Gospel Story Finder

More than once that fateful morning, I was sure I was going to die. The combination of seeing all that blood—my blood—soaking into the trail and sensing the ferocity of the grizzly bear raging at me from every side with its teeth and claws left me feeling overwhelmed and hopeless.
What a dramatic contrast to a mere two hours earlier. I had blissfully set off on a backcountry trail run on one of the prettiest days I had seen that summer in the high country of western Wyoming, USA. The sky was a shade of neon cobalt blue, wildflowers covered the hillsides, and the morning air was crisp yet pleasant. It was a perfect day for a 15-mile (24 km) run in the mountains.
This was a classic training run. I was trying to build up my strength and endurance for a marathon just two months away. Runners increase strength by doing repeated short-distance runs. This builds endurance, which in turn toughens resilience.
Little did I know that I would soon need every drop of resilience and power I had because I would be in for the race of my life.
Looking back, I should have seen the signs. After all, the Lord tells us that He will “shew [us] things to come” through the power of the Holy Ghost (John 16:13). As Elder Gary E. Stevenson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles has taught, “The Holy Ghost can help you by warning you in advance of physical and spiritual dangers.” And that He did.
Just a few minutes into my run, I glanced down and spotted something. My heart jumped when I saw the unmistakable outline of a bear track in the dirt in front of me. It was a clear warning. Foolishly, I rationalized that a bear had indeed passed this way but by now I would be safe. No need to worry, right? And so on I ran.
Less than an hour later, I crested a small rise and ran down a hill into a heavily wooded clearing. As I rounded a bend at the bottom of the hill, I heard a crashing sound so intense, so severe, that it made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I stopped instantly and slowly glanced to my left. Then I froze in terror. The sound, which I quickly identified as breaking branches, was coming at a high speed. Then I saw a sight I will never forget—a full-grown grizzly bear charging directly toward me!
I heard a crashing sound so intense, so severe, that it made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
The horrific attack that followed should have taken my life. This was obviously a very agitated bear, which I had surprised as I dropped into that clearing at a dead run. Yet that moment when I thought death was certain was followed by the sincerest prayer of my life. The intervening mercies of heaven then descended.
Inexplicably, the bear stopped his relentless attack and ran off into the woods. That was good news! The bad news was that I had 16 severe wounds from the bear’s teeth and claws and was alone in a forest, covered in blood, and 11 miles (18 km) from the nearest park road, with no help in sight.
I suddenly found myself at a major decision point of my life. If you haven’t had such a moment, be assured you will. Adversity is part of Heavenly Father’s plan. Fortunately, getting attacked by a bear isn’t—at least for most of us! But at some point, you may feel overwhelmed by whatever adversity you are facing. It’s a hopeless feeling that the Lord once vividly described as “the very jaws of hell” that “gape open the mouth wide after thee” (Doctrine and Covenants 122:7).
At these crises crossroads in your life, you have a decision to make. You can give up, lie down, and die; or you can somehow rally all your courage and strength and bravely fight on, trusting that if you will do your part, the Lord will do His. The Lord explained the purpose of life’s travails to Joseph Smith while he was imprisoned at Liberty Jail: “All these things shall give thee experience, and shall be for thy good” (Doctrine and Covenants 122:7).
And they do benefit you. They hone and refine you as you grow stronger and build resilience. This is why the Lord told Joseph—and tells you—to “hold on thy way” in the face of trials and adversity (Doctrine and Covenants 122:9). As you hold on in life—even if it is by your fingernails—you find even your meager strength is more than matched by the Lord’s. As promised, He is “mighty to save” (2 Nephi 31:19).
That is exactly what happened to me. Instead of giving up, I decided to get up. I was determined to live, which meant I needed to find help. Stumbling my way down the trail for more than a mile, I finally crossed paths with the only other people in the forest that day for miles. That miraculous meeting eventually led to a backcountry helicopter rescue, three life-saving surgeries, and a clearer understanding of the blessing of being determined to “hold on thy way.”
After crawling to a trail junction, Elder Dunn was rescued, had three life-saving surgeries, and recovered thanks to the faith and prayers of many, including his then–four-year-old daughter, Emi.
This experience has increased my power, determination, and faith. It also strengthened and prepared me to handle other challenges of life. I am certain that as you “[bear] all things, [believe] all things, [hope] all things, [endure] all things” (1 Corinthians 13:7), you will build the resilience and strength you need to face challenges. You will see the Lord’s hand making you equal to whatever comes your way—even if it is the very “jaws of hell.”

When I was called to Tahiti on my mission, I remember thinking, “What am I going to do there?”
I was a new member of the Church. I didn’t know a lot about the gospel. I hadn’t read the Book of Mormon cover to cover, though I knew it was true. And I would have to learn two languages: Tahitian and French.
I felt inadequate.
Thankfully, I had two things going for me: I knew how to work, and I knew how to obey. Knowing how to work came from my father; knowing how to obey came from the gospel.
So when I got to my mission, I worked hard and I obeyed. As a result, the Lord blessed me with some wonderful experiences, and He taught me to rely on the Spirit. In the process, He also taught me patience, because I was not the most patient missionary. If I had a senior companion who didn’t want to work hard, even though I was the junior companion, I would say, ‘C’mon, let’s go! We’ve got to work!’”
When I became a senior companion, I thought, “Finally, I’ve arrived. I can control the work now.”
But my mission president assigned me a companion who didn’t want to work. By that point in my mission, thankfully, I had learned enough that I knew I had to love my companion, be kind to him, and be patient with him. I knew I couldn’t push him.
One night in the little village of Fare on the island of Huahine, we were at an investigator’s home. Instead of teaching, my companion was playing a board game with a family member and I was sitting there alone, feeling that nobody wanted to listen to me. It was my first assignment as a senior companion, and I felt that I was failing.
As I was having these thoughts and feelings, an outpouring of the Spirit came into my heart. I knew I was not alone. That stayed with me the whole night—not just for a moment. When I awoke the next morning, the feeling was still with me. I knew Heavenly Father loved me. I knew He cared about me. I knew He was with me. Knowing that gave me the strength I needed.
That was a key experience for me. My mission president knew that I needed to have experiences that would humble me and help me recognize my dependence on the Spirit. From that point on I had an incredible mission.

In the cold Alaskan winters, people need wood to burn in their fireplaces. For their weekly service, Elders Fjelsted and Leha’uli went to a local sawmill that has extra wood. They chopped it, piled it into members’ trucks, and delivered the wood to single mothers, older couples, people with disabilities—anyone who needed a little extra help. Those people always mentioned how grateful they were.

These elders also volunteered at a food bank, where they packed food for the needy, and at an elementary school, where they read to the children.

“Our service is making a difference in the community,” Elder Fjelsted says. “People are recognizing us and the Church for the good we do. It is also leading to some teaching opportunities that we hope will help build the kingdom of God in Alaska.”

Roger Randrianarison knew something was missing from his family’s life.
“I prayed to God to help me find something to lead my family,” he said. “I had a desire to lead my family in something good, something that would lead to the right path.”
He was concerned about how to raise his three children—sons, Randrianandry and Sedinirina, and daughter, Nirina. He was unhappy that his short temper had led to challenges in the family. He wanted to be a kinder parent.
“I decided I was the one who had to change because I saw who I had become,” he said.
Roger had lost his construction business a few years earlier and was working as a taxi driver in Antananarivo, Madagascar. One day he picked up two sister missionaries.
“Once they were in the car, they asked me my name and if I had a family,” he said. “They asked if I knew who God was and if I prayed to Him.”
The missionaries sang songs with Roger during the ride and invited him to church. He tried to go a few times but never could work the meetings into his schedule, and he lost contact with the missionaries.
About five months later Roger was working at home one day when he heard two missionaries talking to someone outside his fence. Roger knew they would come talk to him. He felt like he should answer yes to whatever questions they would ask him.
After introducing themselves, the missionaries asked him if he knew about God. Yes. Did he want to pray to God? Yes. Did he want to talk to the missionaries? Yes. When? Now. The missionaries said they would return in 20 minutes. When they came back, they had a member with them who lived nearby.
The missionaries taught Roger many times for a month in his home. Because of what they had heard about the Church, the rest of his family didn’t want to study with the missionaries. After a month of learning about the gospel, Roger went to church with the missionaries. The kind reception he experienced left an impression on him. “The members received me like they had already known me for a very long time,” he said.
Roger went home from church and told his family that he was going to be baptized in a month and that they were free to choose to join the Church or not. They asked him to wait so that they could join him. They started attending meetings and were also pleasantly surprised.
The first time he attended Church meetings left a lasting impression on Roger’s oldest son, Randrianandry. “The first time I came to church I was so surprised because the people were so humble,” he said. “First, they were properly dressed for church. After that I realized they were really there for a purpose, not just to show off for other people.”
The Randrianarisons were baptized as a family on February 20, 2003. At the time Nirina was 8, Sedinirina was 17, and Randrianandry was 19. The family stopped working on Sundays and made living the gospel a priority.
“After I got baptized, I saw a lot of changes in our home,” said Arelina, Roger’s wife. “It became a spiritual home, and so many blessings, both temporal and spiritual, came from living the gospel.”

President Thomas S. Monson is a great example of this principle. In January of 2005, he was presiding over a priesthood leadership conference in Puerto Rico when he demonstrated how the Savior and His servants render service through personal ministry. At the conclusion of that wonderful meeting, President Monson began to greet all the priesthood leaders in attendance. Suddenly, he noticed that one of them was watching everything from afar, off by himself.

President Monson walked away from the group, toward that brother, and spoke to him. With emotion, José R. Zayas told him it was a miracle that he had approached him and an answer to the prayers that he and his wife, Yolanda, had offered before the meeting. He told President Monson that his daughter was in very poor health and that he had with him a letter from his wife that she wanted delivered to President Monson. Brother Zayas had told his wife that it would be impossible since President Monson would be too busy. President Monson listened to the story and asked for the letter, which he read silently. Then he put it in his suit pocket and told Brother Zayas that he would take care of their request.

In this way, that family was touched by our Lord, Jesus Christ, through His servant. I believe the words of the Savior in the parable of the good Samaritan apply to us: “Go, and do thou likewise.”

Hiking 50 miles in 8-degree weather isn’t everyone’s idea of a good time. And there were moments when Marlene Clark of Provo, Utah, was sure the 18-hour ordeal wasn’t going on her next not-to-be-missed list.
Marlene, a Mia Maid in the Edgemont Tenth Ward, was the only girl to finish the hike that included walking back roads, mountain trails, lake shores, and through the center of Provo.
Marlene and 71 other enthusiastic hikers started the 50-miles-in-20-hours Presidential hike on Friday at 6:15 P.M., and by 2:00 P.M. Saturday there were lots of tired feet and sore muscles—and only 30 hikers.
“It was all we could do to stay awake. Everytime you’d sit down, you’d almost fall asleep,” says Marlene. “Sitting down would also make my muscles relax. When I’d stand, they would get tight and bend. Then I’d be bent over trying to walk to stay warm.”
The group started out going three or four miles an hour; by the end of the hike they were down to barely one an hour. Marlene got blisters on her feet, but by the time she’d finished the hike, they’d popped. When she went to Sunday School the next day, she wore her dad’s slippers under a long dress.
Outdoor activities aren’t new to Marlene. Every year the girls in her ward go on “Puff’n Huff,” a 50-mile hike (but not in a 20-hour deadline) in the high Uintas. Last year as chairman, Marlene worked on collecting maps, raising money for tents, and suggesting pack equipment. The week-long outing ended with a 21-mile hike in the rain to reach cars and head for home.
Marlene has some great memories of camping with her ward. Like the trip when the girls had to borrow tents from the Scouts and then used bandaids to try and stop the water coming in through the holes. And leaving notes in a pitch-black, moss-covered cave for the Scouts who had discovered the cave the year before and who might return in the future. Her most vivid recollections involve a camping trip to Robber’s Roost Canyon in southern Utah. The group experienced desert flash floods and had to rappel off ten cliffs, some with 30-foot drops. They made it and had the rope burns to prove it.
It was Marlene’s Beehive adviser, Carolyn Rasmus, an associate professor in physical education at BYU, who got her interested in physical fitness. The Scouts had camped out nearly every weekend, including igloo camping in the winter. The Young Women decided that they wanted some of the fun, so they increased their activities to match.
A ninth grader, Marlene enjoys vaulting, skiing, and track events, as well as hiking. She enjoys individual sports because “you can blame yourself for failure.” And no matter how grueling the activity is at the time, “once you’re finished with it, it’s fun. It’s just when you’re there that it’s awful, and you only hope you will live through it.”

Mary Connors wiped the sweat off her face with her forearm. Summer in the Oklahoma panhandle was hot. She knew Pa needed everyone’s help to chop weeds out of the corn.
Mary looked sideways to check on her brother James. He was eight years old, two years younger than she was. They had two older brothers and an older sister. Her two little sisters stayed back at the house with Ma and their older sister.
Pa came up the row. “Mary,” he said, “you and James take the pails and get water from the river.” Even at 10 years old, she knew how important it was to keep new corn watered.
She and James walked across the sloping field to the Cimarron River. It was shallow, and Mary knew that it wouldn’t be easy to dig a hole deep enough to fill their pails.
As they waded barefoot into the river, the water curled like bracelets around their ankles. They scooped the pails into the sandy riverbed. As soon as one small hole was made, sand quickly filled it in.
Hearing voices behind her on the bank, Mary turned and saw two young men approaching. They were dressed in white shirts and ties, even though it was only Wednesday. Each carried a small suitcase and a suit jacket.
“Hello!” they called, stopping near the edge of the river to watch Mary and James scooping sand.
“Hi.” Mary wasn’t sure they should be talking to these strangers.
“What are you doing?” asked the taller young man.
“Digging for water,” James said.
“Need some help?” asked the shorter young man.
Mary shrugged, but James stood up and held out his pail with a big smile on his face. “Sure!”
The shorter man pulled off his shoes and socks, rolled up his pant legs, and stepped into the river. He took James’s pail and quickly made a deep hole. His companion had also stepped barefoot into the river and was using Mary’s pail. The children dug with their hands. Finally, when both pails were full, the men asked if they could help further by carrying the water to the children’s home.
Mary nodded. “We’re supposed to water the corn.”
“We’d like to meet your pa and your ma,” the taller man said.
They walked back to the cornfield where Pa and the boys were still chopping weeds. Pa looked up in surprise when he saw that they had company.
The young men set down the pails of water and introduced themselves. “I’m Elder Watson,” the taller one said. “My companion is Elder Masters. We’re missionaries.”
Pa shook their hands. “Do you believe in Jesus Christ?” he asked.
The elders looked at each other and smiled. Elder Masters said, “The name of our church is The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. A young prophet, Joseph Smith, talked to Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ.”
Pa’s eyes met his children’s. He cleared his throat. “I’d like to hear more about this young prophet. How about having supper with us?”
Mary could tell that the elders were pleased with the invitation. James was sent to tell Ma that they had company. Then they all pitched in and finished hoeing and watering the corn. When they went to the house, Ma and Rachel were setting out bowls of mashed potatoes, fried squash, sliced tomatoes, and new peas. A stack of hot biscuits stood beside a dish of fresh-churned butter.
Pa gestured to Elder Watson. “We always say a blessing on the food. You probably ought to say it tonight, Elder.”
After supper, Pa showed the elders the hayloft, and James and Mary carried quilts and pillows out for them. Pa asked what the elders were doing in the Oklahoma panhandle.
Elder Watson explained. “We are walking missionaries. We walk through the area looking for people who want to know more about Jesus Christ and about the Book of Mormon.”
Pa nodded. “That’s me. I want to know more. What’s the Book of Mormon?”
The missionaries stayed until Saturday morning. In between helping Pa with the crops, they taught about the Book of Mormon, Joseph Smith, and Jesus Christ.
On Saturday morning, Elder Masters asked, “Do you believe that Jesus said that we must be baptized to enter His kingdom?”
Mary nodded her head. She saw each person in her family nod in agreement.
“Do you want to be baptized?” Elder Masters asked.
A chorus of amens answered his question. Soon they were all headed toward the Cimarron River, carrying shovels, pails, and kettles. It would take a lot of digging to make the river deep enough.
They sang hymns as they dug. Mary could scarcely stand the excitement and joy that she felt inside. She was glad that she was 10 years old and could be baptized.
At last Elder Watson pronounced the hole deep enough.
One by one, starting with Pa, the whole family, except for the two little girls, were baptized in the Cimarron River.
Later, dressed in dry clothes, each sat on a kitchen chair while the elders confirmed them members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and gave them the gift of the Holy Ghost. Mary couldn’t remember seeing her parents cry before, but she knew that these were happy tears.
On Sunday, the family attended their first sacrament service out under the apple trees. The elders talked about all that they had learned and how it was now their turn to teach their neighbors.
On Monday morning, the walking missionaries set out to find others to teach.
Mary remained faithful throughout her life, and when she was an old woman, she told the story of how she had helped dig her own baptismal font with her bare hands in the Cimarron River of Oklahoma.

I can still remember the joy I felt the day I was baptized. However, not long after, I felt disappointment as the missionaries suggested I stop associating with some of my current acquaintances and find a more appropriate circle of friends. Their words seemed harsh to me, an 18-year-old high school senior, but trusting them, I did as they counseled.
Understanding my need for friends in the Church, the missionaries soon invited me to participate in family home evening with some ward members. I was eager to understand more about my new faith, so I gratefully went to the Shaffer family’s home.
The Shaffers’ home became a haven where, in the nonthreatening atmosphere of simple family home evenings, I learned what it is to be a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. After dozens of family nights at the Shaffers’ and a year of Church membership, I accepted a call to serve a full-time mission.
My father had feelings against the Church and didn’t want me to go. I left, entrusting him to the Shaffers. It was nothing short of a miracle when just four months into my mission I received word from my father of his decision to be baptized. The Shaffers had taken him into their home for home evenings, just as they had done for me. Their efforts made it easier for him to understand the gospel and become converted to it.
Ruben Perez, Cordova Ward, Memphis Tennessee North Stake

One young man from Argentina in South America showed his desire to be a disciple of Christ by sharing some of his candy with a friend as they rode the bus to school. When he came to a coffee flavored piece, he explained that he had never developed a taste for that flavor since no one in his family drank coffee. That led to a conversation about the Church, which led to an invitation to come to meetings, which eventually led to his friend’s joining the Church and serving a mission in Chile.

Chris may not have believed it, but I really hadn’t planned to teach him about the gospel that day. He was just a neighbor boy who used to hang around. He happened to be over at our house when the missionaries stopped by to use the phone.
“Who are they?” Chris asked as the two elders walked past us, their dark suits and white shirts a strong contrast to my friend’s T-shirt and tennis shoes.
“They are missionaries from our church,” I responded. One of them overheard us and grinned at me as if to ask permission to join the conversation. I nodded enthusiastically.
“We’re missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
“Is that your church?” Chris asked me.
“Yes!” I said proudly.
“Would you like to know more about our church?” the elder asked.
“Well, I don’t know,” Chris said, looking down at his shoes. “Guess it won’t hurt anything,” he finally answered. “My grandpa always said it’s good to learn new things.”
The elders then began to talk about Jesus Christ and His love for us. They asked Chris to read a scripture from the New Testament, which he did with great sincerity. They established that he already had a basic testimony of the Atonement, helped him define Christ’s role in our lives, and then moved on to talk about the First Vision.
Again, they had Chris read scriptures. They bore their own testimonies, and then asked him how he felt about the message they had just shared. This time he was a little more unsure. The story of Joseph Smith was something altogether new to him.
“Well, I don’t know how I feel about that,” Chris said quietly. “It was a long time ago. You seem to know, but I don’t. It could have happened. I don’t know.” Then he paused for a moment, and his voice came through bold and bright. “But here’s something I do know. I know that what this world needs right now is a prophet. That’s what we really need. We need a prophet who’s alive on this earth today!”
By this time, a few of my family members had joined us in the living room, and as Chris spoke, we all looked at each other. An electrifying bolt of energy burst through us, but I was the first to speak. Okay, it was more like a shout of joy.
“We have one! We have one!” I grabbed his arm so quickly he was startled. “We do have a living prophet! His name is Gordon B. Hinckley, and he is the leader of our church.”
The elders began scrambling in their bags, searching for a picture. Chris smiled at my outburst and actually backed a few feet away in case I attacked him again. He gladly accepted a Book of Mormon and scheduled another appointment with the missionaries.
His family moved away very soon after, and I never heard whether Chris accepted the gospel. But I do know that everyone in the room that day felt the yearning of a young man wishing the world had a modern-day prophet.

Delynn, 24, accepted an internship with the computer division of a major local employer. During her internship she worked on several challenging projects. The established programmers taught her techniques she had not learned through her course work. She worked hard and learned as much as she could. After the internship, she kept in touch. As graduation drew closer, her former supervisor asked if she would be interested in coming back to the firm. She also received several offers from other companies. Delynn chose the company she had interned with, because she knew the environment in which she would be working and enjoyed the challenges she knew she would receive. Since she had already worked for them, the company assigned her to a key project within weeks of starting.

Perry was riding his bicycle past the old Bennett place when he saw a sign that read: RANGEVIEW KENNELS.
On a small board underneath it he read: SUMMER HELP WANTED. Parking his bike beside the driveway, Perry walked past the white frame house and down a dirt path to the kennel.
All the dogs were golden retrievers. They had long, silky hair that ranged from cream color to honey blond. They raced up and down their pens, wagging their tails.
“Good morning,” a man greeted Perry. The man was on his knees, brushing a dog’s wavy coat. “I’m Roy Luther.”
“I’m Perry Marshall. I’d like to help you this summer, sir.”
“You’re kind of young, aren’t you?”
“I’m ten.” Perry stood up straighter. “I can clean the runs, groom and exercise the dogs, or do whatever you need done.”
The man seemed to be thinking it over. “Why do you want to help me? I can’t hire you as a regular worker, you know, because you’re too young.”
“Yes sir, I understand. But I’m going to be a veterinarian when I grow up,” Perry explained, “so I’d like to learn as much as I can now.”
“I see.” Mr. Luther stopped brushing the dog and stood up. “Tell you what. I’ll give you a little test to see how you do with one of our dogs.”
“That sounds fair,” said Perry. “What’s the test?”
Mr. Luther lifted a pup from one of the pens and placed it at Perry’s feet. “This is Amber. She hasn’t had any training. Take her over there behind the kennels and see what you can teach her. Here’s a leash.”
“Thanks, Mr. Luther.” Perry snapped the leash onto Amber’s collar. The pup began to jump up and down against his knees like a yoyo.
“Take it easy, girl.” Perry led her into the field and up a hill behind the kennels’ buildings. For a while he just stroked Amber and played with her. The books that he had read explained that a trainer must win the dog’s trust and affection before he could begin to teach it obedience.
When Amber had calmed down, Perry unhooked the leash and said, “Sit.” He spoke firmly, pushing at the same time on the puppy’s hindquarters. “Sit.”
Over and over Perry repeated the word as he gently pushed. Amber sniffed the grass and then sniffed the boy. “Sit.” Amber cocked her head and stared at Perry. Suddenly she lunged at his face, licking it all over.
“No,” Perry said sternly. “Sit.”
Amber soon grew bored with the “game” and trotted off across the field to explore. Perry let her go. When he finally called, she came bounding back to him like a tumbleweed propelled by the wind.
“Sit.” Amber just wagged her tail. So Perry decided to try a different command. “Shake.” Taking Amber’s right paw in his right hand, he slowly moved it up and down. “Shake.” Again and again he repeated the word and the motion.
Once, when Perry held her paw too long, Amber lost her balance and toppled over. Perry collapsed in the tall grass and laughed. When he sat up, he saw Mr. Luther watching from a distance. It was time to teach this pup something. Anything.
“Shake.”
It was no use. Each time Perry lifted her paw, Amber licked his hand. He went back to “Sit.”
The sun was straight overhead when Mr. Luther strode up the hill. “How’s it coming, son?”
“Fine, sir. Just fine.”
As soon as Mr. Luther had gone away, Perry said, “Let’s take a break, Amber.” This was hard work, much harder than he had expected.
After a short rest, Perry moved to a spot farther from the other dogs. Perhaps their barking was distracting the puppy.
“Amber! Come here, girl! Let’s get back to work.”
Perry’s shirt was starting to cling to his back in the heat. Still, he persisted. “Sit,” he said, pushing gently but firmly on Amber’s hindquarters.
The pup rolled over in the grass, waving her paws in the air. When she got up and started to chase her tail, Perry knew that it was time to end the lesson. Sighing, he stood up and hooked the leash back onto her collar. “Come on, girl.”
While the dog frisked about him, Perry walked slowly toward the kennel office, trying to figure out what to say to Mr. Luther. It had seemed like such a simple test. How could he ever hope to be a vet if he couldn’t even teach a dog to sit?
“How’d you do, Perry?”
“I didn’t have any luck at all, Mr. Luther. I tried, but I couldn’t teach this pup anything. Not one thing.”
“You know, Perry, some dogs learn fast, but others need more time. I can show you a few pointers that might help with Amber. Can you come tomorrow morning at nine?”
“Sure I can! But I don’t understand, sir. I failed the test.”
Mr. Luther smiled. “You didn’t fail the test, Perry. I saw how you handled Amber. You never hit her. You never even raised your voice. That shows a lot of patience, and patience always wins in the end. I reckon you’ll be a big help to me this summer.”

Sergio’s school friends often ask him about his religion because they know his standards are different from theirs. “I answer their questions and tell them about the beliefs I have,” said Sergio with a steady voice reflective of his firm testimony. “I invite them to Church on Sundays and to the activities. Some come and others don’t,” he said shrugging his shoulders. Since his baptism two and a half years ago, Sergio has helped the missionaries teach and baptize three of his friends.

Let me conclude with an account of two men who are heroes to me. Their acts of courage were not performed on a national scale, but rather in a peaceful valley known as Midway, Utah.

Long years ago, Roy Kohler and Grant Remund served together in Church capacities. They were the best of friends. They were tillers of the soil and dairymen. Then a misunderstanding arose which became somewhat of a rift between them.

Later, when Roy Kohler became grievously ill with cancer and had but a limited time to live, my wife, Frances, and I visited Roy and his wife, and I gave him a blessing. As we talked afterward, Brother Kohler said, “Let me tell you about one of the sweetest experiences I have had during my life.” He then recounted to me his misunderstanding with Grant Remund and the ensuing estrangement. His comment was, “We were sort of on the outs with each other.”

“Then,” continued Roy, “I had just put up our hay for the winter to come, when one night, as a result of spontaneous combustion, the hay caught fire, burning the hay, the barn, and everything in it right to the ground. I was devastated,” said Roy. “I didn’t know what in the world I would do. The night was dark, except for the dying embers of the fire. Then I saw coming toward me from the road, in the direction of Grant Remund’s place, the lights of tractors and heavy equipment. As the ‘rescue party’ turned in our drive and met me amidst my tears, Grant said, ‘Roy, you’ve got quite a mess to clean up. My boys and I are here. Let’s get to it.’” Together they plunged to the task at hand. Gone forever was the hidden wedge which had separated them for a short time. They worked throughout the night and into the next day, with many others in the community joining in.

Roy Kohler has passed away, and Grant Remund is getting older. Their sons have served together in the same ward bishopric. I truly treasure the friendship of these two wonderful families.

I’m having a blast here at the summer conference of the National Association of Student Councils. Among the 2,000 student delegates from North America, I didn’t expect to find other Mormons, but soon they found me!
Some LDS delegates planned a testimony meeting and spread the word. Dozens of LDS kids from all over North America showed up! As we bore our testimonies, the Spirit let us know the truthfulness of the Gospel.
Here’s a photo of some of the LDS kids. It’s great to know that so many student leaders are also such wonderful examples for the Church!
Love, Jamie

A lovely lady who has since passed away visited with me one day and unexpectedly recounted some regrets. She spoke of an incident which had taken place many years earlier and involved a neighboring farmer, once a good friend but with whom she and her husband had disagreed on multiple occasions. One day the farmer asked if he could take a shortcut across her property to reach his own acreage. At this point she paused in her narrative to me and, with a tremor in her voice, said, “Brother Monson, I didn’t let him cross our property then or ever but required him to take the long way around on foot to reach his property. I was wrong, and I regret it. He’s gone now, but oh, I wish I could say to him, ‘I’m so sorry.’ How I wish I had a second chance to be kind.”

When I was baptized in 1977 at the age of 10, my mother, with 8 children, was separated from my father, and we had many needs, both temporal and spiritual. The sisters of that small branch in the city of Oaxaca, Mexico, were faithful in visiting my mother to minister to her. These sisters lightened the burdens of my mother and the entire family in many ways; they were a great blessing in our lives.

My mother makes the best homemade bread in the whole world. One afternoon our neighbor sat in our kitchen and declared that she would pay ten dollars just for a slice of Mom’s yummy bread. Mom just laughed, but I could tell that she was flattered. That night, while we were doing the dishes, she seemed really concerned about something. Since Dad had been in the hospital, I’d noticed that she’d been worried not just about Dad but about “making ends meet,” as she put it.
Finally I asked, “Mom, what are you thinking about?”
She smiled, hesitated, then said, “Jenney, I couldn’t help thinking about what Mrs. Clark said. Do you think my bread is that good?”
“Sure, Mom, all the kids in the neighborhood love your bread and rolls—especially your cinnamon rolls.”
Well, that’s how I got the job of delivering bread and rolls for my mom. She got a permit from the city and began a bakery in our kitchen to earn some money. Every day after school I delivered her bread and rolls all over town. I got paid for doing it, and that was great, but sometimes I got tired of it and wished I hadn’t praised her bread so much. After a few weeks, I started playing or watching TV and leaving a little later each day. That was until after one day last week.
“Jenney, honey, please hurry. This order is for Brother and Sister Dean, and they live kind of far away. Turn off the TV and get your coat and mittens on.”
“OK, Mom,” I said reluctantly and got ready to go.
At the door, Mom stood looking at the sky. “Hurry, Jenney. Please don’t dawdle. It looks like another storm is brewing.”
“Don’t worry, Mom. I’ll be all right.” I waved good-bye and started down the street. The air was very still and quiet. It wasn’t very cold, either. I walked along for a while, and then snowflakes started dancing around me. Suddenly it got very dark. At first I loved it. The snowflakes got bigger and bigger. They were beautiful as they came straight down, as though they were in a hurry to get to the ground. Like I should be about getting this bread delivered, I thought.
The Deans lived on a dairy farm. I decided to leave the road and take a shortcut through the fields to their house. The snowflakes started swirling around. They were huge by now and seemed to move up and away from me and then back toward me again. I laughed and started to dance with them—around and around, curtsy left, swing right.
When I stopped to catch my breath, I noticed that my feet felt really cold. I looked around me. All I could see was the black night and white swirling snow. The wind picked up, and the snow was no longer gentle and friendly. It started whipping at my hat and coat. My face and nose were numb and cold. I decided to walk fast—only I didn’t know which way to walk! I strained my eyes looking into the night. I couldn’t decide which way to go. Suddenly I felt panicky. I stood very still in that spot and cried for a while, then wandered around till I seemed to hear a gentle voice say, “Pray, Jenney. Stop here and pray.”
I stopped walking and knelt in the snow. I sobbed as I prayed to Heavenly Father for help. After a few moments I felt a sweet calm come over me, and someone seemed to say, “Jenney, look up.”
I looked up, and through the darkness I saw a light flicker on. I couldn’t tell whose light it was, but there it was, shining through the dark, snowy night. I got up quickly and headed for the light. In just a few minutes I could dimly make out Brother Dean’s farm buildings. I stumbled gratefully to the barn door and called, “Brother Dean, are you there?”
Out he came, swinging his lantern. “Why, Jenney, child, what are you doing out here on a night like this?”
I held out the bread and started to sob. He didn’t say a word but put his arm around me and steered me toward the house. While he called my mom, Sister Dean had me put on some dry clothes, then brought me some hot chocolate and warm cookies. Sitting by their nice fire, I told them about how I had been lost and scared. I told them about how I had prayed and then seen the barn light. Mr. Dean smiled and slowly nodded his head, as though he already knew my story.
“Jenney,” he said, “I had finished my chores and had my dinner. I had even put on my slippers and curled up by the fire with my newspaper. I’d no sooner started reading than I had the thought to go to the barn. I brushed it off. I’d come in from the barn not a half hour before, and my cows were OK. Well, I tried to start reading again, but the thought just wouldn’t go away. So I got my tired bones up, lighted my lantern, and went to the barn. It was the strangest thing, because everything seemed to be just fine. So I said to myself, Dean, you’re getting old. Maybe you ought to sell this place and just sit in your rocking chair. Just as I was fixing to come back in, there you were, at the door, as scared as a treed cat and dripping wet. Yep, I’m sure glad I listened to that voice.” He smiled at me, adding, “Jenney, do you know whose voice it was that told me to come to the barn?”
“Yes, Brother Dean.”
I couldn’t explain where the voice came from, but I knew whose it was. My parents and my Primary teachers had taught me about the Holy Ghost. And tonight I knew that Heavenly Father had turned that light on just for me.

Recently I observed such a mighty change in a man whom I first met about 10 years ago. He had come to a stake conference at which his son was sustained as a member of the new stake presidency. This father was not a member of the Church. After his son had been set apart, I put my arms around this father and praised him for having such a wonderful son. Then I boldly declared: “The day will come when you will want to have this son sealed to you and your wife in a holy temple. And when that day comes, I would be honored to perform that sealing for you.”

During the subsequent decade, I did not see this man. Six weeks ago he and his wife came to my office. He greeted me warmly and recounted how startled he was with my earlier invitation. He didn’t do much about it until later, when his hearing began to fail. Then he awakened to the realization that his body was changing and that his time on earth was indeed limited. In due course he ultimately lost his hearing. At the same time, he became converted and joined the Church.

During our visit he summarized his total transformation: “I had to lose my hearing before I could heed the great importance of your message. Then I realized how much I wanted my loved ones to be sealed to me. I am now worthy and prepared. Will you please perform that sealing?” This I did with a deep sense of gratitude to God.

Besides seeing his family sealed together, Michael has another hope—of becoming a champion wrestler. He’s been undefeated for three years in his weight and age division in the South New Jersey Wrestling Association. But sometimes he has to make tough choices between two things he loves—wrestling and the Church.
A few years ago, a very important tournament was coming up. Michael’s parents thought that the tournament was on a Saturday, and he signed up to go. When they found out it was on a Sunday, his father asked him if he still wanted to be in the tournament. Although he knew that his team was counting on him to score some team points for it, he said, “Well then, I can’t go.” He explained, “It’s hard not to go to Sunday tournaments, but I don’t, because it’s against a commandment. And I’ve had a lot of blessings.” Since making that decision the first time, not competing on Sundays has been easier. And his decision has showed others that he lives what he believes.