Gospel Story Finder

“Fire! Fire!” Frantic pleas for help broke the stillness of the quiet afternoon in Nauvoo. But it wasn’t a barn or a shed that was in flames that February 9, 1846.
Eleven-year-old Aurelia Spencer was nearby and could see men on top of the temple, swinging their hats and calling for assistance. Many members of the Church were busy preparing to leave Illinois for Utah, but when the alarm sounded everyone left whatever they were doing to help save the temple.
Willard Richards, a leader in the community, was on the temple grounds when the fire started and he immediately took charge. He shouted for everyone, including women and children, to rush to the closest wells to fill buckets with water. Two rows of men were formed on the stairs leading up to the attic roof of the temple where the fire had started. They passed full buckets of water up one row of fire fighters and returned them empty down another. Aurelia ran back and forth carrying pails of water to the men in the bucket brigade. But the wells were soon emptied, and teams of horses were driven to the river to obtain water.
There were a few moments of confusion when another alarm called some of the Saints to help rescue the victims of an accident nearby involving two riverboats. But in spite of this interruption, the temple fire was put out after about half an hour.
Hosea Stout, one of the fire fighters, said that a hole about twelve feet square had been burned in the roof. Later it was found that the temple fire had been caused by a red-hot stovepipe that ignited some clothes drying in an attic room.
When the fire was completely extinguished, Aurelia joined with the Saints as they rejoiced with loud shouts of Hosannah. Brigham Young, President of the Council of the Twelve, had seen the smoke from some distance and arrived just as the crowd began to celebrate. The Nauvoo band then climbed to the top of the roof and began to play for those gathered below.
Aurelia felt privileged to be able to help put out the fire that could easily have destroyed the Saints’ beloved temple. She later wrote, “Child as I was, I could not help noticing the order that prevailed and the calmness of the men that superintended the work.”
Aurelia grew up to become the president of the first Primary organized in the Church. This took place nearly one hundred years ago on August 25, 1878, in Farmington, Utah.

In the early 1950s the United States was at war on the Korean peninsula. Because of the draft policy of the government at that time, young men were not allowed to serve missions but instead required to join the military. Knowing this, I enrolled in the Army Reserve Officers’ Training Corps when I went to college. My goal was to become an officer like my oldest brother. However, during a visit home for the Christmas holiday, my home-ward bishop, Vern Freeman, invited me into his office. He advised me that a young Church leader by the name of Brother Gordon B. Hinckley had negotiated an agreement with the U.S. government permitting each ward in the Church in the United States to call one young man to serve a mission. This young man would receive an automatic deferment from the military during his mission.
Bishop Freeman said he had been praying about it and felt he should recommend me to serve as a full-time missionary representing our ward. I explained to him that I had already made other plans—I had enrolled in the Army ROTC and expected to become an officer! My bishop gently reminded me that he had been prompted to recommend me to serve a mission at that particular time. He said, “Go home and talk to your parents and come back this evening with your answer.”
I went home and told my father and mother what had happened. They said the bishop was inspired, and I should happily accept the Lord’s invitation to serve. My mother could see how disappointed I was at the prospect of not becoming an army officer right away. She quoted:
“Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding.
“In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.”
That night I went back to the bishop’s office and accepted his invitation. He told me to go to the Selective Service Office and advise them of my decision.
When I did so, to my surprise the lady who was chairman of the Selective Service Office told me: “If you accept a mission call, you will receive your draft notice before you can reenter Army ROTC. You will serve as an enlisted man, not as an officer.”
Despite this unexpected change, my mission was wonderful. It changed the course of my life as it does for those who serve. But, true to their word, the government sent an induction letter drafting me into the U.S. Army about one month before my mission release.

Not long before Elaine S. Dalton entered her second year at Brigham Young University, her father passed away unexpectedly. It was a trying time in her life, and she prayed often to understand why her father would be taken away from a family that needed him so much.
The answer to her prayers didn’t come until the following summer, when she was touring Europe with the BYU folk dance team. On Father’s Day, as the team held sacrament meeting, one of the speakers referred to Proverbs 3:5–6: “Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.”
“I realized that scripture was my answer,” Sister Dalton says now. “I still didn’t know why my father passed away, but I knew I needed to trust in the Lord. That scripture has since guided my life. In everything that has happened that I haven’t understood, I’ve known that if I trust in the Lord, He will direct my path.”

As I approached my 18th birthday and prepared to enter military service in World War II, I was recommended to receive the Melchizedek Priesthood. Mine was the task to telephone President Paul C. Child, my stake president, for an interview. He was one who loved and understood the holy scriptures. It was his intent that all others should similarly love and understand them. Since I knew from others of his rather detailed and searching interviews, our telephone conversation went something like this:
“Hello, President Child. This is Brother Monson. I have been asked by the bishop to visit with you relative to being ordained an elder.”
“Fine, Brother Monson. When can you see me?”
Knowing that his sacrament meeting was at six o’clock, and desiring minimum exposure of my scriptural knowledge to his review, I suggested, “How would five o’clock be?”
His response: “Oh, Brother Monson, that would not provide us sufficient time to peruse the scriptures. Could you please come at two o’clock, and bring with you your personally marked and referenced set of scriptures.”
Sunday finally arrived, and I visited President Child’s home on Indiana Avenue. I was greeted warmly, and then the interview began. He said, “Brother Monson, you hold the Aaronic Priesthood. Have you ever had angels minister to you?”
My reply was, “No, President Child.”
“Do you know,” said he, “that you are entitled to such?”
Again came my response, “No.”
Then he instructed, “Brother Monson, repeat from memory the 13th section of the Doctrine and Covenants.”
I began, “Upon you my fellow servants, in the name of Messiah I confer the Priesthood of Aaron, which holds the keys of the ministering of angels …
“Stop,” President Child directed. Then in a calm, kindly tone he counseled, “Brother Monson, never forget that as a holder of the Aaronic Priesthood you are entitled to the ministering of angels.”
It was almost as though an angel were in the room that day. I have never forgotten the interview. I yet feel the spirit of that solemn occasion. I revere the priesthood of Almighty God. I have witnessed its power. I have seen its strength. I have marveled at the miracles it has wrought.

We were excited when Sergio received his mission call to the Peru Chiclayo Mission. He began his service on November 20, 2013. He loved his mission. At first, it was easy to write to him. But as the months passed, I needed more time to think about his letters and respond to his spiritual growth.
We didn’t worry about Sergio. We thought that the mission field was the safest place he could be. His mission president called us on October 7, 2014.
The mission president told us that Sergio and his companion had been teaching investigators about the temple and eternal families. Afterward, as Sergio offered the closing prayer, he paused, suddenly lost consciousness, and fell to the floor. He received a blessing and was rushed to a medical center. Doctors determined that he had suffered a ruptured brain aneurysm. They tried in vain to revive him.
The news filled us with deep sorrow. Despite our grief, Liliana and I had to travel to Peru to retrieve Sergio’s body and personal belongings. We had difficulty thinking clearly, so we were grateful that someone from the Church—from the moment we left our home until we returned—was there to help us. We also received help from the Holy Ghost, who comforted us and helped us endure. We never felt alone.
It is difficult to find gratitude in tragedy, but I am grateful for the Lord’s tender mercies associated with Sergio’s death. When he died, I was serving as bishop, Liliana was teaching seminary, and our daughter Ximena was serving as ward Young Women president. We were busy serving and loving others, which grounded us in the gospel. If Sergio had to leave us, I will always be thankful that Heavenly Father took him while we were strong in the faith.
I am also grateful that Sergio departed this life while serving the Lord and while “in the service of [his] fellow beings” (Mosiah 2:17). The Lord has declared, “Those that die in me shall not taste of death, for it shall be sweet unto them” (D&C 42:46).
The Holy Ghost gave me a small glimpse of what Heavenly Father must have endured when His Only Begotten died for us. I realized that I didn’t have any right to be angry with God. My Father in Heaven knew what I was going through. A peace came over me that allowed me to accept His will and the timing of Sergio’s death. Liliana experienced and felt the same.
Our family had been sealed in the temple in 2005, when Sergio and Ximena were small. Ruth was born in the covenant a short while later. Before he left on his mission, Sergio baptized her.
Three days after his death, Ruth had a dream about Sergio. It was the night of her ninth birthday. Ruth dreamt that the two of them walked hand in hand together throughout the day and that he spoke comforting words to her.
Ruth and Ximena were very close to Sergio, and they miss him deeply. Ruth still receives comfort from the memory of her dream.
One day as we were going through Sergio’s belongings, Liliana and I found his mission day planner. We noticed that on each page of each day, Sergio had written the phrase “Be a little better than yesterday.”
Those words have never left me. They remind me that we must continue to live the gospel. That’s how we can be together as a family after this life. That’s how Sergio can be ours again.
As we pass through difficult times, the Savior will succor us. I know that is true, just as I know that His promises are sure. So we hold onto the gospel, and we follow Sergio’s example. We try to be a little better each day.

Yes, the Spirit giveth light in this church. I am thinking of a wonderful new convert in England. In response to my asking, he told me about his conversion. He explained how he was kneeling at his flower bed on a Saturday morning preparing the soil for spring planting. All of a sudden an unseen voice from behind asked the simple question, “Sir, do you love the Lord?”
He said that he turned around, fully, expecting to see an angel standing there; instead there were two angels, two Mormon missionaries. And his response was, “Of course I love the Lord. Please come in the house so we can talk about it.” It was all so simple, so genuine. It was an approach that the Savior might have used.

Also let us remember that through any illness or difficult challenge, there is still much in life to be hopeful about and grateful for. We are infinitely more than our limitations or our afflictions! Stephanie Clark Nielson and her family have been our friends for more than 30 years. On August 16, 2008, Stephanie and her husband, Christian, were in a plane crash and subsequent fire that scarred her so horrifically that only her painted toenails were recognizable when family members came to indentify the victims. There was almost no chance Stephanie could live. After three months in a sleep-induced coma, she awoke to see herself. With that, the psyche-scarring and horrendous depression came. Having four children under the age of seven, Stephanie did not want them to see her ever again. She felt it would be better not to live. “I thought it would be easier,” Stephanie once told me in my office, “if they just forgot about me and I quietly slipped out of their life.”

But to her eternal credit, and with the prayers of her husband, family, friends, four beautiful children, and a fifth born to the Nielsons just 18 months ago, Stephanie fought her way back from the abyss of self-destruction to be one of the most popular “mommy bloggers” in the nation, openly declaring to the four million who follow her blog that her “divine purpose” in life is to be a mom and to cherish every day she has been given on this beautiful earth.

The missionaries finally mentioned it by telling us that a date had been selected for baptism. Would we like to go? “No,” I told them. “I don’t feel the urge.”
“Well,” they continued, “this Friday we are going to baptize two others. Would you like to come and observe?”
“Where?”
“A block from here—in the ocean.”
“The ocean!” gasped my wife. “That’s too cold this time of year.”
“Yes, we know.” Missionaries always seem to be undisturbed.
We went. After the baptismal service, the missionaries asked us, “Doesn’t that make you want to be baptized next time?”
“No!” I answered. And I meant it.
All of this time the elders had been teaching another family, a beautiful young couple by the name of John and Louise Hatch.
We had met the Hatches only briefly at Church, but were impressed by their vibrance and sincerity. At the time of our sixth and final lesson, the elders told us that John and Louise had elected to be baptized the following Friday, which happened to be Good Friday. The thought occurred to me that that would certainly be the ideal time to be baptized, that it would be a kind of “thank you” to Christ to commemorate that particular day with one’s own baptism. Nonetheless, I felt no urge to do so. I was still looking for that burning bush.
But as the elders prepared to leave following our sixth lesson, they asked, as was their custom, if I would like to offer the prayer. To my amazement, I heard myself agree; after my benediction, two somewhat astonished missionaries congratulated me. I was deep in thought when that beautiful evening ended.
The next day before I left for work, I gathered my courage, took a deep breath, and told my wife I had decided to be baptized on Friday and wanted her to join me. She would have been just as surprised if the roof had blown off or if Florida had begun to slip slowly into the sea.
“You can’t do this to me!” she said.
“Why not?”
“The ocean is too cold!”
“I know, but I’ve decided. With or without you, I’m going to do it. Think about it and let me know tonight because I’m going to call the missionaries tomorrow and tell them so they can get me some special clothing.”
I kissed her and left her standing in the doorway. But I couldn’t leave her in suspense all day, so I called her later.
“Have you decided?”
“I’m not going to let you do it without me!”
“Fine. I’ll call the missionaries tonight. Ask the kids if they want to join in, and let me know after work.”
The two older boys elected to join us. (The two younger children were still too young.) We were baptized on Friday; and I have not doubted since coming up from the water that I made the right decision.

By Ana Rodriguez Ramirez, Spain

One day on my mission, my companion and I were prompted to visit a sister in the ward. We cut out paper hearts and wrote loving messages on them to remind her of her worth.

We arrived at her house, thinking she wouldn’t be home. As we were setting up the paper hearts, her car pulled right up to the house. My companion and I tried to hide to keep up the friendly surprise, but to no avail. She saw us.

The sister got out of her car with tears on her face. She hugged us and said, “You two are my angels. You’re always there when I need you most. Thank you.”

She invited us in and told us of the long day she had dealing with a serious family situation. We just listened to her. We shared how much God loves her and that He didn’t forget about what she was going through. We read scriptures with her, and her home was filled with the Holy Ghost when we left.

Disciples of Jesus Christ are “willing to … comfort those that stand in need of comfort” (Mosiah 18:9). He trusts us to be part of His great work—higher and holier ministering. When we take the time to get to know people and listen to them, we are more equipped to be God’s earthly angels.

Garth and Eloise Andrus of Draper, Utah, USA, know what it means to have a missionary-minded family. They have 17 grandsons who have served missions, and they have served six missions themselves.
Fostering a spirit of missionary service in your family is something that begins from the time children are young, Brother Andrus said.
Sister Andrus agreed. “You don’t leave serving a mission as a silent expectation, but you talk to your kids and grandkids about it like it’s not a question—when you go on your mission, not if,” she said.
Teaching youth who they are by setting an example of missionary service is also important. Brother and Sister Andrus accepted their first call in 1980, just as their youngest son was leaving on his mission.
One grandson wrote them after receiving a gift they sent to help him prepare for his mission. “He thanked us [for the gift], but said, ‘Far more important is to thank you for the example that you have set,’” Sister Andrus said.

My family moved into the New Brunswick Ward when I was a teenager. Sister Daines took notice of me and often expressed her confidence in my abilities and potential, which inspired me to reach high—higher than I would have without her encouragement. Once, because of a thoughtful and timely warning from her, I avoided a situation that would surely have led to regret. Although she is no longer here, Anna Daines’s influence continues to be felt and reflected in the lives of her descendants and countless others, myself included.

“As [a] man was walking past his neighbor’s house, he noticed in the middle of [the] beautiful lawn a single, enormous, yellow dandelion weed. … Why didn’t his neighbor pull it out? Couldn’t he see it? … This solitary dandelion bothered [the man] beyond description, and he wanted to do something about it. Should he just pluck it out? Or spray it with weed killer? Perhaps if he went under cover of night, he could remove it secretly. These thoughts totally occupied his mind as he walked toward his own home. He entered his house without even glancing at his own front yard—which was blanketed with hundreds of yellow dandelions. … I’m not sure why we are able to diagnose and recommend remedies for other people’s ills so well, while we often have difficulty seeing our own.”

Brethren, let me share with you a description of priesthood service pertaining to this work, as described by a priesthood leader. He wrote: “On Saturday afternoon our Aaronic Priesthood young men and their leaders assembled at the temple to perform the baptismal work for the fallen soldiers. What a marvelous sight it was to see these young Aaronic Priesthood brethren being baptized by their own priesthood leaders. In almost every case, when the young brother had finished his 14 or 15 names, he would turn and embrace his leader and shed a few tears of joy. What an example of true priesthood love and service! I had the experience of being a witness at the font and gained firsthand knowledge of this and, in a few cases, the undeniable witness of the Spirit that those young soldiers who had died had accepted the baptisms that were being performed in their behalf by our Aaronic Priesthood brethren.
“We wrote down the name of each soldier who was baptized that glorious day so that the young men could have a brief history of the soldiers for whom they were baptized. I have no doubt that this experience will have a lifelong effect for good for all those who participated.”

After shopping for groceries, we drove to the pharmacy in Eureka, California—our last stop before heading home to Willow Creek, about an hour away. The pharmacy, however, was closed for lunch. While we waited, my daughter Shae asked if we could drive to Humboldt Bay.
The four of us, including my daughter Tess and her husband, Patrick, grabbed lunch, drove to the nearby bay, and stopped in the parking lot that runs parallel to the bay. That January day in 2021 was overcast and chilly. From our four-door pickup we watched a bird feeding, diving toward the bay and then rising again.
We’d been there less than five minutes and had barely begun to eat when we heard the whining of a speeding car engine. I remember thinking, “Who in their right mind is driving so fast with people all around?”
The road to the bay ran by the parking lot as it turned north. I didn’t locate the source of the engine noise until I saw a gray pickup sailing through the air toward the water. The pickup had missed the turn, sped over a sidewalk, smashed a light pole, and launched into the air. I watched the pickup sail over the shoreline and clear an old pier as it flew toward the water. It was like a scene out of a movie or TV show.
Without speaking a word, we threw open our pickup truck doors and jumped out, groceries spilling onto the parking lot asphalt. Then we ran to the water’s edge just after the pickup splashed hard into the bay. We were close enough to see that the pickup’s driver was staring blankly through the windshield.
As I watched him, I thought, “He’s not moving! He’s not going to get out of that pickup! Something is horribly wrong!”
I had a feeling that I needed to help the man, that I needed to “go and do” (1 Nephi 3:7)—now! The windows of the pickup were rolled up, so Tess and I looked in vain for a rock big enough to break the driver’s side car window. Then she and Patrick called 911 while Shae gathered up our groceries.
Growing up in Willow Creek, I had driven the curvy roads along the Trinity River every day. I had often thought about how scary it would be to go off the road and into the river. What would I do? How would I get out? I would not want to die that way, and I could not let the man in the pickup die that way.
Under normal circumstances, I would never have gone into the bay. But my only thought was, “The driver needs help, and I’m supposed to help him!”
For some reason, I had no fear. The next thing I knew, I was wading in the chilly water, still wearing my pants, shoes, and a pink sweatshirt.
I’m a big girl, and when I waded into the water, I heard someone say, “She’s going to have a heart attack!” I ignored him. After taking 10 steps, I began swimming toward the pickup, about 30 yards (27 m) away. When I reached it, the engine compartment was sinking, but the water was still below the door handle. I tried but could not open the door.
“Open the door or roll down the window!” I called to the driver. “Are you ready to get out of there?”
No response. He just stared straight out the windshield.
I kept talking until he finally turned his head toward me. He gave me a confused smile as if to say, “What are you doing here? What’s going on?”
As the pickup slowly sank, the man continued to sit motionless. My mind raced as I wondered how to open the door or the window. Suddenly and miraculously, the driver’s side window lowered—by itself! I have no idea how it came down, just as I then had no idea how to get the man out of the pickup. I thought about waiting for help, but I heard a loud gurgling sound as water rushed into the cab. I knew I couldn’t wait for help.
I quickly pulled myself up on the door, got halfway into the pickup, reached across the driver, and unbuckled his seat belt. I grabbed him and pulled with all my strength. I got him out of the window and held him up as water sucked the pickup down.
God knew our hearts, and He knew we would go and do what we could to help one of His children.
I didn’t know how deep the water was, and I couldn’t see the sunken truck. But while treading water, I kicked the truck’s hood. I tried to stand on it but kept slipping off. On one of my unsuccessful attempts to stand, I found the truck’s antenna. I held on to it as I secured a foot against a windshield wiper.
Just then another swimmer arrived. A minute later, a boater who had seen the accident maneuvered his craft to us and threw us a rope. Pushing and pulling, the three of us got safely onto the boat. Later, when I took off my pink sweatshirt, Shae pointed out that I had somehow cut my arm from my elbow to my wrist.
I feel that my family was at Humboldt Bay that day to help that man. I don’t pretend to know God’s mind, but I believe that when bad things happen, He expects us to act. I also believe that God gives us experiences and puts us in positions to bless His children. I was raised by a mother who took us swimming and taught us about water currents. We learned to respect but not fear the water. Most important, we learned to help others in need.
We were where we were supposed to be that day—in the right place, at the right time. God knew our hearts, and He knew we would go and do what we could to help one of His children.
The author lives in California.
Editors’ note: Seven months after Hiedi helped rescue Eric Floyd, the driver of the pickup truck, he died of causes unrelated to the stroke he had suffered that day in January 2021. “I wept when I found out that he had died, but I was grateful that he had a little extra time after his accident to spend with his family,” said Sister Johnston, whom witnesses called the “Lady in Pink.” On March 7, 2021, Humboldt County supervisors presented her with the Carnegie Medal for her heroism.

An example of someone who took personal responsibility to become self-reliant is Cedrick Tshiambwe. Cedrick joined the Church in Luputa, Democratic Republic of the Congo, when he was 12 years old after reading and praying about the Book of Mormon. He wanted to serve a mission, so he developed a plan to save money to cover some of the costs of his mission. To earn the money, he purchased bananas from neighboring towns to take back to Luputa to sell. Using his bicycle, he found he could transport about four to six bunches at a time. Depending on the day, he rode as far as the neighboring town of Lusuku, some 29 kilometres away, to purchase the bananas. It took Cedrick four years, but he saved enough money to pay for his passport, buy clothes and scriptures and to be able to contribute to his mission in the Democratic Republic of Congo Kinshasa Mission.5

Rene and Myra Holganza of the Taytay First Ward, Cainta Philippines Stake in Metro Manila, have strong testimonies that the Lord blesses those who keep His commandments. Because good jobs are hard to find in the Philippines, the Holganzas spent nine years working in Japan. When they returned to Manila, however, financial troubles came in waves. Because of serious health problems and the accompanying medical bills, they had to mortgage their home. Rene was unable to find employment for some time, so they couldn’t make their mortgage payments, and the bank threatened to foreclose. Seeking assistance from the Church, they went to their bishop, who asked Rene if he was a full-tithe payer. “I said no,” Rene recalls. “He asked me if I intended to be a full-tithe payer. I said yes. So from that time on I did pay a full tithe and a little more to make up for the past.”
To pay their bills and avoid foreclosure on the mortgage, they tried to sell their home, but no one wanted to buy it. Because of a mudslide in a nearby neighborhood, nobody wanted to take a chance on property in the area, even though the price they were asking was below market value. Eventually they stopped trying to sell the house, expecting the bank to foreclose and sell the property at a very low price.
The Holganzas went to their bishop again, and he recommended that they fast and continue to pay tithing. He told them the Lord would bless them in their need. “So we fasted,” says Rene, “and I continued to pay my tithes and offerings, and I believed something would work out.”
Then one day a man approached the Holganzas unexpectedly and asked them if their house was for sale. They said yes, and he offered to buy it for more than their original asking price. With this money they were able to pay off their mortgage, eliminate almost all their debts, and pay the loan on the taxi Rene now drives to support his family. They see this blessing as a miracle and feel it is a direct result of keeping the law of tithes and offerings, exercising faith in the Lord, and following inspired counsel.

Illustrations by Katie McDee
The grass is thirsty, Mom! It’s all yellow.
I know. It hasn’t rained in a long time.
Ready? We don’t want to be late for church!
Next week is fast Sunday. Please fast and pray for rain.
I want to pray for rain!
Missy prayed for rain every day.
The next Sunday …
I’m ready for church!
Why do you have your umbrella?
I think it will rain.
It doesn’t look like it.
But I know Heavenly Father heard my prayers.
That’s called faith!
Sometimes answers don’t come right away. Now we need to wait and trust God.
Days later …
It’s raining! Heavenly Father answered my prayers.

I was at my baseball coach’s house for a party, and I went into the basement with some other kids. They were watching a cartoon that I knew my mom didn’t want me to watch. I watched it for a minute, and it looked like it wasn’t bad. But I knew my mom wouldn’t want me to watch it, so I went outside to play. Later, one of the other moms went to the basement and made the other kids turn off the TV because the cartoon was talking about bad things. On the way home, my mom said she was proud of me. I felt good that I chose the right and was obedient to my mom.

While a stake president is normally found among the current leadership of the stake, there are exceptions. On one occasion we interviewed brethren into the late evening, unable to feel the confirming Spirit among the outstanding men we were meeting. Finally, after exhausting the prepared list of those to interview, we turned to respected men not currently serving in leadership positions. As we met with a Gospel Doctrine teacher at 10:00 p.m., the Lord powerfully confirmed this was His selection. Only after extending the call did we learn that he had been at his home, awaiting our phone call. Several months earlier, before any announcement of a change in the stake presidency, he and his wife were awakened in the night knowing that the calling would come to him.

Our son Justin passed away at age 19 after fighting a lifelong disease. In a sacrament meeting talk he gave not long before he left us, he shared a story that must have resonated with him about a father and his young son who went into a toy store where there was an inflatable punching bag in the shape of a man. The boy punched the inflatable man, who tipped over and immediately bounced back after every punch. The father asked his young son why the man kept bouncing back up. The boy thought for a minute and then said, “I don’t know. I guess it’s because he’s standing up on the inside.” In order to be “all in,” we need to “stand up inside,” “come what may.”15