nephi’s brothers: bitter, confused, and angry when life doesn’t go the way I plan. But unlike his brothers, my heart softens when I remember the spiritual experiences I’ve had and choose to seek out more of them. Through capturing those special moments with my Heavenly Father, I remember the times I’ve felt His love for me through the actions of other people, I am reminded of the ways the Spirit has brought me quiet reassurance, and I reflect on the experiences I’ve had in the temple and in nature.
When I remember those experiences, I have the strength and faith to keep going forward on the covenant path. And when I share those experiences, (just as often as I share moments on social media), I add to others’ faith as well.

When seminary began in Greece a few years ago, there were only five students. They meet three mornings a week, with some joining via online video conferencing. They also meet on Wednesday afternoons for seminary, followed by an activity. They have drawn close to each other and become a light to their friends, who notice their example. When their friends ask questions, the youth bring them to seminary and Mutual activities.

Jamie was looking forward to the garage sale. She helped her mother sweep the driveway and set up the long folding tables. Then she printed a large GARAGE SALE sign to display at the end of their street.
“Do you think we’ll have lots of people?” Jamie asked.
“I hope so,” Mother answered. “The newspaper ad should help.”
A broken toaster, some mismatched dishes, and outgrown clothing lined the tables. Jamie was fascinated by the people who came to browse through the collection of old items.
“Why would anyone pay fifty cents for an old blue bottle?” Jamie asked after an elderly lady had left with her purchase.
“Why, she’ll put some pretty silk flowers in it and think it’s the world’s greatest treasure!” Jamie’s mother explained. “People like to have unusual things without having to pay a lot for them.”
“Do you think someone will want to buy my old high chair and crib?” Jamie asked.
“Yes, I’m sure someone will,” replied Mother. “They’re almost like new.”
“I don’t like to think of my things being in someone else’s house,” Jamie said with a frown.
“Well, we certainly can’t use them anymore!” Her mother laughed. “You’re a big girl now. I’ll bet if you looked through your room, you’d find some things to get rid of too.”
Jamie went to her room to look for something she could sell. Her bookshelf was lined with books about giants and kings and clowns. This one used to be my favorite, she thought as she looked through the pages of How to Tell Time. I can’t sell it! she decided.
Inside her desk she found a set of plastic letters and numbers that she’d used in first grade. One of the Cs was missing, and the 8 was bent. I might need these to play school the next time Andrea comes over, Jamie thought. Finally, after thinking about everything in her room, Jamie decided to sell her blocks. They had been stored in the farthest corner of her closet for a very long time.
Back outside, Jamie told her mother, “I’m going to sell my blocks for two dollars.”
“Two dollars is rather high,” Jamie’s mother said as Jamie placed the box of blocks on the table. “You may want to lower the price.”
None of the adults were interested in the two-dollar box of blocks. Jamie began to think she’d keep them after all. Then an old blue car pulled up in front of the house. A young woman, followed by three small children, walked up the driveway.
“Your ad said you had a high chair and crib for sale,” the woman said.
“Yes, we do,” replied Jamie’s mother. “They’re right over here on the lawn. As you can see, they’re in very good condition.”
“They are nice,” the woman said. “The ones we have at home are worn-out.”
“Yes, I can imagine,” Jamie’s mother said, smiling at the three active children.
Jamie noticed that the dress the little girl was wearing was much too small for her. One of the little boy’s shoes had a hole in the toe, and his shirt was too big. The baby wasn’t wearing shoes, and Jamie thought his feet must be cold.
“My name’s Anne,” the little girl told Jamie. “I’m going to be in first grade this year!”
“Oh, that’s nice,” Jamie said. “How old are your brothers?”
“Marty’s four, and Alex is almost two,” Anne told her. “We’re going to have a new baby pretty soon!”
Marty spied the box of colorful blocks sitting at the edge of the table. “They’re pretty!” he said. He picked up a purple block and turned it around and around, looking at all its sides. “Bet I could build a real high tower with all of these!” he boasted.
“How much are the blocks?” Anne asked.
“Two dollars,” Jamie said. “They’re really good blocks. I haven’t used them very much.”
“Oh.” Anne sighed. “We won’t be able to buy them, Marty.”
“I have some money!” Marty declared. “Eighteen cents from my piggy bank!”
“I know,” Anne whispered to him, “and I have thirty-five cents. But even together it won’t be enough.”
“Maybe we can ask Mother for the rest,” Marty suggested.
“No,” Anne said. “She only has enough for the baby furniture.”
Jamie watched Marty’s freckled face sag into a sad frown. She watched his little fingers place the purple block back into the box. Then she thought about how useless the blocks had been sitting in her closet.
“Two dollars is probably too much for them,” Jamie admitted. “They do have some scratches. I think eighteen cents is a fair price!”
“You do?” Marty grinned. “That’s great!”
Marty counted out his dime and eight pennies. Jamie put the coins into the money box.
“Thank you,” Marty said, clutching his new treasure.
“I have some other things I don’t need anymore,” Jamie said. “If you’ll wait a minute, I’ll bring them out!”
“I don’t think we have enough money to buy any more,” Anne said.
“Wait until you see if there’s anything you like before you decide,” Jamie said as she hurried inside.
Jamie got How to Tell Time from the shelf. One of the clock hands on the cover was slightly bent, but that wouldn’t matter. It could still help a six-year-old learn to tell time. She gathered all the letters and numbers from her desk, put them into a shoe box, and then hurried outside.
“I’m too old for these things now,” Jamie said with a smile as Anne looked at the toys. “And they’re only thirty-five cents.”
“But aren’t these worth more than that?” Anne asked.
“No, thirty-five cents is just right,” Jamie replied. “You’ll have a lot of fun playing school with them.”
“I can’t wait to tell time!” Anne cried. “Thank you!”
As the old blue car pulled away from the curb, Jamie could see three excited faces looking back at her. Jamie waved. The coins she clutched in her other hand were forgotten. Inside, Jamie had a zillion dollars’ worth of happiness.

On February 13, 1949, I sent a letter to Elder Widtsoe at Church headquarters in Salt Lake City. Elder Widtsoe answered my letter on October 3, 1950, explaining that he had been in Norway. I sent him a long letter in reply in which I asked him to help me to be quickly baptized, because I felt that I had proven myself to be a faithful son and servant of God, observing the laws and commandments of his kingdom. Elder Widtsoe asked President Samuel E. Bringhurst of the Swiss-Austrian Mission to go to Sicily to baptize me.
On January 18, 1951, President Bringhurst arrived on the island and baptized me at Imerese. Apparently, this was the first baptism performed in Sicily. Then, on April 28, 1956, I entered the temple at Bern, Switzerland, and received my endowment. At last, to be in the presence of my Heavenly Father! I felt that God’s promise had been fully fulfilled—the day had come indeed when the source of the book was known to me and I was able to enjoy the effects of my faith.

One day Julie Ann Christensen, 12, of Arcadia, California, went to visit her friend Lori Bontempo who had just moved across the street. The Bontempo family were sitting around the kitchen table talking about different religions, so Julie told them about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. When everyone began to question her about the doctrines of the Church, Julie recited the Articles of Faith and explained something about each one. Everyone was amazed that such a young girl knew so much.
Julie later took them a copy of the Book of Mormon, and she explained that the missionaries would be glad to come and tell them more about the Church. On February 9, 1974, Paul, Carol, Lori, David, and their father and mother were baptized.
“Julie seemed to radiate something beautiful when she was talking to us about the Church,” Mr. Bontempo said. “She really has a special spirit about her.”

Moving is tough, but Joann Kalaui, currently of the Tuba Ward, Page Arizona Stake, never complains. Her father’s work has taken the family from Blanding, Utah, to Samoa, to Hawaii, then to Montezuma Creek, Utah. In her senior year her family moved again to Tuba City, a small town located on the largest Navajo Indian reservation in the United States.
In her short time in Tuba City, Joann has become active in student government, volleyball, track and field, and basketball. She also maintains a 4.0 grade point average, and is eager to tell anyone she meets about the Church.
Joann’s neighbor and close friend is deaf, so Joann decided to learn sign language. She then encouraged her family and other young women in her ward to learn it so that her friend would not feel left out.

Sara quietly climbed into her family’s car after church. She sighed and leaned her head against the window.
“Why are you so sad?” Mom asked.
“Today in Primary Jonathon gave a talk about families. He talked about his grandma and the things they do when they are together. It made me think of Grandma and how much I miss her.”
“I miss her too,” Mom said.
“I know that I’ll see her again someday,” Sara said, “but right now I miss her so much. I wish I could still do things with her.”
As they walked into the house, Mom put her arm around Sara and said, “Wait in the living room. I have something to give you.”
Sara was very curious.
Mom came into the room carrying a sack. Sitting on the couch next to Sara, Mom reached inside the sack and pulled out a small wooden box. She put it on Sara’s lap.
“What’s this?” Sara asked.
“It’s a memory box,” Mom said.
Sara opened the box, but there was nothing inside.
“One thing that helps me feel better when I am missing Grandma is to think about all the special things I did with her,” Mom said. “Why don’t you see if you can find things to put into the memory box that remind you of her? When you’re feeling sad, you can open the box and remember some of the wonderful things about her. You’ll still miss her, but maybe it will help.”
Sara took the box to her bedroom. She started to remember special things about Grandma. She spent much of the evening gathering things for her box.
The next morning at breakfast, Sara asked Dad if she could share something during family home evening that night.
“Definitely,” Dad said. “What do you want to share?”
“You’ll have to wait and see,” Sara said, smiling.
That night, during family home evening, Sara stood up. Holding the box, she said, “This is my memory box.”
“What’s inside?” Eric asked.
Sara lifted the lid of the box. She pulled out a small flower called a snapdragon. “When I was at Grandma’s house last summer, she picked a bouquet of snapdragons from her garden. With one of the flowers, she made the snapdragon tell me a story.”
“How can a snapdragon tell a story?” Susan asked.
“Like this.” Sara pinched the edges of the flower together. Each time she did, the flower petals opened and closed like a mouth.
“When I was a little girl, Grandma used to tell me snapdragon stories too,” Mom said.
“What else is in the box?” Dad asked.
Sara pulled out a cupcake wrapper. “Grandma made the best cupcakes.”
“I loved her chocolate ones,” Eric said.
Next Sara pulled out a penny. “Grandma told me to be sure to pay my tithing—even if it is only a penny.”
Sara pulled out one thing after another. At last she took out a piece of paper with music on it. “I love that Grandma liked to sing as she worked. This is her favorite song. Can we sing it now, Mom?”
“Absolutely,” Mom said.
Sara smiled as her family sang “Families Can Be Together Forever.”
That night Sara placed the memory box on her bookshelf. Even though she missed Grandma, she was happy to have so many memories of her. Sara’s happy memories would keep her from being sad until she could be with Grandma again.

Q: The psychology of the other player intrigues me. Do you study them and then change your style for different players?
Freed: Oh, yes. You always want to find your opponent’s weaknesses and play to them. I’ll admit that there’s a certain amount of gamesmanship in tennis. For instance, once I was playing a champion, a fine player. I knew only one thing about him: he was a stereotype player who never varied his style. So when he was serving to me, I would move around and leave a great big hole on my forehand or my backhand. Then just as he’d start to wind up, I’d jump over and close the hole. He didn’t like that; it got on his nerves and hurt his game, and I beat him. I think I beat him because I was a little more flexible. This is just part of tennis. If I play with an opponent who has a weak backhand, I hit everything I can to his backhand.

My family and I were baptized in General Santos, Philippines, on 5 February 1995. At that time I was a freshman in high school, and I had a good life. My parents provided me with many nice things, and I was studying in a private school. My father worked at a pineapple plantation, and my mother managed our chain-saw business.
There were seven in our family. Even though we lived far from the meetinghouse, we were always there for Sunday services and other activities.
One day my father took a day off work to help my mother with her job; she had to go to school with my brother and sister and me to pay our tuition. On that day somebody hired our chain-saw operator to cut down some coconut trees. My father had to supervise the job.
While we were at school, one of the coconut trees that was being cut fell on a very expensive jeep. My mother went quickly to the place where it had happened. The owner of the jeep was very angry and demanded complete payment for the ruined jeep. My mother felt as though the whole world had fallen on her. We didn’t have that much money. My father requested an early retirement, but his retirement benefits were not enough to cover the damages. The chain-saw operator was arrested. Our chain saws were taken away—as were our house, land, and belongings. In a moment, everything we owned was gone. My father decided to go away, leaving our family to face the consequences alone.
It was a very hard time for all of us, but we didn’t lose our faith and hope. The day my mother had to go to court, we fasted and prayed. Fasting and prayer brought her comfort.
We had nothing left, not even a roof over our heads, but the Lord helped us. Indeed, He helped us through our bishop, who took us to his home to live with his family. Later another member offered his property for us to stay on until we could recover.
When the new school year was about to begin, I prayed that my brother, sister, and I could study again. Through prayer, faith, and hope, we were able to go back to the school where we had enrolled before, even though we did not have any money. I felt the love of our Heavenly Father then more than at any other time in my life.
In a difficult situation, Heavenly Father will help us if we stay faithful, prayerful, and obedient. He helped my family start all over again and kept us going. I know that if we continue to obey the commandments, we will continue to be blessed.

—Kevin Leach, 20, from Sparks, Nevada, spent a summer as an emergency medical technician intern in Atlanta, Georgia. He was able to associate with a lot of other people in the medical field. He came to see that besides his EMT and paramedic training, a nursing degree would be important. Since returning, he’s taken the additional courses necessary, and will soon graduate with three degrees.
“I’m not only going to be able to be a paramedic out on the streets, but I’ll be able to be a nurse in the hospitals, to ride on Life Flights, to teach emergency medicine up to a certain point, and to move up into administration. What I discovered was that some extra work can open a lot of doors.”

In Caleb’s baby blessing, I assured him he had completed his mortal task by being born and that he would have a brief time to rest as part of our family before returning to his heavenly home.
Yet Caleb and his mother had different plans. They wanted to spend more time together and do a greater work. God had perfectly matched Caleb’s courage with April’s love and daring optimism. April purposefully chose hope and trust in the Lord. With God’s help, she turned what was a sorrowful circumstance into a sacred setting.
April celebrated everything about Caleb. She made him a birthday cake after his first week, cupcakes for his second week, and cookies for his third week. Every day was a once-in-a-lifetime event for our boy sent home from the hospital without hope. Caring for Caleb became a privilege for us.
Though Caleb’s body was misshapen and broken, his spirit was whole, noble, and great (see Abraham 3:22). Even his missing eye became a blessing, making it seem as if he was continually winking. His wink became his distinctive feature. People were drawn to him, especially children. They would often ask, “Where is his eye? What happened to him?” I would jokingly say he was a pirate. But April would explain that in our family, a wink meant “I love you.”
Caleb never spoke the words, but his wink communicated love. His perpetual wink felt like a heavenly message, bringing God’s love and Christ’s light into our lives.
In our family, a wink means “I love you.”

Elder Stevenson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles told the true story of a loyal sheep dog. When some sheep got stuck in the mountains, the dog stayed with them, circling in the snowy weather, protecting them from coyotes. The dog finally led the sheep back to the shepherd and the flock. Heavenly Father loves us and, like the sheep dog, will never leave us, even when life gets stormy. We should also love and protect others.