Gospel Story Finder

I affirm to you, my young brethren and sisters, that that principle of revelation is a constantly operative principle, and I close with one other experience.
I was organizing a stake in Samoa. There appeared before us in the interviews these wonderful Samoan brethren. One of them, a branch president, stood there—white shirt and tie, lava-lava tied around his waist, barefooted. I told him we were organizing a stake and seeking a stake president and asking his suggestions on men. He said, “Yes, I know. I’ve prayed about this.” And he said, “I’ve come to know, by the voice of the Spirit, that Bishop Iona will be our new stake president.”
He was right. But I wasn’t anxious to have him make the announcement and so pressed him for another name.
He said, “No, just one name.” And I said, “Suppose he were not available or not eligible? Won’t you suggest another name?” He stood there for a few minutes, and then, looking at me, he said, “Elder Packer, are you asking me to go against the witness of the Spirit?” This wonderful man was possessed of that Spirit, as all of us can be, each of us answering the calls that come.

Hans’s family is made up of Hans and his mother. When he was born, his mother was not a member of the Church. But the family she worked for as a housemaid were Latter-day Saints. They asked if they could take the baby to church to receive a blessing.

Although Hans’s mother didn’t want to go, she allowed them to take her baby for the blessing. Hans has attended church ever since. Wherever he and his mother have lived, she has found members to take him to church.

Hans was baptized when he was eight years old and is now preparing to become a deacon in the Aaronic Priesthood.

Why didn’t Hans’s mother ever go to church with him? “Because my past was very sad and dark,” she says. “I didn’t understand that Heavenly Father’s love for me was so great. I didn’t know He could forgive me for my mistakes. But Hans was a light leading me to the truth.”

From the moment my feet hit the floor that morning, I could tell something was off.
Do you ever have one of those days—almost like a beat-yourself-up kind of day? I spent that entire morning criticizing myself for every single decision I had made.
As the morning progressed, I couldn’t seem to shake my feelings of inadequacy and failure. So I prayed to my loving Heavenly Father, begging for a change in attitude, the strength to get through the day, and opportunities to serve.
Afterward, the morning started to pick up pace. Before I knew it, I had completed almost all my duties for the day and was standing in my kitchen, preparing a yummy treat to give to my bosses for “Boss Day.” As I poured melted chocolate over rice cereal, an interesting thought came to my mind:
“You should give Sister Jones (name has been changed) some of your treat!”
I immediately pushed that thought aside. I counted off the people I had already dedicated a treat bag to and determined there wasn’t enough.
“I’ll send her a text and ask her how she’s doing,” I thought. “At least then she will know I was thinking of her!”
Well, as He often does, the Lord wanted me to do something I didn’t necessarily want to do. I finished making my treat and divided it evenly into just enough bags for the people on my list. As I arranged the treats, something made me pause. I counted and recounted the number of treats and was taken aback by what I found.
Somehow I had ended up with one extra bag. I smiled, knowing exactly who that treat bag was for.
But as I looked at my schedule for the rest of the day, I realized I just didn’t have time to deliver the treat.
“It will still be good tomorrow, or even the next day!” I thought. But suddenly, I felt this unexplainable urgency come over me. I knew I needed to go and deliver that treat, right then and there. So even though my hair was a mess, the meat for lunch still wasn’t defrosted, and this sister lived in a different town, I found myself looking up her address.
You know what is amazing? When you are on the Lord’s errand, you can truly feel His hand helping you. My hair never looked so good in so short a time, I was able to make a different meal for lunch, and it just so happened that my dad had filled up my car with gas a few days earlier. The Lord helped prepare the way for me to serve this sister.
But even with all that, as I headed down the highway, I thought of all the reasons this was the wrong idea. What if Sister Jones wasn’t home? What if she was home? What if she didn’t like chocolate? What if she caught me trying to covertly sneak it into her mailbox? What if an animal got it? Endless scenarios came charging through my mind, and honestly the only reason I stuck to the plan was because I was already over halfway there.
I finally pulled up to her house and mustered all my courage to go knock on her door. When there was no answer, I stuck the treat inside her doorway and raced back to my car.
Immediately, an overwhelming sensation of peace and happiness enveloped me. I felt so good! It was such a stark contrast to the dark mood I had woken up in, and I felt joy as the rest of the day sped by.
If you would have told me that adding a 30-minute trip into my crazy schedule would turn out to be a blessing, I would have laughed. However, that is exactly what it turned out to be.
Heavenly Father answered my humble prayer in a way I did not expect. He knew I needed an opportunity to serve so I could gain some perspective by putting someone else first. Honestly, I don’t think Sister Jones needed the treat; I, however, needed to give it to her. I cannot tell you how much peace came from that one simple act.

I was taught this lesson powerfully a number of years ago by our then-16-year-old daughter, Jennifer. She was about to have a double lung transplant, where the five diseased lobes of her lungs would be completely removed and replaced by two healthy smaller lobes, donated by two amazing Christlike friends. It was a very high-risk procedure, yet the night before her surgery, Jennifer almost preached to me with all of her 90 pounds (41 kg), saying, “Don’t worry, Dad! Tomorrow I will wake up with new lungs, or I will wake up in a better place. Either way will be great.” That is faith; that is eternal perspective! Seeing life from an eternal vantage point provides clarity, comfort, courage, and hope.
After the surgery, when the long-awaited day came to remove the breathing tube and turn off the ventilator that had been helping Jennifer breathe, we anxiously waited to see if her two smaller lobes would work. When she took her first breath, she immediately started crying. Seeing our concern, she quickly exclaimed, “It’s just so good to breathe.”
Ever since that day, I have thanked Heavenly Father morning and night for my ability to breathe. We are surrounded by innumerable blessings that we can easily take for granted if we are not mindful. Conversely, when nothing is expected and everything is appreciated, life becomes magical.

Clink! Clink! The coins jingled as eight-year-old Angela dropped them into her strawberry-colored tin box. “Three-eighty, three-ninety, four dollars, four dollars and ten cents,” she counted softly to herself, pinching the last dime between her thumb and finger and dropping it thoughtfully into the container. “Just one more week,” she added, replacing the lid of the tin. “With next week’s allowance, I’ll have enough.”
She glanced wistfully at the white dresser top—clean, dusted, and waiting. Since her neighbor Jeff had shown her his goldfish, she couldn’t wait to have her own. She needed just two more dollars—the amount of her allowance—for a glass bowl, a nice fat fish, and a supply of food.
Three times she’d visited the pet store on Market Avenue, pedaling her bicycle home faster each time out of sheer excitement. Mr. Henry, the shop owner, now knew her by name. “Hello, Angela,” he had called from behind the puppy cages the last time she went in. “We have a new shipment of fish this morning. Take a look.”
All week, Angela faithfully sped through her chores. The bathroom sink had never gleamed so brightly. Doc, the family’s lively puppy, awoke each day to a clean dish with a small heap of dog food and fresh water. Angela’s daisy-spotted comforter was pulled neatly into place without a wrinkle every morning. The whole family marveled at how quickly and well she cleared the table and loaded the dishwasher. By the end of the week, there was no question that Angela deserved her two dollars.
Clutching the crinkled bills in one hand, she raced to her room, grabbed the red tin from her closet shelf, and dumped the money into a mound in the middle of her bed. She added the allowance money to the pile and counted quickly. Six dollars and ten cents—barely enough, but enough! She could go straight to the pet store!
“Oh-oh! Wait a minute,” Angela whispered, picking up the last two dollars. She flung herself backward onto the soft yellow covers, moaning, “I forgot about tithing!”
She sat up again and studied the empty dresser top. Maybe I should use my tithing money and get the fish, anyway, she thought. I could pay it back next week.
The idea appealed to her. As she dropped the money into the empty tin and started to get up, she noticed a small gray envelope lying unsealed on the nightstand. She’d planned to add this week’s tithing to the envelope and turn it in on Sunday. With the tithing envelope in one hand and the bright tin box in the other, she pondered her choices. Her ponytail swayed back and forth as she studied first one, then the other. Finally she whispered, “Tithing shouldn’t wait.”
With a tug, Angela opened the money tin again, picked out two dimes, and tucked them into the envelope. Sighing with both relief and disappointment, she finished filling out the tithing slip, slid it under the money in the envelope, licked the flap, and sealed it.
On Sunday, she gave the gray envelope to her bishop.
Although she was still sad on Monday morning, her chores seemed easier somehow and took less time than usual. The week passed swiftly. When she received her allowance, there was no need to count the money in the tin box after taking out her tithing. There was more than enough.
Saturday morning, Angela stood outside the door of the pet shop at 9:55 A.M. while her mother waited in the car. When Mr. Henry turned the “closed” sign around and peered out the window, he waved at her and hurried to the front door. She wriggled with excitement as she heard his keys jingling.
“Well, Angela,” he greeted her, “I thought you’d be here last week.”
Angela smiled. “I had to wait.”
“You’ll be happy that you did,” Mr. Henry said. “We’re running a special on goldfish this week. Two for the price of one.”
With a jubilant smile, Angela followed him into the store.
Riding home, Angela clutched her glass bowl, the plastic bag holding two fish, and the box of fish food. She still had almost two dollars in her pocket. “You know what, Mom?” she said. “Bowls can wait and fish can wait, but tithing should never wait.”

Years ago, I served as a local Church leader. One of our young men, Danny, was outstanding in every way. He was obedient, kind, good, and had a great heart. However, when he graduated from high school, he started to associate with a rough crowd. He got involved in drugs, specifically methamphetamine, and traveled down the slippery slope of addiction and destruction. Before long, his appearance completely changed. He was hardly recognizable. The most significant change was in his eyes—the light in his eyes had dimmed. Several times I reached out to him, but to no avail. He wasn’t interested.
It was difficult to see this incredible young man suffer and live a life that was not him! He was capable of so much more.
Then one day, his miracle began.
He attended a sacrament meeting where his younger brother shared his testimony prior to departing for a mission. During the meeting, Danny felt something he had not felt for a long time. He felt the love of the Lord. He finally had hope.
Although he had a desire to change, it was difficult for Danny. His addictions and the accompanying guilt were almost more than he could bear.
One particular afternoon, when I was out mowing our lawn, Danny pulled up in his car unannounced. He was struggling terribly. I turned off the mower, and we sat down together in the shade of the front porch. It was then that he shared the feelings of his heart. He truly wanted to come back. However, turning away from his addictions and lifestyle was extremely difficult. Adding to this, he felt so guilty, so ashamed for falling so far. He asked, “Can I really be forgiven? Is there really a way back?”
After he poured out his heart with these concerns, we read Alma chapter 36 together:
“Yea, I did remember all my sins and iniquities. …
“Yea, … the very thought of coming into the presence of my God did rack my soul with inexpressible horror” (verses 13–14).
After those verses, Danny said, “This is exactly how I feel!”
We continued:
“While I was harrowed up by the memory of my many sins, behold, I remembered also to have heard my father prophesy unto the people concerning the coming of one Jesus Christ, a Son of God, to atone for the sins of the world. …
“And oh, what joy, and what marvelous light I did behold” (verses 17, 20).
As we read these passages, tears began to flow. Alma’s joy was the joy he had been searching for!
We discussed that Alma had been exceptionally wicked. However, once he repented, he never looked back. He became a devoted disciple of Jesus Christ. He became a prophet! Danny’s eyes widened. “A prophet?” he said.
I simply responded, “Yes, a prophet. No pressure on you!”
We discussed that while his sins did not rise to the level of Alma’s, the same promise of complete and perfect forgiveness is made to everyone—in and through the infinite Atonement of Jesus Christ.
Danny now understood. He knew what he needed to do: he needed to begin his journey by trusting in the Lord and forgiving himself!
Danny’s mighty change of heart was nothing short of a miracle. Over time, his countenance changed, and the brightness in his eyes returned. He became temple worthy! He was finally back!
After several months, I asked Danny if he would like to submit an application to serve a full-time mission. His response was one of shock and awe.
He said, “I would love to serve a mission, but you know where I have been and the things I have done! I thought I was disqualified.”
I responded, “You may be right. However, there is nothing precluding us from making a request. If you are excused, at least you will know that you expressed a sincere desire to serve the Lord.” His eyes lit up. He was thrilled with this idea. To him this was a long shot, but it was a chance he was willing to take.
A few weeks later, and to his amazement, another miracle occurred. Danny received a call to serve a full-time mission.
A few months after Danny arrived in the mission field, I received a telephone call. His president simply said, “What is it with this young man? He is the most incredible missionary I have ever seen!” You see, this president had received a modern-day Alma the Younger.
Two years later, Danny returned home with honor, having served the Lord with all his heart, might, mind, and strength.
Following his missionary report in sacrament meeting, I returned home, only to hear a knock at the front door. There stood Danny with tears welling in his eyes. He said, “Can we talk for a minute?” We went outside to the same porch step.
He said, “President, do you think I have truly been forgiven?”
Now my tears accompanied his. Before me stood a devoted disciple of Jesus Christ who had given his all to teaching and testifying about the Savior. He was the embodiment of the healing and strengthening power of the Savior’s Atonement.
I said, “Danny! Have you looked in the mirror? Have you seen your eyes? They are filled with light, and you are beaming with the Spirit of the Lord. Of course you have been forgiven! You are amazing! Now what you need to do is move forward with your life. Don’t look back! Look forward with faith to the next ordinance.”
Danny’s miracle continues today. He married in the temple and returned to school, where he received a master’s degree. He continues to serve the Lord with honor and dignity in his callings. More important, he has become an incredible husband and a faithful father. He is a devoted disciple of Jesus Christ.
President Russell M. Nelson taught, “Without the [Savior’s] infinite Atonement, all mankind would be irretrievably lost.” Danny wasn’t lost, and neither are we to the Lord. He stands at the door to lift us, to strengthen us, and to forgive us. He always remembers to love us!

One day at the end of November 2000, I went to school and found out that my friend Jonathan B.’s house had burned down during the night. He and his family had gotten out safely, but their house and all the things in it had burned to the ground. I felt very sad for him, and I knew I had to do something to help. I thought about it all that day.
When my mom picked me up from school, I told her what had happened and that I wanted to buy a new backpack and some toys for Jonathan. She said that she would be happy to take me shopping for these things.
When we got home from school, she called my teacher and asked for the phone number and address of Jonathan’s grandma’s house, which is where his family was staying. She then called there and asked if we could come over later and see him. She found some nice clothes that I had outgrown but that were just the right size for him. Then Mom, my sister Michelle, and I went shopping.
I chose a backpack that I knew he would really like. Then I picked out some toys to fill the backpack. I felt really happy when we took everything to Jonathan. He did really like the backpack, and he was happy to have some toys to play with.
His mom hugged me and thanked me for being so kind to him. My mom and dad told me that they were very pleased that I had chosen to do something so nice for somebody else. I knew that the good feelings I had inside were from the Holy Ghost, letting me know that I had done the right thing.

“Teddy Bear, Teddy Bear, turn around.
“Teddy Bear, Teddy Bear, touch the ground.
“Teddy Bear, Teddy Bear, show your shoe,
“Teddy Bear, Teddy Bear, better skiddoo.”
A warm breeze blew gently as the red and blue jump rope made a friendly slapping noise each time it hit the sidewalk.
“Your turn, Jill,” Kerry said, hopping away from the swishing rope.
“No, thanks,” Jill said. “I don’t feel like jumping today. You take my turn, Tina. I’ll keep turning.”
“OK,” Tina agreed, handing her end of the rope to Kerry.
“What do you want to do?” Shelly asked.
“Oh, Down in the Meadow, I guess,” Tina said. “But not too fast. I’m wearing my good shoes, and I don’t want to scuff them.”
“Down in the meadow where the green grass grows,
There sat Tina as pretty as a rose …
One, two …”
“I’m getting tired,” Tina puffed as she counted, “Sixty-four, sixty-five …”
“Come on, Tina!” Jill cheered. “You can do eighty easily.” She turned her end of the rope carefully, making sure it hit the sidewalk each time.
“Seventy-nine, eighty!”
Tina smiled and jumped out. “Whew! I did it. Want to jump now, Jill?”
“No, thanks. Go ahead, Shelly. I’ll still turn.”
“Jumping rope again?” Tommy asked with a sneer. “Don’t girls know how to do anything else?” He laughed mockingly and turned to the boys with him. “Come on. Let’s play softball.”
“You just play softball because you can’t jump rope,” Kerry retorted. Tina jumped eighty times doing Down in the Meadow. Can any of you do better than that?”
“I bet I can,” Jim said.
“OK, let’s see you do it.” Shelly and Jill got the rope going again.
“Down in the mead—” The girls giggled as Jim missed.
“Come on,” Tommy said. “This is sissy stuff. Everybody knows that all girls can jump rope. They’re born knowing how.”
Jill frowned as Tommy and the other boys ran off and chose sides for a softball game.
That evening at dinner, Jill asked her mother, “Can you jump rope?”
“Well, I haven’t for some time, but I used to when I was in grade school. Why?”
“Did you always know how? I mean, did you have to learn?”
“I don’t really remember,” Mother replied.
“Tommy says that all girls are born knowing how to jump rope. Is that true?”
“I don’t think so, Jill.”
“What’s the matter—can’t you jump?” Jill’s brother, Michael, asked.
“No,” Jill said, staring at the peas on her plate.
“You can’t?” Michael laughed. “I’ll bet you’re the only girl in third grade who can’t. Boy, that’s funny. Wait till I tell Bobby and Pete!”
“Oh, please don’t tell them!” Jill pleaded. “Not even my best friends know. I give up my turn each time, and pretty soon the bell rings and nobody knows.”
Seeing the tears in his little sister’s eyes, Michael said, “I won’t tell, I promise.”
“Thanks, Mike.”
When Jill came home from school the next afternoon, she found a box wrapped in red polka-dot paper on the kitchen table. The tag read, “To Jill.”
Jill removed the puffy white bow and red paper. She lifted one corner of the lid cautiously, in case it was a joke from Michael. In the box was a brand-new jump rope. On the end of each wooden hand grip were Jill’s initials, J.M. “This is fantastic!” Jill exclaimed. She read the neatly printed card in the box: ‘To Jill from Michael. Sorry I hurt your feelings.’
“Sometimes big brothers are all right,” Jill told Mother. “I’ll be outside learning how to jump rope.”
Jill adjusted the rope to the right length. She swung it behind her back, took a deep breath, and turned the rope over her head. One foot jumped neatly as the rope came around, but the other foot got caught.
“Oops!” Jill started over.
The next time neither foot cleared the rope.
“Rats!” She tried again and again, but each time the rope failed to make a full circle.
When Mother called her for dinner, Jill said disconsolately, “I can’t do it. No matter how hard I try, I just can’t do it. I’ll never learn.”
“But you’ve only tried once,” Michael argued. “You have to practice.”
“Tina and Kerry can jump,” Jill said. “So can Shelly. They don’t practice. Kerry can even do lots of hot peppers.”
“Some things come easier to some people than to others,” Mother said consolingly. “You can draw better than they can, for instance. Just keep practicing and be patient.”
The next day after school, Jill managed to jump the rope a few times. After dinner she practiced until it was dark.
“It’s no use,” Jill said angrily. “I’m going to be awful at field day next week. Tina and I are partners for the jump-rope contest, and I’ll embarrass us both!”
“You have to keep practicing,” Michael advised her wisely.
“You’re doing better. A few days ago you couldn’t jump at all.”
The next day when Jill started to practice, she jumped several times before she missed. By the end of the evening she had jumped twenty-eight jumps in a row! But by the end of the week, the best she had done was fifty-two jumps.
On the morning of field day Jill thought about pretending to be sick so that she wouldn’t have to go to school. This is the day that everyone will find out that I can’t jump rope very well, she thought. Tommy is really going to tease me. Jill purposely went to the back of the line while the judge explained the rules. Each contestant would jump alone as many times as he could. His score would be counted and added to his partner’s score.
Tina’s going to hate me, Jill thought. By the time their turn came, the score to beat was 191, jumped by Kerry and Shelly.
“You go first,” Jill said to Tina.
Tina swung her rope behind her back expertly.
“One, two …” the judge counted.
She doesn’t even watch the rope, Jill noticed.
“Seventy-four, seventy-five—” The rope caught on Tina’s heel.
“Seventy-four,” the judge said, marking the score on his clipboard. “Next.”
“Sorry,” Tina said. “Come on, Jill. I’m counting on you.”
“But I’ll have to jump almost a hundred twenty times for us to beat Kerry and Shelly’s record!”
“You can do it!” Tina said.
“I’ve never even jumped half that many times!” Jill faltered.
“Well, do your best,” Tina said.
Jill slowly swung her rope back.
“One, two …” the judge counted. And before Jill could really think about it, the judge was counting, “fifty-four, fifty-five …”
Jill kept turning the rope and jumping.
“Ninety-four, ninety-five …” Jill’s heart was thumping hard. Maybe I can do it, she thought. I’m still jumping.
Half the school were crowded around Jill now, and her classmates were counting excitedly with the judge.
“Go, Jill” Tina screamed.
“A hundred nine, a hundred ten …”
The crowd surrounding Jill screamed and clapped when, gasping heavily, she reached 118.
“First prize goes to Tina and Jill,” said the judge, pinning a blue ribbon to Jill’s sweater and another one to Tina’s blouse.
“You were fantastic! You’re a jump-rope genius,” Tina said, hugging her friend.
“Mike told me the secret,” Jill said, glancing proudly at her beaming brother. “You just have to keep on practicing.”

Because my mother had suffered so much her entire life, she didn’t believe there could be a God. Throughout my childhood, neither did I. But as I got a little older, I started asking questions about God. I asked myself why my family never had a chance to have a good life and why I never had toys, enough food, or new clothes. Every time I asked these questions, I felt somehow in my heart that I wasn’t alone. This feeling comforted me for many years.
When I was about 13 years old, Latter-day Saint missionaries came to our home. They answered all of my questions and taught me about Jesus Christ. They told me there was a church where I could learn more about the gospel in special classes for people my age. They taught me how to pray. They told me about the Book of Mormon. When I was baptized, none of my family came.
I felt lonely, but I knew I was doing the right thing. I was introduced to a new life—a life of hope, happiness, faith, and love. My peers, I knew, were seeking solace in drugs and immorality. I found mine in a loving Heavenly Father and the gospel of His Son. After my baptism I knew that the Lord had been aware of me my entire life.
I learned a lot about the gospel. I met people who shared my beliefs. Some of the members got to know a little bit about my life when they visited me at home. They generously helped me buy clothes and shoes for church and notebooks for school. I babysat regularly for Church members and made more money than I ever had before. Because I was so young, it might have been easy for me to stray from the gospel. But with the support of Church members, I remained firm in my newfound faith.
The gospel truly changed my life. After I was baptized, I felt I had more energy to learn in school. I learned a lot and became a tutor. If I did not know a subject, I would study until I knew it so well I could teach it. I used the money to help at home.
I received my patriarchal blessing and was counseled to serve a mission because the Lord reserved a special blessing in my mission that would change my life forever. I didn’t know what that meant, but I knew I would understand in time if I was obedient.
I served in the Brazil Curitiba Mission from 2000 to 2002. Through my association with a particular companion, I was able to go to the United States to study. I knew this would indeed change my life forever. I knew my Heavenly Father was aware of me and had a specific plan for me. This opportunity to further my education was an answer to my prayers.
I knew that it would be challenging to learn a second language, but I also knew it was possible if I worked hard enough. I studied at the Brigham Young University English Language Center and spent up to 10 hours a day in the library. One of my teachers suggested we pray for the gift of tongues, so every night I prayed and asked Heavenly Father for this gift. He certainly helped me.
After I completed my studies at the English Language Center, I was accepted at several universities. I decided to attend Brigham Young University–Idaho and apply for the nursing program. I heard that it was very difficult to get into the program, especially for international students. So I studied my hardest. My friends teased me, saying I should move into the library because I spent so much time there. Even when it closed, I went home and kept studying.
When times were difficult, I remembered the words of President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008): “You need all the education you can get. Sacrifice a car; sacrifice anything that is needed to be sacrificed to qualify yourselves to do the work of the world.”1 I knew those were the words of a prophet of God, and I took them seriously.
When I was accepted to the nursing program, my heart filled with gratitude and happiness. I knew it would be hard and I would have to continue to make sacrifices, but I knew the Lord would be with me.
While in school, I met my husband, and we were married in 2007. My mother also joined the Church that year. She told me that she had never known why I was so happy, even with all the terrible things that had happened to us. But once she joined the Church, she understood. The gospel of Jesus Christ has blessed my family, and I’m happy to see my mother blessed after all the sacrifices she has made. I will always be grateful for her.
By the beginning of 2010, I was preparing for graduation—and was pregnant with our first child. Two months before I was to graduate from the nursing program, I had complications with my pregnancy, and our baby was born via cesarean section. My teachers told me I should take time off from school and graduate later. But I was so close—only two months away!
So my husband and I carefully organized our time so we could properly balance our priorities and I could complete my education. I scheduled my study time so I could give my husband and our son the attention they needed. Sometimes my husband’s parents stayed with our son while I was in class. Two great classmates helped me review class materials. I felt that the Lord had sent all of these people to support me through this difficult time.
After graduation I passed the state certification exam and started working as a nurse to help support our family while my husband completes his education. Even though I am not planning on working once my husband starts his career, if a tragedy or economic hardship requires me to work in the future, my education helps me feel prepared to do so.
Mom was right: education does have the capacity to change lives. It has changed mine, and it will change the lives of my children. I hope they will realize that I am successful because I followed the Lord’s plan for me. He wanted me to get an education, and He helped me every step of the way. I hope my children learn how to work like I did and that they come to value education as much as I do.

Upon graduation from high school and before I left on my mission, I obtained a summer job as a lifeguard at a swimming pool. As I arrived for my first day, I learned that because I was the newest employee I had been scheduled to work every Sunday the entire summer. I tried to work out a different arrangement with my employers, but they wouldn’t change my schedule.
I had committed to keep the Sabbath day holy as an Aaronic Priesthood holder. And as I prepared to receive the Melchizedek Priesthood, I knew I needed to keep that commitment. Because of the nature of my job, my options were to quit or make other arrangements with my schedule so that I could keep the Sabbath day holy. As I prayed, I felt impressed to stay at the job and that the Lord would help me accomplish the thing He had commanded.
As the summer progressed, I met individually each week with other lifeguards who did not share my standards and offered to work for them on Friday nights or Saturdays if they would switch with me so I could have Sundays off. I was able to find a different person who would switch with me for all 12 weeks of the summer. The Lord prepared the way, and I was able to attend Church and keep the Sabbath day holy all summer.
Not only did this experience strengthen my understanding that the Lord would prepare a way for me to keep His commandments, but soon my co-workers noticed I was always searching for someone to work for me on Sunday. They learned that keeping the Sabbath day holy was a commandment and that I was determined to keep the commandment. At the end of the summer when the pool closed, there was a party with all of the lifeguards. At the party I received a parting gift from the other lifeguards. It was a work calendar they had made for me without any Sundays. They acknowledged that I had been scheduled to work every Sunday but had not worked one. They expressed respect for my commitment to keep the Sabbath day holy.
My commitment to keep the Sabbath day holy as a young man and through my life as an adult has brought me the blessings the Lord has promised. This lesson was learned many years ago when I received a calendar with no Sundays.

“Hey, McKeown, you don’t drink, do you?” Andrew asked loudly enough that everyone around us could hear. I was at a school event I had helped organize, and now the evening looked like it was going to be ruined.
Andrew was a key player on the rugby team, always the center of attention, and he’d clearly been drinking. He often boasted of his immorality and made fun of anyone who was different. It seemed that now it was my turn.
“Hey, Andrew,” I said, trying to act cool, but a few people around me were already laughing.
Andrew kept on going: “You don’t smoke. You don’t do drugs. You don’t swear. You don’t have my kind of fun with girls. What do you do?”
I felt like hiding in a corner, but instead I tried to hold my ground. “You know I like to have fun,” I said. “I just like to be able to remember it in the morning.” Some of my friends laughed. “I like to be able to remember and not have to regret it.”
Later, the crowd left, but Andrew stayed. He had calmed down by now. He said quietly, “McKeown, I wish I didn’t drink either. I wish I didn’t do the things I do. But I have no reason not to. I wish I had some reasons not to.” And with that he walked slowly away.
I was shocked. I had no idea he had been watching me. And now it seemed he admired me for standing up for my standards and for having reasons to live right. I have never forgotten that evening.

August 10
Dear Sarah,
Nothing has been worse so far than picking beans. Mr. Trujillo can’t bend over now, so I picked all the beans, my rows and his. Your back aches, and the leaves make your skin itch, and the sun is beating down on you. Mrs. Trujillo gave me an old straw hat to wear. We got three bushels! Mr. Trujillo smiled and said, “There’ll be this many again in about ten days.” I could have cried. But by then it was cooler, and Mrs. Trujillo brought out ice cream with fresh peaches sliced on it. Then you’ll never guess what happened—Mr, and Mrs. Trujillo took me into their garage and gave me one of their kids’ old bicycles. It was all clean and shiny, with new paint and new tires and the chain all oiled. I gave them both a hug.
I took a big, juicy peach home to Lindsay, and she ate it all!
Have you found any new people to teach?
Love,Angela the Cyclist

As a young college student, Giuseppe Pasta found his belief in God constantly challenged by atheistic friends. He began intensive study of the Bible to strengthen his beliefs, and his study did indeed bring Giuseppe closer to God. But it also convinced him that the church of his forefathers was somehow incomplete. In it, he had learned basic moral principles, but he felt there must be more to the gospel of Jesus Christ.
Where was this additional truth?
When his prayers for further enlightenment seemed to go unanswered, he concluded that perhaps he was not righteous enough. He sought to humble himself in service to patients at a charity hospital, where “I found what the pure love of Christ is.”
Then one day he met two Latter-day Saint missionaries “street-boarding” (explaining the gospel with portable displays) outside the hospital. That meeting led, after a long period of study, to his conversion but he did not tell his family at first about his baptism.
When they learned of it, they were devastated. Friends presented him a petition, with hundreds of signatures, begging him to come back to the “true church.” An interview was arranged for him with the cardinal of Turin, in the hope that the cleric could persuade him to change his mind. They became friends. Convinced at length that young Giuseppe was sincere in his beliefs, the cardinal counseled him to be true to them.
Giuseppe Pasta has been a member of the Church for twenty years now, long enough to qualify him as a Latter-day Saint pioneer in Italy. He was an executive with the Fiat corporation for seventeen years before he was hired to open the Church’s first regional office in Italy. As a temple sealer, he has had the privilege of uniting many of his countrymen for eternity in the Swiss Temple. Currently president of the Italy Rome Mission, he directs some 150 young missionaries in bringing gospel truths to other Italians.
Like President Pasta, many Italian Latter-day Saints reordered their lives to join the Church after discovering gospel truths they had not known existed. Like him, many of them are pioneers in their families and in their country.

We all have heroes, particularly when we are young. I was born and grew up in Princeton, New Jersey, in the United States. The most famous sports teams near where we lived were headquartered in New York City. It was the home of three professional baseball teams in those faraway days: the Brooklyn Dodgers, the New York Giants, and the New York Yankees. Philadelphia was even closer to our home and was the home of the Athletics and the Phillies baseball teams. There were many potential baseball heroes for me on those teams.
Joe DiMaggio, who played for the New York Yankees, became my baseball hero. When my brothers and my friends played baseball on the school grounds next to our house, I tried to swing the bat the way I thought Joe DiMaggio did it. That was before the days of television (this is ancient history), so I only had pictures from newspapers to use to copy his swing.
When I was growing up, my father drove me to Yankee Stadium. That was the only time I saw Joe DiMaggio play. As if I am still there, in my mind I can see him swing the bat and see the white baseball fly straight into the stands at center field.
Now, my baseball skills never came close to those of my childhood hero. But the few times I hit a baseball well, I copied the level of his powerful swing as closely as I could.

I was in Arizona a few years ago, and the president of a stake told me about one of his boys having been called to go on a mission. The boy went to the patriarch before he left, and the patriarch gave him a blessing. He told the boy that he should be satisfied with the assignment he would receive. And he said, “You shall see floods to the right of you and floods to the left of you, and your life will be protected and preserved.” He was assigned to the East Central States Mission, and while he was serving there, there was a major flood. This missionary was marooned in Louisville, Kentucky, in a house from which he had to be rescued in a boat, and he lived to see floods to the right of him and floods to the left of him. I ask you, how could the patriarch have known that when he gave that blessing, except by the inspiration of the Almighty?

When Elder Richard G. Scott was young, his father was not a member of the Church. His mother was a member, but she didn’t go to church very often. When Richard turned eight years old, he didn’t get baptized. Then his Grandma Whittle came to visit.
Grandma Whittle was a very good example. She helped Richard and his brothers learn how important it is to be baptized and go to church. Soon Richard and his older brother were baptized.

A few years ago I had an experience with deceptive appearances where the results could have been tragic. My wife’s cousin and family were visiting us from Utah. It was a calm summer day on the Oregon coast, and we were fishing in the ocean. It was pleasant, and we were having a good time catching salmon, when for some reason I turned around to see a huge eight-foot wave bearing down upon us. I had time only to shout a warning before the wave hit us broadside. Somehow the boat stayed upright, but Gary, our cousin, was thrown overboard. We were all wearing life jackets and with some difficulty maneuvered the boat, half filled with water, to where he was floating and pulled him aboard.
We had been hit by what is called a sneaker wave. It doesn’t happen often, and there is no way to predict it. Later we found that up and down the Oregon-Washington coast, five people had drowned that day in three separate boating accidents. All were caused by the same sneaker wave, which for no apparent reason had welled up off the ocean surface. At the time we went out, the ocean was flat and calm and gave no sign of any danger. But the ocean turned out to be deceptive and not at all what it appeared to be.
I am grateful that we had on our life jackets that summer day on the ocean. I am thankful we were able to avoid the tragedy that came from that sneaker wave. It is my prayer that we will continue to wear our life jackets of obedience in order to avoid the tragedy that will surely come if we are deceived and follow the enticings of the adversary.

Many years ago my family and a friend and I decided to visit Arches National Park in Utah, USA. One of the most beautiful and famous arches in the park is Delicate Arch, so we decided to climb the mountain to reach the arch.
We started the hike enthusiastically, but soon the others wanted to rest. I wanted to get there sooner, so I decided to go alone. Without paying attention to the path I should take, I began following a man who seemed to know where he was going.
The path became more and more difficult to climb. I was sure my family could not have made it. Suddenly I saw Delicate Arch, but to my surprise, I couldn’t reach it because the path I had taken didn’t lead to the arch.
I was frustrated and decided to go back. I waited impatiently until I met my group again. I asked if they reached Delicate Arch. They told me they had followed the signs showing the right way and, with care and effort, had reached the destination. Unfortunately, I had taken the wrong way. What a lesson I learned that day!

About fifteen years ago a large flock of quail selected four blue spruce trees near the side of our house for their nightly roosting place. Our family decided to feed the quail every day during the winter months so they would live with us permanently. In back of our house we have a patio and a large lawn. Glass doors open directly to the back from our living room, and we always have a perfect view of our patio and lawn. We decided the patio would be an ideal place to feed quail and any other birds that came during the winter months.
I built a bird feeder about six feet high so snowbirds and other small birds could enjoy eating where they felt more secure off the ground. Each day we scattered milo on the patio for the quail, and we also put milo in the bird feeder for the smaller birds.
Shortly before sunrise a number of male quail would begin to crow and give their whistles and commands. The flock of quail soon grew to about seventy-five birds and would fly down from the blue spruce trees to the patio for their morning feeding. On days when there was no snow on our back lawn, the quail would finish their meal and then would usually lounge around on the lawn for about two hours to sun themselves. Then they would go out our back gate and up on the hills to spend the day gathering seeds.
Shortly before nightfall the large flock of quail would return through our east gate, pick a few seeds from the lawn, and then come down to the patio to have their final fill of milo before flying into the blue spruce trees to roost for the night. What a joyful experience our family had day after day as we watched these birds!

Parting can be hard, particularly when the parent and the child know that they may not see each other for a long time. I had that experience with my father. We parted on a street corner in New York City. He had come there for his work. I was there on my way to another place. We both knew that I probably would never return to live with my parents under the same roof again.
It was a sunny day, around noontime, the streets crowded with cars and pedestrians. On that particular corner there was a traffic light which stopped the cars and the people in all directions for a few minutes. The light changed to red; the cars stopped. The crowd of pedestrians hurried off the curbs, moving every way, including diagonally, across the intersection.
The time had come for parting, and I started across the street. I stopped almost in the center, with people rushing by me. I turned to look back. Instead of moving off in the crowd, my father was still standing on the corner looking at me. To me he seemed lonely and perhaps a little sad. I wanted to go back to him, but I realized the light would change and so I turned and hurried on.
Years later I talked to him about that moment. He told me that I had misread his face. He said he was not sad; he was concerned. He had seen me look back, as if I were a little boy, uncertain and looking for assurance. He told me in those later years that the thought in his mind had been: “Will he be all right? Have I taught him enough? Is he prepared for whatever may lie ahead?”
There were more than thoughts in his mind. I knew from having watched him that he had feelings in his heart. He yearned for me to be protected, to be safe. I had heard and felt that yearning in his prayers, and even more in the prayers of my mother, for all the years I had lived with them. I had learned from that, and I remembered.