Gospel Story Finder

This summer I injured a shoulder and lost the use of an arm for weeks. I hadn’t realized how much one arm depends upon the other for balance, or how much less I could lift with one arm than two, or that there were some things I couldn’t do at all. This disability not only renewed my respect for those who deal so well with a physical limitation, but helped me realize how much more two arms working together can do.

At one point in my life, I had a highly paid job with great responsibility and recognition. One day my wife said, “You are so busy in your work. You should pray and think about whether you should find a new job that would make you more available to serve the Lord.” We prayed and received a confirmation by the Spirit that I should change jobs. But I was still a little resistant. When I prayed about it, I told the Lord the name of the only company I would consider working for if I quit my job.
Three weeks later, I contacted a recruiting agency and had an interview. In the end, the person said one of his clients had just requested a new director. It was the company I had mentioned in my prayer. It’s a small company that has such openings only every 10 years or so. It was a miracle.
I jokingly told my wife, “I have good news and bad news. The good news is I’m going to be hired by that company. The bad news is I think the Lord has something in store for me.”
I signed on with that company on a Friday. On Saturday I was called as the stake president.
My wife and I placed greater value on the promptings of the Spirit and serving God than in material blessings or our intellectual satisfaction or social recognition. We sought the Lord’s will and received spiritual confirmation that everything would be all right. That was one of the greatest experiences in my life.

I love nature! I like to hear the singing of the birds, the rustling of the leaves in the wind, and the sound of the sea.
Sometimes my family goes to the beach with other families. The dads play volleyball, and the moms sit under umbrellas and play with the younger children.
One afternoon I was so excited when we got to the ocean! The waves were calm, and there were small pools scattered around the shoreline. I ran to the water. I wanted to swim like a fish and collect seashells.
“Stay close, Sueli!” my mother called as she gathered the young children into the shade of the big umbrella.
“All right, Mom,” I said as I dug my toes into the wet sand.
I searched for shells and inspected the little creatures in the pools along the shore. As I splashed in one of the pools, I looked back toward my family. I could see the umbrellas in the distance. I realized I had gone too far away. I tried to swim back to the beach, but the tide had risen. The pool grew deeper as I struggled to get out.
I was getting tired, and I knew I was in danger. All I could think of was getting help from Heavenly Father. I said a prayer in my mind. As soon as I finished praying, a hand grabbed my arm and pulled me to safety. It was one of my father’s friends. I am grateful that Heavenly Father answered my prayer and held out His hand by sending someone to help me.
The next time we visited the ocean I stayed close to my family, just as I can stay close to Heavenly Father through prayer.

I met William on the first day of my third year of teaching English in the adult high school program at our local community college. He was small, dark-eyed, with tight blond curls, rather unattractive, unwashed, and, as I soon came to discover, almost totally illiterate. It was the early ’70s, when long hair was popular among the young and drugs were beginning to be a major problem. I thought, Here’s another victim of the drug culture, and my heart sank.
After making my introductory remarks, I asked the class, as I always do on the first day of school, to write about themselves. Looking from student to student, I noticed that William worked very hard on his paragraph, grasping the pencil in a stranglehold, licking the point every few minutes. William’s face was close to the paper, his brows knit close together.
The rest of the class completed the assignment rather quickly and grew restless. I let them leave. It took William 40 minutes to print a few lines, and when he at last handed it to me, I could not read it. He stood at my desk staring at me while I looked at the paper.
“You want I should read it for you?” he said.
“Yes.”
“My name is William, and I live off a government pension in my car in an empty garage. I’m 19 years old, and since I was 11 I been a drinker. Now I’ve decided to be a learner.”
I had never before taught a student who could hardly read and write. I had no idea how to handle the problem.
“You’ve misspelled every word,” I said.
William looked dismayed. “I can learn,” he said.
“All right. I’ll print them correctly, and when you come to class tomorrow, plan to write them for me.”
“A spell test,” he said, as though it were some magical word.
I looked away from him. “Look, William …” I meant to tell him that the class would be impossible, that his skills were so poor he would fall behind immediately, and that there was no hope for him to catch up. I meant to tell him he could not possibly succeed. But instead I said, “Your basic skills are somewhat limited. How hard are you willing to work?”
He stared at me.
“We’ll be studying difficult writers—like Shakespeare and Twain.”
“Who?”
“William Shakespeare. Mark Twain.”
“Oh,” he said. And after a pause he added, “I can learn.”
“It won’t be easy for you,” I said, “but if you work hard …”
I didn’t expect to see him ever again, but the following day William was the first one in the room. He took a front-row seat, and as I taught, his eyes followed me intently, his brows knit into the same shaggy line, his mouth slightly open as he listened. After class ended, he stood by my desk staring at me for a long time.
“What is it?” I asked, irritated.
“I’m ready to spell,” he said.
And he was. He had memorized all the words, and as I called them out to him he wrote them quickly.
He stood watching as I marked his paper, putting a check by each correct word and then an A+ and a large I AM SO PROUD OF YOU at the top of the page. For the first time, I saw William smile. He took the test, folded it carefully, and put it into his shirt pocket.
“Now,” he said, “I’d like to pick up some on my reading. You got anything I can borrow?”
“I don’t think I have anything appropriate,” I said. Opening the desk drawer I began to look through the papers and books.
“What about that?” he said, pointing to a copy of Huckleberry Finn.
My hand hesitated, and then I shook my head. “It would be too hard for you.”
“I’ve done hard things all my life,” he said.
I pulled Ellie the Elephant Learns to Fly, one of my daughter’s books, from my desk drawer.
“That’s for little kids,” he said.
“It’s for new readers,” I said, handing it to him.
“I want that other one.”
Ignoring his comment, I opened the child’s book and began to read aloud, resting a finger under each word while he stood beside me watching and listening.
“Let me do it now.” He read hesitantly and with great difficulty. “See, if somebody shows me, I can learn. If I had that other book, I could work at it. I’m not stupid.”
I gave him Huckleberry Finn.
Each day I sent William home to the garage with a list of words clutched in one hand and one of my daughter’s books tucked under his arm. Every morning he came back with the material mastered. A few weeks later he returned the Twain text. “I read it,” he said, and the look of pride on his face brought tears to my eyes.
That week I gave him a bag containing a bar of soap, a washcloth, a towel, and deodorant. “This is an important part of education, too,” I said.
He looked in the bag and then at me, stunned. But the next day William was clean. And he was reading and writing with greater confidence. He had progressed so much that he insisted on taking his turn at reading poems from our literature text aloud. And every day he stayed after class for an hour to talk with me. Actually, he asked question after question, and I tried to answer them.
His enthusiasm for learning was contagious, and soon three other students began to stay, too. There was Suzy, who later trained as a registered nurse; Jody, who went on to earn a doctorate in biology; and George, who planned to become a physician but died in a motorcycle accident that spring.
George’s death upset the class deeply, and we spent that day talking about the transient quality of life, trying to answer the eternal questions—where did we come from, what are we doing here, and what happens to us when we die? I taught the class that knowledge is power, that the glory of God is intelligence, and that all we take with us from this world to the next is our relationships with others and the knowledge we gain in this life.
“There are two ways most people learn,” I told them. “One way is by experience—and life doesn’t last long enough for us to get all our knowledge that way. The other is to read.” I encouraged them to spread their wings and learn while they were young and filled with energy and enthusiasm.
One day William came into class with a list of quotations he’d copied from the library, and he shared them with us. He particularly loved “Knowledge is the wings wherewith we fly.”
“Watch me fly, teacher.” He spread his arms and flapped them, bringing laughter from the students and me.
William (this genius—the only true genius I ever taught) was my student for two years of English. When he graduated, I sat in the audience and watched with pride, tears brimming my eyes. He enrolled in the community college program and continued his education. On occasion he stopped by my office during the week, sharing with me the excitement of his new world. Each Friday afternoon he borrowed one of my books, which he quickly read and returned. On one occasion, he asked to read my Book of Mormon. I gave him a copy and a week later learned that he had called the missionary number left with my testimony on a front page. At his baptism, I gave him the Pearl of Great Price.
Last spring I received a card from William. He was teaching Spanish and American literature at a large university. “We’re reading Huckleberry Finn,” he wrote, “and I’ve never been happier. I seem to have a gift for languages.” He continued, “Remember years back when you had to teach me English? For all you did for me, I thank you, teacher. Thank you for lending me your wings while I was growing my own.”

This tenderness of heart allowed Brother Quasie to be touched by the Spirit when he first heard about the Church. In 1986, when he was 16 years old, the Church was new in the Cape Coast area. One night, a friend invited him to see a movie in the town open market. It was a movie about Joseph Smith’s First Vision and the Book of Mormon. After watching the movie, he felt that it was true and wanted to learn more but wasn’t sure how to get more information. Then he met Elder and Sister Nelson from the United States. They taught him the gospel by having Anthony proselyte with them and after a week, they asked him if would like to be baptized. “I decided to be baptized without consulting my parents, who were Catholic. I took that decision independently”, he said.
In those days, baptisms in Cape Coast were done in the ocean. On 30 April 1986, Brother Quasie was baptized on the same beach that the first Ghanaian members had been baptized a few years earlier.

The puppy was slobbering all over my clothes and nibbling my hands with his sharp baby teeth as we sat alone outside in the dark. The disorder and disarray of my home and the piles of dirty dishes and laundry made me want to run screaming into the night. I felt crushed by the burden of my general household tasks.
Then my calling as Relief Society president, never far from my attention, came to mind. I thought of all the sisters I needed to encourage, the tasks I needed to do, the meetings I needed to organize, the lessons I needed to teach, the interviews I needed to have.
Then I thought of each of my five children. They needed me to teach them, to guide them, to help them gain faith and strength.
I remembered our exchange student and her needs. I was still learning how to develop a friendship with her and was finding it hard to bridge the cultural divide and find a common ground.
Then I considered my husband and how little time I had been able to give him lately. I could see he was struggling and needed me too.
I didn’t know how to fit it all in. I couldn’t take all these heavy burdens anymore. My strength was spent.
I pleaded with my Father in Heaven for help with all I was carrying.
The soft response came. “What would you have me take away?”
It shot through my heart like lightning.
“Take away?”
I did the mental math. My house, despite the disorder, was mine. I was so grateful for it. I had painted its walls, built shelves, and made it a home. I would hate to have it taken away. I would keep that burden with a grateful heart.
I reviewed my calling as Relief Society president. It was heavy and took much of my time, but it was helping me grow. I had learned so much, and I loved the sisters so deeply now. I wanted to learn more, and I knew I had promised to serve the Lord willingly. I would gratefully keep this burden too.
Next, thoughts of each of my precious children penetrated my heart. I love being a mother. I am so grateful I could bring these wonderful spirits into the world and watch them grow and develop. They each have a permanent place in my heart. I want them all with me on this journey of learning and growing and loving. What heartache I would feel to lose any of them.
Even though developing a relationship with our exchange student was sometimes a struggle, she was teaching me about a new culture, and I was enjoying the experience. I could see how loved and valued she was to our family. She was becoming as dear to me as my own children, and I wanted her in my life. She needed to stay.
My dear husband was my helpmeet through it all. He encouraged me and helped me carry the heavy load. I couldn’t imagine life without him by my side. What a blessing he was.
The puppy crawled about at my feet. He was my newest burden. He had come to us very sick and with a broken leg. We had prayed as a family for him to be healed. Slowly, he had gotten better, and now I watched him happily attempt to stand and to crawl. He stumbled a bit still, and I knew I would need to spend many hours helping him walk and run. He was the most obvious thing to give up, but I loved this little bundle of slobber too. Cheerfully I would accept this burden as well.
I felt humbled. With a new perspective, each of the burdens fit well into my heart. I did not want any to be taken away. I bowed in gratitude to my Father in Heaven for this lesson. I told Him I wanted to keep what I had been given and I thanked Him.
My steps were lighter and my future felt brighter as I carried the puppy inside that night. While my burdens had not been lifted, I had been shown what I had forgotten: each of these “burdens” was actually a blessing and evidence of God’s love for me. I also knew that I did not have to carry them alone—as I turned to Him, the Savior would strengthen me and offer me His rest (see Matthew 11:28–30).
The author lives in Idaho.

This is a question that my father taught me to carefully consider years ago. As I was growing up, my parents assigned me chores around the house and paid me an allowance for that work. I often used that money, a little over 50 cents a week, to go to the movies. Back then a movie ticket cost 25 cents for an 11-year-old. This left me with 25 cents to spend on candy bars, which cost 5 cents apiece. A movie with five candy bars! It couldn’t get much better than that.

All was well until I turned 12. Standing in line one afternoon, I realized that the ticket price for a 12-year-old was 35 cents, and that meant two less candy bars. Not quite prepared to make that sacrifice, I reasoned to myself, “You look the same as you did a week ago.” I then stepped up and asked for the 25-cent ticket. The cashier did not blink, and I bought my regular five candy bars instead of three.

Elated by my accomplishment, I later rushed home to tell my dad about my big coup. As I poured out the details, he said nothing. When I finished, he simply looked at me and said, “Son, would you sell your soul for a nickel?” His words pierced my 12-year-old heart. It is a lesson I have never forgotten.

George Albert was very ill. The doctor had diagnosed typhoid fever, a terrible disease at that time, and ordered the boy to stay in bed for at least three weeks. His mother was told that George Albert should have only liquids and that she should brew him some coffee.
At this very young age, he demonstrated a great faith in his Heavenly Father and willingness to follow His commandments. George Albert wanted to get well, of course, but he didn’t want to disobey the Word of Wisdom. He asked his mother to bring him water instead of coffee and to send for their home teacher.
Brother Hawks came quickly in answer to Mrs. Smith’s request and gave George Albert a blessing, promising him that he would soon be well. And the very next morning when the boy awakened, the fever was gone and young George felt much better. Some years later in telling a group of children about this experience, he said, “I was grateful to the Lord for my recovery. I am sure that he healed me.”

Apr. 13, 1853 I went to Cranberry Head, near to Yarmouth (2). Here I found Brother John Robinson and Brother Benjamin T. Mitchell at Mr. Moses Shaw’s. The Brethren (Robinson and Mitchell) said that they were going to travel together. The Brethren both said that I was too young and inexperienced to travel with either of them. They said I had better go to Halifax and see Brother A. D. L. Buckland and get counsel from him.

Apr. 14, 1853 I went into Yarmouth. Came back to Mr. Grace’s. He treated me kindly. I stayed until Saturday. Started for Halifax. (3) Left Cape Sable to my right hand. Traveled two hundred ten miles around the coast capes and bays to get to Halifax. I had to rely upon Him whose business I was on. I felt my weakness. A poor, ill-clothed, ignorant boy in my teens, thousands of miles from home, amongst strangers. The promise in my Blessings, the encouraging words of President Young to me, with the faith I had in the Gospel, kept me up. Many a time I would turn into the woods and brush in some desolate place, with a full heart, wet eyes and face, to call on my Master for strength and aid. I believed the Gospel of Christ. I never had preached it. I knew not where to find it in the scriptures. I had to give my Bible to the boatman at the Digby Gut for passage across.

As a young child I often wondered, “Where did I come from?” Deep within my heart I knew I had lived somewhere before I became who I am now, but I had no idea where.
For many years I was afraid to tell anyone—even my parents—for fear they would think I was crazy. But one day while I was in my early teens, I was brave enough to ask the pastor of our church, “Where did we live before we came to earth?” He told me I should not think about such things. He said no one lives anywhere before they are born; we simply do not exist in any way before.
I was afraid he was right and that I was crazy, but I still could not put these thoughts out of my mind. I kept searching, but no one had any answers.
When I was 18 years old, our family moved. I thought the preachers in our new town might know more than our last preacher, so I decided to ask one of them my question. His response was the same: he told me it was not normal to think of such things and suggested that I see a psychiatrist.
Soon after that I stopped going to church. I got a job, met a young man, and got married. Five years later the marriage ended in divorce. So I packed up all of my belongings, two children in tow and one on the way, and returned home.
Sometime during those five years, my mom had joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. She had mentioned the Church when I visited her and had asked me to talk to the missionaries. I finally consented, but before our meeting, I made up my mind that I would agree to take the missionary discussions only if the elders could tell me where I had lived before I came to be who I am now.
To my surprise, they not only answered my question but also gave me the answer straight from the Bible (see Job 38:4–7; Jeremiah 1:5; Jude 1:6). After that, they had my undivided attention! Their answer helped me understand why all my life I had felt that I had lived before. Now I understood that I had lived in a premortal existence with my Heavenly Father.
It wasn’t long before I became a member of the Church. For the first time in my life, I felt like somebody and that I had a destination to pursue—to return home to my Heavenly Father.
I am grateful that the missionaries were able to answer the question that no one else could.

Linda’s bike screeched to a stop next to the lawn where Jill was pulling weeds. “Can you finish your paper route by three o’clock today?” Linda asked.
“Sure, I’m always finished by then. Why?”
“My dad has a business meeting in Santa Cruz, and he says that he could drop Mom and us off to swim while he goes to the meeting.”
“Great!”
“We can’t be late though. We have to be ready when he gets here.”
“No problem,” Jill said. “I’ve been working all summer for a chance like this. Every day I try to do my route faster than the day before so that I’ll have more time to play. Now my practice is really going to pay off.”
“How fast can you do it?”
“Forty-three minutes, when the papers are small. Then I usually stop at Widow Wiggen’s for a few minutes before I come home.”
“Are you nuts? She’s a real weirdo.”
“She is not.” Jill stood up. “She’s just like a grandma.”
“She talks to herself.”
“You would, too, if you had something to say and no one to listen to you. Mrs. Wiggen has all kinds of exciting stories to tell about the old days, and she imitates what everybody sounded like until you feel like you know them all. It’s fun to talk to her. Besides, she’s really lonely. I think the main reason she takes the newspaper is to have someone to visit with. And since she can’t see very well, she usually asks me to read her the headlines, the weather, and the obituaries.”
“Obituaries?”
“Yes. She wants to know if anyone she knows has died.”
“Well, you don’t have to visit with her today, do you?”
“I’ll have plenty of time. The papers get here around one o’clock.”
“OK. But remember to be at my house by three o’clock. If you’re not, we’ll have to leave you.”
“Fair enough. I’ll bring my skimboard.”
Linda spun away on her bike, and Jill continued weeding. By the time she headed for her route, she had finished pulling the weeds, assembled all the things she wanted to take to the beach, and had them in a neat pile on the porch. She even wore her swimsuit under her jeans.
Jill whizzed along toward the pick-up corner, ready to jump off her bike, grab the bundle of papers, and whip through her route.
“Oh, no!” she groaned when she saw the empty corner. “The papers can’t be late today.”
But they were late. And later. And even later. As the minutes ticked by, Jill’s hopes faded.
While she waited, Jill tried to think of any shortcuts that she could take. The only thing that came to mind was to eliminate her visit with Mrs. Wiggen. Then, just as the papers finally came, Jill had another idea. If she didn’t go down the widow’s long lane at all, she could save five minutes. Jill looked at her watch. Five extra minutes were all that she needed. She would take the widow her paper after coming back from the beach. Mrs. Wiggen would understand.
But as Jill thought about her plan, she remembered what Widow Wiggen had said just the day before: “It’s a good thing that you come by every day to check up on me. You never know when an old lady might fall and break her neck.”
Mrs. Wiggen had laughed when she said it, thought Jill, but maybe she’d really meant it. What if she needed me this very day? Hogwash! Jill told herself. Mrs. Wiggen will be just fine if I don’t see her until later today.
Once Jill had talked herself into postponing the widow’s paper delivery, she tried not to think about it anymore. But the thought that maybe something was wrong at the widow’s kept popping into her head. Jill tried to think about the fun she’d have with Linda at the beach. She could imagine the slap of each paper on a porch sounding like the splat of the skimboard on the water. But every time she tried to imagine that she was jumping onto the whirling disk and skimming along the water, what came to her mind instead were the widow’s words: You never know when an old lady might fall …
I’m only imagining things, Jill told herself. The widow’s fine. She glanced at her watch and knew that Linda would already be waiting.
Slap, slap, slap. As the newspapers hit the porches, Jill again tried to summon the thrilling sensation of slipping along on the skimboard. But she couldn’t do it. Thoughts of Widow Wiggen drowned her attempt the same way a big wave washes away a sand castle.
A new thought shivered up Jill’s neck: The man who cut the widow’s lawn wouldn’t be around until Friday, and the only time the widow’s son came to visit was late on Sunday afternoons. Jill was the only person who saw her every day. What if something had happened to her?
Jill pedaled faster, hoping that she would see the elderly lady waving from her yellow lawn chair. But the lane was strangely quiet; only the whir of Jill’s tires resounding off the asphalt could be heard. When at last she saw the chair under the big oak, it was empty. Jill dropped her bike and ran for the house. Just as she reached the porch steps, she heard a small, desperate cry. “Jill …”
Jill turned toward the sound and found the widow crumpled on the ground beside the porch. Splintered pieces of rotted wood from the railing lay around her. The pain that she felt showed in her eyes, and a single tear slid down her cheek. “I knew you’d come,” she whispered.
Jill shuddered at the thought of how nearly she hadn’t.
“Sorry I wasn’t here sooner, but the papers were late,” Jill explained. Making her voice sound bright and comforting, she continued, “But don’t worry. The Daily News Rescue Service is here at last. Everything’s going to be all right.”
“Yes, I know.” Widow Wiggen’s brave smile assured Jill that it would be.

Several years ago a friend of mine had a young daughter die in a tragic accident. Hopes and dreams were shattered. My friend felt unbearable sorrow. He began to question what he had been taught and what he had taught as a missionary. The mother of my friend wrote me a letter and asked if I would give him a blessing. As I laid my hands upon his head, I felt to tell him something that I had not thought about in exactly the same way before. The impression that came to me was: Faith is not only a feeling; it is a decision. He would need to choose faith.
My friend did not know everything, but he knew enough. He chose the road of faith and obedience. He got on his knees. His spiritual balance returned.
It has been several years since that event. A short time ago I received a letter from his son who is now serving a mission. It was full of conviction and testimony. As I read his beautiful letter, I saw how a father’s choice of faith in a very difficult time had deeply blessed the next generation.

As Kevin sat resting his chin on his fist, he saw a little gray spider starting a web in the corner of the porch. The spider swung out from one wall on a tiny silken thread, but the thread didn’t quite reach across to the other wall.
Gathering up its thread, the spider started again. One, two, three, four times the spider missed, dangling from its own thread.
“C’mon, try again!” Kevin coaxed the spider.
At last, the little creature spun out far enough to attach its thread to the opposite wall.
“Good for you,” said Kevin, getting up from the step.

Illustrated by Mike Eagle
When Harold B. Lee was a young man, his father was a bishop. Often Harold helped load their pony cart with things for his father to take to poor families.
Harold: Well, Dad, that’s the last sack of grain.
After dark, Harold’s father quietly delivered the food and clothing to needy people in his ward.
Years later, Harold became a father himself.
President Lee: I thought you were going to Donna Mae’s house to show her your new doll.
Helen: Donna’s family didn’t have a Christmas this year! She says they are too poor.
President Lee felt especially sad because he was the stake president and could have helped the family if he’d known. That night he thought of how much his father did to help people, and he promised Heavenly Father that he would try harder to know who in the stake needed his help.
The next Christmas, President Lee worked hard with the members so that every family in their stake could have Christmas presents and a Christmas dinner.
Relief Society sister: Merry Christmas!
President Lee’s stake became so good at providing for each other’s needs that Heber J. Grant, the prophet of the Church then, called President Lee into his office.
Heber J. Grant: President Lee, the Lord would like you to direct the welfare program of the whole Church.
During a time when many people lost their jobs, President Lee set up farms and building projects where members could work, and storehouses where bishops could send them to be given food and clothing as payment.
Later, as a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles and as the eleventh President of the Church, Harold B. Lee continued to serve.
If you’d like to learn more about President Lee, do the “President Harold B. Lee Crossword” on page 23.

When I was newly called as an Area Seventy, I participated in a radio interview in Puerto Rico with different ecclesiastical leaders of various religions. Among them was a leader who held a doctoral degree in theology. He asked me why Mormons, referring to members of the Church, believe that in heaven we will be married. He indicated that our belief of eternal families was incorrect since the Holy Bible, in the book of Matthew 22:30 indicated that, “For in the resurrection, they neither marry, nor are given in marriage, but are as the angels of God in heaven.”
I answered clearly, simply and with love. I explained that at that moment Jesus Christ was answering people who did not even believe in the Resurrection, let alone all the saving truths as indicated in the Holy Bible and the Book of Mormon, another witness of Jesus Christ. Those who live according to the way of the world, if they do not repent and come to the truth, will not be worthy of obtaining the fullness of the reward in the hereafter. I explained that in the same Holy Bible, the Lord through the Apostle Paul teaches us in Ephesians 3:14–15, that there are families in heaven and on earth, “For this cause I bow my knees unto the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ,
“Of whom every family in heaven and earth is named.”
No doubt there are families in heaven.

Samantha,* a girl in my first-grade class, was kind of mean. She would step on people’s heels, yell at them, and even hit them. Nobody liked her. Nobody played with her. Sometimes other kids told lies to get her into trouble. I didn’t like her at first, either, but I always defended her when I knew someone had lied to get her in trouble.
In second grade, her desk was next to mine. She kept on being mean, so she was moved away from the other kids. I felt sorry for her and offered to help Samantha with her schoolwork. The teacher let me.
Then Samantha’s baby brother died. That’s when I learned that she has a hard life. She had lived in another state, and her father had drinking problems. When she moved, one of her cats died and another ran away. Then her two dogs died. One day in class, she started crying because she missed her baby brother. I went over to her, and I got to help her that day.
At Christmastime, I drew her name for our gift exchange. Mom and I prayed about what to give her. We gave her a small nativity set, and she really liked it. She became nicer to everyone, and soon everyone wanted to sit by her.
For Valentine Day, we gave each other the same card. We didn’t plan it that way.
She moved away at the end of second grade. That was the last time I saw her. I miss her. Sometimes I even cry a little bit. My teacher thanked me for helping Samantha and said that I had changed her life. I feel good that I chose the right.

I have personally experienced, though only once, the exhilaration of a real balloon flight. It was during the exciting time immediately following World War II when in Holland, my native country, many public festivities were held to celebrate the regained liberty after five years of war. There were big parades, neighborhood dance festivals, and in some cities manned balloon flights to attract large crowds for yet other festive events.
A friend taught me a lot about ballooning in preparation for a flight that I was promised to be able to make as a guest, when at some future date the weather conditions would be suitable.
I learned that we would go up in a class A gas balloon filled with coal gas and that it would ascend until its weight would be in equilibrium with the air around it.
I also learned that in the wicker basket under the balloon there were navigational instruments, maps, and ballast sandbags, which could be emptied overboard to make the balloon rise higher.
Furthermore, I discovered that if gas is released from a balloon through a valve, it descends. But this was not all! I also heard from my friend many delightful stories about previous balloon flights. On one occasion, as the story goes, clouds developed unexpectedly during a flight, and the two men in the wicker basket had not the faintest idea over which part of the country they were sailing.
They decided to lower the balloon, and all of a sudden they saw a Dutchman walking on a lonely country road. When they were able to draw his attention, one of the men in the basket shouted: “Where are we?” And the lonely walker looked up, cupped his hands around his mouth, and shouted back, “You are in a balloon.”
To make their urgent request for direction more clear, the man in the balloon cried vigorously, “Where are you?” And the man called back at the top of his voice, “I am on the ground!”
Discouraged, the balloonists unloaded some ballast and sailed again into the clouds, while one of them remarked: “The man down there must be a bureaucrat.” The statements he made were perfectly true, but totally useless!
After what I have shared with you thus far, I have come to the conclusion that a strong parallel can be drawn between the steady rise of a balloon and our spiritual upward mobility.
Just as gas is necessary to fill a balloon to push it upward, so must the individual be filled with inner motivation in order to move upward. Just as the balloon can rise higher by throwing ballast overboard, so must a person be willing to rid himself of unnecessary ballast that limits his rise in spirituality.
When I made my balloon flight, strangely enough, I did not have the feeling that I was going up. I had the impression that I remained stationary, as it were, and the world floated silently away from me.
Later, when through the missionary effort I joined the Church, I gained as a new member that peaceful feeling of being safely placed in the environment of true gospel living and that Babylon had floated away from me. As it was expressed by an early European balloonist: “I felt as though I had left behind me, all the cares and passions that molest mankind.”
I testify that we all can have that peace of mind if we are willing to rid ourselves of the ballast that prevents us from rising to greater spiritual heights. It will facilitate our ascent to a loving Father in Heaven, who will, in his due time, await our return after our journey through life.
Let us, therefore, get rid of our sandbag of impatience and learn to be more patient with our spouses and children, our friends and neighbors, because the Lord has counseled us to “continue in patience until ye are perfected”! (D&C 67:13.)
And for those of you who do not know what the word patience really means, I offer a simple definition: Patience is learning to hide your impatience.
And how many of us still go through life with a ballast bag called criticism? We should, instead, give more praise wherever and whenever possible because we have been told and retold, “Cease to find fault one with another.” (D&C 88:124.) And let us in this respect also remember that the faults and shortcomings we see in the members of our own ward or branch are of less consequence to us than one of the smallest in ourselves.
Furthermore, do we still have a sandbag with unfriendliness in our basket, even though the Savior asks us to be friendly and loving? As he said: “Ye are they whom my Father hath given me; ye are my friends.” (D&C 84:63.)
While on our spiritual flight, let us totally empty our ballast bag of pride and be more humble in all things, always remembering the Savior’s glorious promise to all: “And inasmuch as you have humbled yourselves before me, the blessings of the kingdom are yours.” (D&C 61:37.)
And will we really ascend in our spiritual balloon if we are not prepared to dispose of our sandbag of greed? Living prophets have counseled us to pay an honest tithing and to give a generous fast offering; and, moreover, the scriptures reveal in a very candid way: “Wo unto [them] that [do] not give [of their] substance to the poor.” (D&C 56:16.) And, unfortunately, some people think they are being generous because they give so much free advice!
Finally, we must get rid of the heavy ballast of frustrations. All of us must discover in the wicker basket of our personal spiritual balloon those frustrations against which we continually have to be on guard. It was revealed unto us, and we have already heard it twice from this pulpit in this conference: “The works, and the designs, and the purposes of God cannot be frustrated, neither can they come to naught. … Remember that it is not the work of God that is frustrated, but the work of men.” (D&C 3:1, 3.)
The only way we can move upward from our present level of spirituality and performance to a higher level is by doing away with the ballast that holds us back. We have to learn to live the commandments, not only for our own good, but also for the good of other people because we reform others unconsciously when we keep the commandments of God and live the teachings of the Church. That’s another way of doing missionary work and lifting the spirituality of those around us.
Therefore, let’s start our flight today. If we are still at ground level, let’s cut the cords; and our rise will start immediately! However, even that will not ensure our continuous spiritual mobility. Our balloon will rise only so high and then will begin to stall. At that time we have to investigate what ballast we need to get rid of in order to rise even higher. If you find it hard to cut the cords, you will find it even harder to do away with the sandbags to lighten your load.
The balloon trip of our spiritual upward mobility is a demanding and sometimes difficult adventure, and only the person with true perseverance will make it to the highest realm!
In closing, after talking about flying, sailing, and rising, I would like to give some down-to-earth guidelines.
To those who are within the sound of my voice this day and who have already entered the wicker basket of their spiritual balloon through baptism into the kingdom of God but who are just sitting there, waiting inactively for things to happen, cut the cords that hold you back from lift-off.
To those who are quietly drifting at the same elevation with little upward mobility, take a close look at the ballast that prevents you from going to a higher level of performance. Make a decision and remove the restraining weight from your spiritual flight.
I give you a solemn promise that if you do this, you will enjoy a feeling of spiritual euphoria because you will elevate yourself.
I testify—as one who twenty-three years ago was baptized into the kingdom of God in Toronto, Canada—that my flight since my baptism has been a magnificent one, with breathtaking scenes and spiritual panoramas and with the never-failing knowledge that my day-to-day flight plan is made available to me by an understanding, loving, forgiving Heavenly Father.
The same is true for all of us! How do I know this? Because I know with all my heart that God lives and that Jesus is the Christ. He is the Savior of mankind, the great mediator for the salvation and exaltation of all of our Heavenly Father’s children, if they are willing to follow his outlined flight plan. Of which I testify this day, gratefully and happily, and in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Hirobo Obeketang sits back on his couch and smiles. He and his wife, Linda, have just finished holding family home evening with four of their children and the sister missionaries. They also treated the missionaries to a fish dinner, complete with eyes and tail—a tradition in Majuro, the capital of the Marshall Islands. As Hirobo describes his life, he expresses how grateful he is for the Church, the gospel, and his family, especially his wife.

It is June 2009. One day earlier the Majuro Marshall Islands Stake was created, and Hirobo was called to serve as the first stake executive secretary. Hirobo, as new stake president Arlington Tibon describes him, “is very, very strong,” one of the faithful leaders of the island.

But Hirobo is the first to point out that until recently that wasn’t the case. In fact, he credits his wife with being the strong one—the one who made the difference in his life. He explains, “I was baptized when I was eight years old, but when I was 16, I became less active.”

A few years later he and Linda began living together, though they weren’t married. Linda was not a member of the Church. In 2000, shortly after Linda discovered that Hirobo had been baptized as a child, she became interested in the Church and began meeting with the sister missionaries.

“She studied for two years and decided she wanted to be baptized,” Hirobo recalls. “We had to get married first, but I wasn’t interested in getting married. I was confused; I was really into the world’s temptations. I didn’t understand the importance of family, and I didn’t really care or listen to anybody.”

Linda, though not baptized, raised their children in the Church. Every year she asked Hirobo to marry her so she could get baptized; each time he said no. Over the years two of their daughters were baptized, but Hirobo did not attend their baptisms.

Then, in 2006, their nine-year-old son, Takao, passed away from a seizure and high fever. About 300 members from the Majuro district came to the funeral to support the family.

“Their support was a really big thing for me,” Hirobo says. “I started to think that God was probably telling me something.”

He began thinking about how he was the reason his wife couldn’t get baptized, even though he was a member of the Church. “She was getting stronger and stronger. She was really inspiring me,” he recalls.

“So I sat down and thought about how I was halfway through my life. I asked myself, ‘Am I going to continue doing what I am doing? Do I have a chance to work for God for the second half of my life?’ I started saying my prayers and thinking about coming back to church to start working for God.”

Hirobo began studying with the missionaries and relearning doctrine. President Nelson Bleak of the Marshall Islands Majuro Mission befriended him, as did other members, including then-district president Arlington Tibon. Finally, Hirobo committed to return, and the next thing he knew, he was attending not just sacrament meeting but also Sunday School and priesthood meeting. At last, Hirobo made up his mind.

“When I came back, I said, ‘This is it. This is what I’m going to do.’ And it changed my life completely.”

Hirobo and Linda were married on August 30, 2008. He soon received the Aaronic Priesthood and baptized his wife. Two months later Hirobo received the Melchizedek Priesthood and was called as the district executive secretary.

Hirobo looks at his wife and smiles. “She couldn’t believe I was the one who baptized her,” he says. “Imagine—it took her eight years, from 2000 to 2008. She is amazing.”

Looking out over a sea of graduates in a commencement address at Brigham Young University–Hawaii in December 2005, President Boyd K. Packer, Acting President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, recounted the first time he came to Hawaii’s shores.
He was but a few years younger than most of the 250 graduates he addressed and was stationed on the island of Kauai as a bomber pilot in the midst of World War II. A number of friends and classmates had already become casualties of war, and he said that his family didn’t know where he would be going or what would become of him.
Yet when news came that the war was over, his joy was only temporary. He thought he was going home, but instead, he was assigned to Osaka as an operations officer.
“I asked the Lord why—why would He do this to me?” President Packer said. He had earned the necessary points. He was eligible to be released. He had kept his standards. But he was denied the thing he wanted most. Looking back now, he knows why.
“If I hadn’t gone to Osaka then, I wouldn’t be standing here now in this capacity,” President Packer said.
In his new post, he met and was involved with baptizing the first Japanese members of the Church after the war.
From this experience, President Packer said he learned to love his fellow man, and he learned to recognize revelation when it came to him. He learned the importance of receiving revelation again in his capacity as a seminary teacher, as a General Authority—called at age 37—and as an Apostle of the Lord.

“Evacuate your homes now!” bellowed the loudspeaker on a truck. “The fire is coming! The fire is coming!”
The forest fire raged down the mountain toward the town. Fierce winds fanned the enormous flames. Short of water and help, the firefighters couldn’t hold it back any longer. Families were going to lose their homes and belongings. There was nothing anyone could do.
Seven-year-old Catherine sat in her family’s living room, watching the news reports. It was hard to believe that the fire was only an hour away. She stared as flames licked through the treetops. She didn’t want to watch, but she couldn’t look away. She felt sad and sick.
Catherine went to her room and thought about the fire. Looking around, she wondered what it would be like to leave everything behind. She had lots of prized possessions. The most precious was Ginger, her favorite doll. She looked at her other dolls, her trophies, her toys, even her clothes and shoes. Losing everything was hard to even think about.
When Dad got home, Catherine and her parents ate dinner. They discussed the new evacuations. Tears welled up in Catherine’s eyes, and she began to cry.
“What’s the matter?” Mom asked.
“Why can’t they stop the fire?” Catherine asked. “Where will people live if their houses burn down?”
“Everyone will move into temporary shelters,” Mom answered. “They will get food, clothes, and a warm place to sleep until this is all sorted out.”
“What about their things? Who’s going to help them save their things?”
“The fire is too hot and moving too fast for anyone to think much about saving things,” Dad said. “It’s more important to make sure the people are safe. Most things can be replaced.”
Too upset to finish her supper, Catherine asked to be excused and went to her room and knelt by her bed. “Girls just like me are going to lose everything,” she prayed. “Somebody has to help them. I want to help them, but what can I do?”
When she awoke the next morning, Catherine knew exactly what to do. She filled a large shopping bag with clothes, books, and games. Last of all, she put in Ginger. “Mom, I want to donate these things,” she said. “Can you help me?”
Mom looked through the bag. “You’re giving away some of your nicest treasures,” she said. “Are you sure you want to give away Ginger?”
Catherine tried to swallow the lump in her throat. “This is what I need to do,” she said. “I know that this will help someone feel better. Will you help me?”
Mom hugged her. “Of course. The Relief Society is collecting donations. I was going to take some blankets and canned goods over this afternoon, but I think we should go right now, instead.”
The missionaries had set up a large open trailer in the ward parking lot. Waiting in line with other people who were making donations, Catherine began to feel that giving away Ginger was just too hard. She thought longingly about keeping her favorite doll. The line inched forward, giving her time to think some more. When it was her turn, she handed her bag to the Relief Society sisters, Ginger and all. Silently saying good-bye, she watched as her bag was carried to the trailer. It was so hard to give up her things! She turned and walked quietly back to the car.
That afternoon, Mom collected blankets and canned goods. When she and Catherine arrived at the meetinghouse, the trailer was full of useful things.
Back home, a television report announced that four hundred homes had been destroyed. But there was good news, too. The fire was nearly under control, and no one had been hurt.
Catherine watched the reports every night. She was worried about the four hundred families without homes. She thought about her shopping bag of treasures and wondered if it had really mattered among the thousands of other donations. And she really missed Ginger.
Suddenly Catherine sat up and looked more closely at the television screen. Something looked familiar. A little girl in a shelter was clutching a doll that looked a lot like—no, it really was—Ginger!
Catherine jumped up and squealed with delight. Her prayer had been answered. Her donation really had made a difference.