Gospel Story Finder

Their married life got off to a great start. Leonie and Frank saved up to buy land and build a house, which they completed soon after their honeymoon. The newlyweds enjoyed taking long walks together, playing cards with friends and going to balls, and when they eventually welcomed five beautiful children into their family, Leonie cherished being a mother. “Throughout our childhood and our lives, we always felt loved,” says Lisa.
After some time, the family’s fortunes changed. They lost their home and had to move several times as Frank sought reliable work. Times were hard, but Leonie never complained. “Mum always demonstrated incredible patience,” said Lisa. She was an excellent cook who would brighten her children’s days with great food and fun activities. “I knew we weren’t all that well off, but thanks to Mum, I had no idea how poor we really were.”

May I share with you an account of an opportunity of service which came to me unexpectedly and in an unusual manner. I received a telephone call from a granddaughter of an old friend. She asked, “Do you remember Francis Brems, who was your Sunday School teacher?” I told her that I did. She continued, “He is now 105 years of age. He lives in a small care center but meets with the entire family each Sunday, where he delivers a Sunday School lesson. Last Sunday Grandpa announced to us, ‘My dears, I am going to die this week. Will you please call Tommy Monson and tell him this. He’ll know what to do.’ ”
I visited Brother Brems the very next evening. I could not speak to him, for he was deaf. I could not write a message for him to read, for he was blind. What was I to do? I was told that his family communicated with him by taking the finger of his right hand and then tracing on the palm of his left hand the name of the person visiting and then any message. I followed the procedure and took his finger and spelled on the palm of his hand T-O-M-M-Y M-O-N-S-O-N. Brother Brems became excited and, taking my hands, placed them on his head. I knew his desire was to receive a priesthood blessing. The driver who had taken me to the care center joined me as we placed our hands on the head of Brother Brems and provided the desired blessing. Afterward tears streamed from his sightless eyes. He grasped our hands, and we read the movement of his lips. The message: “Thank you so much.”
Within that very week, just as Brother Brems had predicted, he passed away. I received the telephone call and then met with the family as funeral arrangements were made. How thankful I am that a response to render service was not delayed.

I have often wondered why that tough Marine Corps sergeant spared me that day. But I am grateful I was able to say without hesitation, “Yes, I am a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints” and “Yes, I know the Book of Mormon is true.” This testimony is a precious gift given to me through the Holy Ghost with the help of two missionaries and a priests quorum adviser.
When I was 14 years old, two missionaries, Lee Pearson and Boyd Camphuysen, taught my family the restored gospel of Jesus Christ, and I was baptized. Two years later my priests quorum adviser, Richard Boren, challenged me to read the Book of Mormon. I accepted that challenge, and I read at least 10 pages every night until I finished.
On the title page I read that it is “written to the Lamanites, who are a remnant of the house of Israel; and also to Jew and Gentile.” In the introduction to the Book of Mormon: Another Testament of Jesus Christ, it says that the Lamanites “are among the ancestors of the American Indians.” As I read the Book of Mormon, it seemed to me that it was about my American Indian ancestors. It tells the story of a people, a part of which were later described as “Lamanites,” who migrated from Jerusalem to a “land of promise” (1 Nephi 2:20) about 600 B.C. It is an account of God’s dealings with these ancient inhabitants located somewhere on the American continents. It includes an account of the ministry of Jesus Christ among them following His Resurrection. Passages in the Book of Mormon suggest that over time they were dispersed throughout the American continents and islands of the nearby seas (see Alma 63:9–10). Their prophets foretold that many multitudes of Gentiles would eventually come to this land of promise and the wrath of God would be upon the Lamanites and they would be scattered, smitten, and nearly destroyed (see 1 Nephi 13:10–14).
My great-grandfather Echo Hawk, a Pawnee Indian, was born in the mid-1800s in what is now called Nebraska. When he was 19 years of age, the Pawnee people were forced to give up their 23-million-acre (9.3 million ha) homeland to make room for settlers. In 1874 the Pawnee people were marched several hundred miles south to a small reservation located in the Oklahoma Indian Territory. The population of Pawnee people had declined from over 12,000 to less than 700 upon their arrival in Oklahoma. The Pawnee, like other tribes, had been scattered, smitten, and nearly destroyed.
The Book of Mormon has a special message for descendants of the Lamanites, a remnant of the house of Israel. Nephi expressed this message while interpreting his father’s vision of these latter days: “And at that day shall the remnant of our seed know that they are of the house of Israel, and that they are the covenant people of the Lord; and then shall they know and come to the knowledge of their forefathers, and also to the knowledge of the gospel of their Redeemer, which was ministered unto their fathers by him; wherefore, they shall come to the knowledge of their Redeemer and the very points of his doctrine, that they may know how to come unto him and be saved” (1 Nephi 15:14).
The Book of Mormon is sacred scripture. It contains the fulness of the everlasting gospel. The Prophet Joseph Smith wrote that “the Book of Mormon [is] the most correct of any book on earth, and the keystone of our religion, and a man would get nearer to God by abiding by its precepts, than by any other book” (Teachings of Presidents of the Church: Joseph Smith [2007], 64). Thus, it has a message for all people of the world.
As a 17-year-old boy reading the Book of Mormon for the first time, I focused on Moroni’s promise: “And when ye shall receive these things, I would exhort you that ye would ask God, the Eternal Father, in the name of Christ, if these things are not true; and if ye shall ask with a sincere heart, with real intent, having faith in Christ, he will manifest the truth of it unto you, by the power of the Holy Ghost” (Moroni 10:4).
As I knelt in prayer, I received a powerful spiritual witness that the Book of Mormon is true. That witness has helped me chart my course through life.
I exhort all people to read the Book of Mormon: Another Testament of Jesus Christ.
I especially ask the remnant of the house of Israel, the descendants of the people of the Book of Mormon, wherever you may be, to read and reread the Book of Mormon. Learn of the promises contained in the Book of Mormon. Follow the teachings and example of Jesus Christ. Make and keep covenants with the Lord. Seek for and follow the guidance of the Holy Spirit.
I close with the words spoken by Amaleki, another Book of Mormon prophet: “And now, my beloved brethren, I would that ye should come unto Christ, who is the Holy One of Israel, and partake of his salvation, and the power of his redemption. Yea, come unto him, and offer your whole souls as an offering unto him, and continue in fasting and praying, and endure to the end; and as the Lord liveth ye will be saved” (Omni 1:26).
As we come unto our Savior, Jesus Christ, and purify our hearts, we will all be instruments in fulfilling the mighty promises of the Book of Mormon. Of this I testify in the sacred name of Jesus Christ, amen.

I love reading the Friend! I’m excited every time it comes in the mail. I like reading Matt and Mandy, and the stories make me happy.
My family was discussing how we could help my little sister be kinder. There was a lot of contention, and we wanted the Spirit in our home. I read an article called “Firecracker Charlie” (March 2013). It taught me that for her to be nice to us, we needed to be super kind to her. I’m grateful I can feel the Spirit while reading the Friend.

Clint Dalley was the first assistant to the president in the priests quorum that year and one of those natural All-American athletes. Scott liked Clint and probably gravitated to him because of Clint’s athletic successes. Clint, however, was busy trying to make those important life decisions and was quite busy with many activities. As a result, the two did not spend a great deal of time together. Like other quorum members, Clint gave Scott a ride occasionally or sometimes they went for a soft drink at the local drive-in.
They came together one springtime in our town of Highland, Utah, because of a basketball tournament. It is traditional for all men and boys in the ward to be formed into basketball teams and participate in the “H.A.C.” tournament. The initials stand for Highland Athletic Commission (no one knows why they named it that), but those who participate think the name “HAC” describes how rough the hacking fouls are.
That year I was selected to be the coach for one team and found that both Clint and Scott had been chosen as team members. During each game, I made sure that everyone on the team played. Because of Clint and some other players my team kept winning during the three nights of play and eventually won the championship. After the last game, Scott’s mother stopped to thank me for allowing Scott to play in the games, “even when the score was close,” she said. She was aware that because of the intensity of play other team members might resent Scott’s participation. He is moderately handicapped and is not very coordinated. But I told her that Scott did just fine and made his contribution. In fact, when he played the pressure on everyone was reduced and basketball became more fun and less competitive. I noted that after the last game Clint left with Scott, and Clint’s dad told me they were going to get an ice cream cone before going home. I learned later that from that moment they spent more time than usual together.

About a month later, my crew made another perilous medical evacuation, this time on the side of a 60-degree mountain slope under a double canopy of foliage. This meant that we had to maneuver our helicopter down through the first cover of branches and leaves and over to an opening in the lower canopy of foliage where a hoist could lower a litter for the wounded soldier. Our rotor blades were literally inches from the branches, and the rotor wash of air bouncing off the foliage made hovering critically unstable. Despite these obstacles, the mission was successful, and the crew felt it deserved special recognition. We were once again recommended for the DFC, but again it was lessened to an Air Medal.
I was furious! “Do those people know what it’s like to put your life on the line every day?” I fumed. “They must be crazy to think this kind of flying is part of normal duty!” But in the quietness of my quarters, I remembered the words of my patriarchal blessing, which reminded me that the Holy Ghost would guide me. I thought, “That’s right. The Spirit made this mission and all the other missions, as hazardous as they may have been, possible for me.” And I knew Heavenly Father had protected me. No crew members who had flown with me had ever been harmed. I realized I had a great deal to be thankful for.

David had been playing for a little league team all season. More than anything else he wanted to be a regular on the team, and he wanted to be a pitcher. He never missed a practice or a game. Whenever his dad or his older brother could find the time, he’d get them to play catch with him. Even when David watched television he would wear his baseball mitt and pop a ball in and out of it almost automatically. Sometimes he’d forget to take the mitt off when his mother called him for meals, and then the family would have to wait while David put the mitt away, washed his hands, and came to the table.
Near the end of the season the coach told all the little leaguers they should meet at the ball park on a certain Sunday morning to have a special practice and to have their pictures taken. “I can’t come on Sunday,” said David.
“You’d better,” said the coach, “because we’re going to talk about our team for next year after we have our pictures taken.”
Usually, David ran home full of excitement after a ball game or a practice. But this night he was late, and he hardly answered when his family spoke to him. He was unusually quiet all week, but on Sunday he didn’t go to the ball park. On Monday he was at practice and at every practice afterward. Finally the day came for the team tryouts.
“You’ll be one of our regular pitchers,” the coach told David, “but you’ll have to play whenever a game is scheduled. We need you, and that will mean sometimes you will play on a Sunday.”
“I can’t play ball on Sundays,” David said.
“Then you’ll have to be a standby pitcher instead of a regular one,” answered the coach. And that is how it was all season. Sometimes David had a chance to pitch a game but more often he didn’t. The other boys on the team played on Sundays, but David went to Sunday School and sacrament meeting with his family.
In the spring when David was ten years old, the coach called the boys together to begin a new season and to make selections for the team. “We’ll need you for a regular pitcher this year, David,” he said. “But sometimes you’ll need to play on Sunday.”
“I’ll have to think about it,” said David. That night he talked the problem over with his dad, and then he said a special prayer for help to have the courage to do what he knew was right. The next day he told the coach he’d have to be just a standby pitcher again. The coach only shook his head.
Several weeks went by and David was at every practice. One night the coach called the boys around him. He explained that David couldn’t play ball on Sunday even though the team often had a game on that day. “But I’d like him to be our pitcher anyhow,” he went on. “If you agree, we could let David be our regular weekday pitcher and have a standby pitcher for Sunday games. How about it?”
There was a moment of silence. David could hardly breathe. The team members hesitated for only a minute, and then every little leaguer agreed wholeheartedly to the Sunday standby pitcher plan.

Susan seemed afflicted with a similar ailment. But hers came when she looked in the mirror.
“Oh my gosh, I look so awful. Other girls have bad hair days—I have bad hair seasons. Why can’t I be thin, tall, blonde, and from Sweden? Is that asking too much?”

And here’s Susan, back in front of the mirror, but with a new attitude:
“Wow, that ribbon Mom gave me really does look good with my hair! It matches my dress, too. Maybe Jennifer would like one. It would look really good with the T-shirt she wore to Young Women last week. Whoah! Look at the time! I’d better hurry. I promised I’d make my famous Swedish meatballs for Mutual tonight!”

A young man from the East stopped in my office on his return from his mission in Argentina, where he spent an extra six months helping the missionaries learn the language. Calling him by name, for I knew him and his parents before he left for his mission, I said: “Do you feel that it was a waste of time for you to go on that mission—that you should have been completing your education and getting ready for marriage?”
He replied: “If the brethren would like to make me happy, just let them load me on a plane tomorrow morning and send me back to Argentina.” And he hadn’t yet seen his loved ones whom he had left at home.

Some time ago, my niece Shelly called my home to report what sounded to me like a condition of epidemic proportion. She was in college, and it was just before finals. Shelly explained that she and her roommates were stressed out and needed a place to escape for the weekend. I, of course, was delighted to provide the place. They said there had hardly been a weekend or even a day when they had not been completely overloaded. “So much to do and so little time” was their comment as they talked of schedules, commitments, expectations, pressures, and even some anxieties about dates, deadlines, decisions, finances, future obligations, and unlimited opportunities.
Too often we allow ourselves to be driven from one deadline, activity, or opportunity to the next. We check events off our calendar and think, “After this week things will let up,” or “After this semester …” or “After graduation, then the pressure will ease.” We live with false expectations. Unless we learn to take control of the present, we will always live in anticipation of better days in the future. And when those days arrive, we shall still be looking ahead, making it difficult to enjoy the here and now. The beautiful fall leaves come and go and in our busyness we miss them.
We live in a time when we can do more, have more, see more, accumulate more, and want more than any time we have ever known. I believe if possible the adversary would keep us busily engaged in a multitude of trivial things in an effort to keep us distracted from the few vital things that make all of the difference.
I believe the most destructive threat of our day is not nuclear war, not famine, not economic disaster, but rather the despair, the discouragement, the despondency, the defeat caused by the discrepancy between what we believe to be right and how we live our lives. Much of the emotional and social illness of our day is caused when people think one way and act another. The turmoil inside is destructive to the Spirit and to the emotional well-being of one who tries to live without clearly defined principles, values, standards, and goals.
The question shouldn’t be “What will people think?” but “What will I think of myself?” We must have our own clearly defined values burning brightly within. Values provide an inner court to which we can appeal for judgment of our performance and our choices.
We live in a time when too often success is determined by the things we gather, accumulate, collect, measure, and even compare in relation to what others gather and accumulate. This pattern of living invites its own consequences and built-in stress.
It is as we learn to simplify and reduce, prioritize and cut back on the excesses, that we have enough time and money for the essentials, for all that we ultimately want and even more.
Last fall some friends came to our home with their children and brought with them a case of the most beautiful, large peaches I have ever seen. They were almost unbelievable in their size, their beauty, and their flavor. Brother Pitt explained that they had just won first prize at the county fair for their peaches, and they had an orchard full of them. I asked how they produced such remarkable fruit, and they were eager to explain. “We learned how to prune the peach trees and thin the weak fruit,” they said. “It’s hard work and must be done regularly.”
“We also learned what happens when you don’t prune,” said one of the children. Their father had wisely suggested that three trees in the orchard be left to grow without the harsh results of the pruning knife. They explained to me that the fruit from those trees was not only very small in size but did not have the sweet taste of the other fruit. The lesson was obvious. There was no question in their minds about the far-reaching value of careful pruning.
Now I believe it would be very easy for an inexperienced gardener to approach the task of reducing and cutting back with such vigor that he might take a saw and cut the tree down the center, through the trunk and into the roots. Surely it would be cut back, but what of the hope for the fruit? Wise pruning, like good gardening, takes careful thought. It is only when you are clear in your mind concerning your values that you are free to simplify and reduce without putting at risk that which matters most. Until we determine what is of greatest worth, we are caught up in the unrealistic idea that everything is possible.
We read about the pioneers who, in the early history of the Church, left their possessions, “their things,” and headed west. Those who were with the handcart company, who would push or pull their carts into the wilderness, would give much thought to what they would make room for in their wagons and what they would be willing to leave behind. Even after the journey began, some things had to be unloaded along the way if people were to reach their destination.
Today our tests are different. We are not called to load our wagons and head west. Our frontier and wilderness are different, but we too must decide what we will make room for in our wagons and what is of highest value.
When my grandmother left her home in England as a young immigrant, she left everything behind because someone taught her of the gospel of Jesus Christ. She joined the Saints in America and eventually moved to Canada. For fear of being persuaded to remain in England, she did not tell her family of her conversion to the Church or of her plans to leave. That first letter she received from her mother reads in part:
“My dearest daughter … whatever on earth has caused you to go out of your own country and away from all your friends, I cannot imagine. You say, ‘Don’t fret.’ How do you think I can help it when such a blow as that come to struck me all up in a heap? You say you are happy, but I can’t think it, for I am sure I could not have been happy to have gone into a foreign country and left you behind. You say you will come again, but I don’t think you will hesitate your life over the deep waters again. When I think about it, I feel wretched. You had a good place and a good home to come to whenever you liked. And I must say that I loved the very ground you walked upon, and now I am left to fret in this world. But still, all the same for that, I wish you good luck and hope the Lord will prosper you in every way. I remain, your loving Mother.”
They never saw each other again in this earth life. And none of my grandmother’s family joined the Church. However, their temple work has been done for them.
What is it that drives a people to sacrifice all, if necessary, to receive the blessings available only in the temple? It is their faith and a spiritual witness of the importance of our covenants with God and our immense possibilities. It is in the temple, the house of the Lord, that we participate in ordinances and covenants that span the distance between heaven and earth and prepare us to return to God’s presence and enjoy the blessings of eternal families and eternal life.
As we take an inventory of the things we are carrying in our wagons and make decisions about what we will be willing to leave behind and what we will cling to, we have guidance. The Lord has given us a great promise to which I bear my testimony. He has said, “Therefore, if you will ask of me you shall receive; if you will knock it shall be opened unto you. Seek to bring forth and establish my Zion. Keep my commandments in all things. And, if you keep my commandments and endure to the end you shall have eternal life, which gift is the greatest of all the gifts of God” (D&C 14:5–7).
When we understand that our covenants with God are essential to our eternal life, these sacred promises become the driving force that helps us lighten our load, prioritize our activities. eliminate the excesses, accelerate our progress, and reduce the distractions that could, if not guarded, get us mired down in mud while other wagons move on. If any of you are burdened with sin and sorrow, transgression and guilt, then unload your wagon and fill it with obedience, faith and hope, and a regular renewal of your covenants with God.

If you are not, and if it is difficult for you to smile, then analyze yourself. Know there is help available. Some of it can come from recognizing that difficulties are part of life. There are ups and there are downs, which reminds me of this little account shared by Elder Marion D. Hanks:
“A father [is] aboard an airplane on a short business trip. He has with him his five-year-old son and is almost wishing his son were not there because it is a very rough trip. There are downdrafts and updrafts and head winds alternating with tail winds, and some passengers are feeling a bit queasy. Apprehensively, the father glances at his son and finds him grinning from ear to ear. ‘Dad,’ he says, ‘do they do this just to make it fun for the kids?’” (Ensign, Nov. 1990, p. 38).

Many years ago there was a young woman, Baur Dee Sheffield, who taught in Mutual. She had no children of her own, though she and her husband dearly longed for children. Her love was expressed through devotion to her special young women as each week she taught them eternal truths and lessons of life. Then came illness, followed by death. She was but 27.

Each year, on Memorial Day, her Mutual girls made a pilgrimage of prayer to the graveside of their teacher, always leaving flowers and a little card signed “To Baur Dee, from your girls.” First there were 10 girls who went, then five, then two, and eventually just one, who continues to visit each Memorial Day, always placing on the grave a bouquet of flowers and a card, inscribed as always, “To Baur Dee, from your girls.”

One year, nearly 25 years after Baur Dee’s death, the only one of “her girls” who continued to visit the grave realized she would be away on Memorial Day and decided to visit her teacher’s grave a few days early. She had gathered flowers, tied them with a ribbon, attached a card, and was putting on her jacket to leave when her doorbell rang. She opened the door and was greeted by one of her visiting teachers, Colleen Fuller, who said she had experienced difficulty getting together with her visiting teaching partner and so had decided to come alone and unannounced in an effort to complete her visiting teaching before the end of the month. As Colleen was invited in, she noticed the jacket and flowers and apologized for obviously interrupting whatever had been planned.

“Oh, no problem,” came the response. “I’m just on my way to the cemetery to put flowers on the grave of the woman who was my Mutual teacher, who had a profound influence on me and the other girls she taught. Originally about 10 of us visited her grave each year to express our love and thanks to her, but now I represent the group.”

Colleen asked, “Could your teacher’s name have been Baur Dee?”

“Why, yes,” came the answer. “How did you know?”

With a catch in her voice, Colleen said, “Baur Dee was my aunt—my mother’s sister. Every Memorial Day since she died, my family has found on her grave a bouquet of flowers and a card inscribed from Baur Dee’s girls. They’ve always wanted to know who these girls were so they could thank them for remembering Baur Dee. Now I can let them know.”

When the Civil War erupted, Louisa felt a need to do her part. In 1862, she moved to Washington, D.C., and served as a nurse in the Union Army. She worked hard and got very little sleep because of her concern for the wounded soldiers. She became a trusted friend of many of the young patients. However, after only a few weeks at the hospital, Louisa became very ill with typhoid fever. Her father arrived in time to take her back home, where fresh air, rest, and her mother’s care helped her to recover. Later Louisa compiled the letters that she had written to her family from Washington about the suffering soldiers into a book called Hospital Sketches.

Uruguay was originally part of the Argentine Mission. Mission reports in the Church Historian’s Office tell about the beginning of missionary work in Uruguay. Here is part of the exciting story:
“The first contact between the Church and the people of Uruguay began in January 1940 when Rolf R. Larson, an Argentine missionary, was chosen to represent Argentina in the South American basketball championship in Montevideo. He became the attraction of the tournament, and many newspaper articles were published about him in which he was always referred to as a Mormon missionary.
“His stay in Montevideo created such an interest that the president and secretary of the Argentine Mission went to Montevideo with a supply of tracts. They spent three days visiting and talking with people. They were invited to the YMCA to a luncheon and were permitted to explain their beliefs.
“Through Larson’s playing and his good sportsmanship, a friendly atmosphere was created toward the Church.”

I will always be grateful I had the opportunity of growing up with the welfare plan. My father was a bishop at the time of its beginning. He had a remarkable way of involving his family with him in his Church assignments. At an early, impressionable age I was taught the blessings of Church service.
I will always remember the dignity and patience he exhibited towards those in need. I particularly remember a little old man who had lost his wife and some of the soundness of his mind. My father not only filled the role of his bishop, but also that of his friend. To the family, however, this little old man was considered to be somewhat of a pest. When he would become lonely he would make his way to see my father. It didn’t matter whether it was ten o’clock at night or five-thirty in the morning, Father would always welcome him into our home, give him some nourishment, and then he would drive him back to his place of residence.
I remember at his passing seeing Father reading a letter addressed to “My friend, Bishop Perry,” as a final thank-you for taking an interest in his life when he was an old man. I saw the tears roll down my father’s cheeks as he read the letter. It was then I think I recognized for the first time an understanding of the rewards of gospel service.

The court case was troubling for Portuguese labor judge Artur Manuel Ventura de Carvalho. An employer was being prosecuted because he did not pay the legal adult wage to a young man working for him.
But the young man, though in his late twenties, was mentally handicapped and he could not do as much work as the other employees. The employer would have to let the young man go if he had to pay him more, although he was sympathetic to the young man’s responsibility in supporting his mother.
The decision required by federal laws seemed plain. “My difficulty was that I felt something was not right in this case,” says soft-spoken Brother Carvalho. “I prayed, and suddenly the answer came.” He declared that although the young man was legally of age to receive the required minimum wage, his mental age and work capacity did not justify the adult pay level. Therefore, the employer did not have to meet the demands of the law. The young man kept his job, and the grateful employer even raised his wage a bit to help the man better support his mother.

I conclude with an example in my own life. Once I had a treasured friend who seemed to experience more of life’s troubles and frustrations than he could bear. Finally he lay in the hospital, terminally ill. I knew not that he was there.
Sister Monson and I had gone to that same hospital to visit another person who was very ill. As we exited the hospital and proceeded to where our car was parked, I felt the distinct impression to return and make inquiry concerning whether Hyrum Adams might be a patient there. Long years before, I had learned never, never, to postpone a prompting from the Lord. It was late, but a check with the desk clerk confirmed that indeed Hyrum was a patient.
We proceeded to his room, knocked on the door, and opened it. We were not prepared for the sight that awaited us. Balloon bouquets were everywhere. Prominently displayed on the wall was a poster with the words “Happy Birthday” written on it. Hyrum was sitting up in his hospital bed, his family members by his side. When he saw us, he said, “Why, Brother Monson, how in the world did you know that this is my birthday?” I smiled but I left the question unanswered.
Those in the room who held the Melchizedek Priesthood surrounded this, their father and my friend, and a priesthood blessing was given.
After tears were shed, smiles of gratitude exchanged, and tender hugs received and given, I leaned over to Hyrum and spoke softly to him: “Hyrum, remember the words of the Lord, for they will sustain you. He promised, ‘I will not leave you comfortless: I will come to you.’”

In school we earn a “100% ticket” when we get 100 percent on our morning schoolwork. The tickets go into a treasure chest. At the end of the month you get a treat if one of your tickets is drawn from the chest. One day I found a 100% ticket on the floor. I gave it to the teacher, and she asked me to try to find the owner. I asked around the class, but nobody claimed it. The teacher said I could have the ticket because I did the right thing by bringing it to her instead of putting it in the chest when I hadn’t earned it. I felt good inside for doing the right thing.

Recently we had a lesson in teachers quorum, and our leader asked us, “What is a quorum?” I’d had lessons about this before, but this time I felt the Spirit telling me the message was important and I needed to listen and apply it.
We answered that a quorum is a group of priesthood holders who rely on each other and stick together. The instructor explained that quorum members have a responsibility to help and lift each other. He then showed us a video about a ward in Florida that started with just one young man who invited his friend, who then invited a friend, who then invited a cousin, etc., until there were 26 active young men in the ward.
Our instructor stopped the video and asked, “How many members of our quorum aren’t here today?” We listed six or seven. He asked if we had any idea why they weren’t at church. After we had given our answers, he asked, “Who has reached out to one of these boys to ask why he doesn’t come or to let him know we miss him?” I raised my hand, thankful that I had just had a conversation with one of these quorum members in the past week. However, it struck me that I’d had the conversation with only one quorum member—not six or seven.
Our leader continued, “A quorum helps each other out, right? So then doesn’t it make sense that we would all want to help each other to be here and to be working toward the same goal of eternal life?” I really pondered that question, and I suddenly felt a responsibility, as president of my quorum, to get my missing quorum members back to church and activities.
We decided as a quorum to focus on helping each quorum member come unto Christ. I want to help them feel the happiness of participating in the gospel because I know that it brings me so much happiness. I felt prompted to put more time and energy into helping my quorum members—that’s my duty as a priesthood holder and quorum member. I also felt strongly that, as president of the quorum, I have priesthood keys for a reason. Heavenly Father trusts me to help my brothers.
I am thankful that the Spirit spoke to me so strongly and directly during the lesson. Now I’ve committed to act on the prompting I received to be a better leader, friend, and disciple of Christ.

The baby was crying, our three other young children needed to be put to bed, and I was exhausted.
As I tried to wrap my mind around the impossible task before me, all I could hear in my mind were the last words of my husband (who was currently serving as our bishop) as he walked out the door that evening: “I’ll be at the pool with the priests. Tim is teaching the boys how to scuba dive.”
“Really?” I thought to myself. “I’m here juggling four children, and you’re off learning to scuba dive? How is this fair?”
Later that evening when Bruce walked in the door, he met one tired wife.
“How did your evening go?” he asked.
In tears, I told him how hard it had been to put four children, including a fussy baby, to bed knowing that he was off learning how to scuba dive. I could understand him leaving if someone in the ward was facing a crisis, yes. But scuba diving? Not so much.
Bruce sat down beside me. “I’m sorry it was hard for you. I didn’t go for the scuba diving. I didn’t even know if I would get into the pool. I went for two young men.”
He told me he had felt strongly he should attend this event because two priests who hadn’t attended church or activities for a long time were going to be there. He shared that he had been able to talk to them that evening, strengthening his relationship with them and helping them integrate with the others.
My heart softened, and I was reminded that him being called to serve as a bishop while also being a husband and father required a sacrifice from both of us.