Gospel Story Finder

When Elder Neil L. Andersen visited Cape Town, South Africa in 2018, members bombarded him with questions about when a temple would be built in their city. The Apostle’s response was eye-opening for all of them.
“He said: ‘don’t petition me for a temple. Petition the Lord,’” says Ryan Holmes, who is currently serving as the Cape Town Stake president. The Apostle’s admonition to the people of the Cape “completely changed our focus,” says President Holmes. “Instead of asking leaders what they were doing to get a temple in Cape Town, members began to solicit the Lord.”
Andew Herbert, a counsellor in the Belville South Africa Stake presidency, said that for him, Elder Andersen’s counsel meant “not just asking Him continuously, but explaining to the Lord why we need a temple here; saying to Him: ‘these are the things that will change for us if we have a temple.’”
The Herbert family prayed for this blessing daily, and President Herbert made a similar prayerful request in every temple recommend interview he held.
“I don’t know if people in other parts of the world realize what a privilege it is to see the temple spires in their home cities,” says President Herbert.
“To have that feeling of rightness, to know that there is a place nearby that is consecrated to the Lord. . . .
“To be able to take a group of youth to the temple to do baptisms regularly; to be able to take your children to the temple grounds to teach them about its importance. . . .
“To be able to give Young Single Adults callings to serve in the temple; to have the ability to visit the temple, without having to save for a big trip. To be able to attend even if you are sickly, old or frail and can’t travel long distances. . . . It’s just a huge thing,” he says.
The completed assignment was a full-blown website which features testimonials from members about how a temple would bless their city, an invitation to members to pray for it, photos of members attending other temples around the world, and a feedback box inviting people to share their thoughts on the subject.
It was almost midnight in South Africa when President Russell M. Nelson announced in the last conference session on April 4, 2021 that 20 new temples would be built.
Sister Shelly Herbert, who had been watching the session in bed whilst her husband slept, sat up a little straighter. President Henry B. Eyring’s earlier address, in which he invited the saints to ready themselves “for the increased opportunities for temple experiences that are coming for us,”1 had piqued her interest.
When the Prophet read the words ‘Cape Town, South Africa’, “the tears were just streaming down my face,” says Sister Herbert. “As I cried, I shook my husband to wake him up and said, ‘it’s happened!’”
“There were so many people who doubted that we would get a temple, but we expected it, because we believe in petitioning the Lord.”
Sister Thirsly Motolwana from the Cape Town Gugulethu Branch says that when she heard the news, “I felt like a baby, jumping for joy!” A member of the Church for the past 24 years, Sister Motolwana, too, had been praying for this moment since Elder Andersen’s visit.
“I thought, wow, it took three years of prayers, but it has happened! It’s so exciting to know that prayers do get answered, no matter when.”
She says she and her fellow members can start preparing now for the blessings of a local temple. “If we read more scriptures and understand more about the temple, it will help us prepare,” she says. “We need to be fasting more so that we can be equipped with the Spirit.”
While the temple announcement was an answer to many prayers, President Holmes says, “I can’t think of any actions we have taken to deserve this blessing.
“But it is definitely a reach out from Heavenly Father. It’s like He’s giving us a hug and saying, ‘I’m aware of how difficult things have been; this will help you focus on what’s most important.’”

“Come on downstairs, everyone!” Mom called. “It’s time for family home evening!”
Sarah reluctantly closed her book and joined her sister and brother as they went into the family room. Family home evening was fun, but she didn’t think it was as exciting as the adventure story she was reading.
After Dad welcomed everyone, Audrey led the family in a song and Tyler gave the opening prayer. Sarah waited for Dad to announce who was giving the lesson. Instead, he said, “We’re going to practice what we would do in an emergency. You have two minutes to get ready and be in the car. Get whatever you would need if you were going to be gone for three days. Go!”
Dad, Mom, Audrey, Tyler, and Sarah jumped up. Sarah dashed to her room, and then stood in the middle of it looking around. What would she need? Clothes! She pulled clothes out of her drawer and put them in a small bag. There wasn’t room for much more, but she stuffed her pajama pants in too, and then remembered her glasses case and the elastic bands for her braces. Would she need a blanket? Or a pillow? She grabbed both.
Two minutes isn’t very long, and Sarah didn’t feel ready when Dad said, “Get in the car, everybody! Bring whatever you have and let’s go!”
Sarah, Audrey, and Tyler ran out to the car, threw in their stuff, and piled into the seats.
Audrey called back into the house, “Mom, I forgot my tennis shoes—will you grab them on your way out?”
Tyler spilled sunflower seeds into his seat-belt buckle, and Dad had to help him dig them out so the seat belt could fasten. “Why did you bring an open bag of sunflower seeds?” Dad asked.
“That’s my food,” Tyler said.
The family van pulled out of the driveway a moment later. “How did we do?” Dad asked. “We got out in good time, but are we prepared for three days away from home?”
“Mom, you got me two different shoes,” Audrey complained. “I can’t wear these.”
“Sorry,” Mom said. “I was trying to pull all the coats out of the closet, and I couldn’t see the shoes very well. At least there’s a right and a left shoe, even if they don’t match.”
“I got some clothes and a blanket, but I forgot my contact lens case and a brush,” Audrey said. “I did remember my toothbrush, though.”
“Oops,” Tyler said. “I guess I’ll have to borrow yours. But I got clothes and a Book of Mormon—except it’s in French. I picked up the wrong one off the bookshelf.”
“I brought my coat too, because I didn’t know where we were going,” Sarah said. “I saw a flashlight in my room, so I brought that, but I didn’t get anything to eat.”
“We have food in the 72-hour (3-day) kits I put in the car,” Dad said. “Do you remember we put those together last year? And there are tents in the duffle bag. Those are always by the back door.”
“Dad, I know we have things ready, but I don’t know where everything is kept,” Audrey said. “Maybe you should show us where to find stuff in case you aren’t at home and the rest of us have to leave.”
“That’s a very good idea, Audrey,” Mom replied. “I’m not sure that I could find everything in a hurry myself. I knew I wanted to get important papers and my scriptures, but I wasn’t very organized. I grabbed bread and peanut butter and apples, but I didn’t have time to fill the cooler with water, so I just pulled jugs of apple cider and milk out of the fridge.”
“Ugh, warm milk?” Tyler asked.
“We’d have to drink it up fast,” Mom said. “Maybe we ought to put some sealed water containers in the garage, in case we need to leave quickly. I’d never thought of that before.”
“Why don’t we go get an ice-cream cone and talk about what we learned tonight?” Dad said.
“I know one thing I want to do,” Sarah said. “It took me a while to decide what to get. Even though I knew it wasn’t for real, I was still scared, and I had a hard time thinking of what I needed. I want to plan what I would gather up ahead of time.”
“I would definitely want a brush,” Audrey said.
“And I would want something more than sunflower seeds,” Tyler said.
Dad nodded. “Let’s all make a list this week of the things we would need if we had to leave suddenly and be gone for three days. Next Monday night we can go over our lists and decide how to get organized so we are prepared to grab items and go. We will probably never need to do that—but if we do, we’ll be ready.”
While she was eating her ice-cream cone, Sarah decided she had been wrong about something. She didn’t miss her exciting book at all tonight; family home evening could definitely be an adventure!

I learned in my education pursuit that I couldn't do it alone. The first class that I enrolled in my graduate program at WSU was an advanced marketing class. On the first day of class the teacher started out by building a very mathematical econometric model of the demand function. The model was called the Slutksy equation and involved a high level of calculus and lots of Greek notation. At the end of the hour I knew I was in trouble and not prepared for that course, but I stayed in it. The first midterm exam came and consisted of only 5 essay questions, each worth 20 points. I had studied long and hard for that exam and felt confident that I would do well. I started the exam and wrote about a page and a half for each question, feeling that I had covered all of areas required by each question. I handed my exam in, confident that I had passed with flying colors. The next class period the graded exams were returned. The red inked comments on the top of my paper indicated that I had the "flying colors" and also indicated that I had scored a record score. My score and the professor's note at the top of my exam read: "15 pts out of 100 pts. This is the lowest score that I have ever given in all of my 20 years of teaching. What is wrong with you? (1) You are not prepared for this program or (2) You don't want to be here. Come and see me." I was of course shocked and went to see the professor as he had invited me to. I explained to him that I was not prepared for the rigor of the program, to which he said, "You have two options, (1) Get yourself up to speed or (2) Drop out."

I left his office and did a lot of self reflection and evaluation. I realized that in addition to not having the proper academic preparation, I had not really prepared myself through proper prayer. While I had been saying my prayers each day, I hadn't been really praying with the sincerity and intent that the scriptures had suggested. I changed my behavior of prayer and as a result my study habits changed, my understanding increased and I completed that initial course with a "B" grade. I testify that it was with the smooth stones of prayer, faith, obedience, and service that I successfully completed that program.

Mzwakhe Sitole faces a challenge. As ward Sunday School president, he has a God-given responsibility to help improve gospel learning and teaching in the ward.1
But the members of his ward in Johannesburg, South Africa, have, in some cases, vastly different backgrounds and expectations. Some are well-educated; others are not. Many have been taught that a student’s place is to listen, not to talk. Others face an uphill cultural battle in understanding that both men and women should be involved in teaching at church and at home.
“We also have people who speak different languages,” Brother Sitole says. “But the Spirit wants to prompt each one.”
When teacher council meetings and Teaching in the Savior’s Way were introduced last year, wards and branches throughout the Church began holding teacher council meetings to discuss, learn about, and practice what it means to teach in the Savior’s way.
That’s when Brother Sitole began to see how teacher council meetings could bless his ward. Cultural challenges could be addressed, class participation could be increased, and different perspectives of members could become blessings.
Like many others around the world, Brother Sitole realized that the Lord isn’t using teacher council meetings just to change how we teach; He’s using them to also change how we learn.
One of the most interesting discoveries for Brother Sitole was that as teachers empower students to participate in their own learning, everyone benefits from the expanded view that different perspectives provide.
That understanding came to Brother Sitole during a teacher council meeting, when a ward member shared the parable of the blind men and the elephant, only with a twist. The parable tells how six blind men each describe an elephant differently (a leg is like a pillar, the tail is like a rope, the trunk is like a water spout, and so forth) because each is touching a different part.2
“But suppose the elephant represents gospel teaching,” Brother Sitole says. “Then we need to enable each class member to share their perspective, so that together we come to a common understanding of how the gospel blesses us all.”
That’s why teachers in Brother Sitole’s ward always sit around a table during teacher council meeting—to facilitate discussion. “It reminds us that everyone has an equal voice,” he says.

I want to talk briefly about being honest, also. One summer I spent a few weeks at my bishop's house. They had a son my age and we were preparing for scout camp while my family had to go out of town. We bought some illegal fire crackers. We hid them in my coat pocket so no one could find them and made a pact with each other that we would always deny having any knowledge of the whereabouts of the fire crackers. Each night before bed we would take one of the firecrackers and attach a long fuse to it and place it under the window sill of my bishop's bedroom window. Each night at about 2:00 a.m. the firecracker would explode, waking the bishop and his wife. They would get up and look around and they always found us fast asleep. After doing this every night for about a week, Bishop Allred — with my buddy beside him — came to me and asked me if I knew anything about the fire crackers. Being true to my pact to deny any knowledge about the fire crackers, I said no. He then reached into my coat pocket and pulled them out. I looked at my buddy quickly. He was looking down at the ground. I learned a great lesson that day: Be honest even when it is just the simplest little things. He couldn't lie to his father, despite having a pact with me to deny having any knowledge. Be honest and keep the commandments, even the smallest little simple ones that seem trivial.

Fans attending sports events at Amador High School in Pleasanton, California, will find the school bleachers have a new coat of paint thanks to the efforts of the Pleasanton 3rd Ward. As a community service project, 35 youth, their advisers, and the bishopric took paintbrushes in hand and alternated 40 gallons of purple and gold paint on the bleachers. The school bleachers never looked better for the beginning of another year of sporting events.

But I remember a story told to me long ago, far from here, by a sad voice. I remember it not because it was unique but because I have heard the same story told, again and again, about waiting or failing to wait. The details vary, but not the feeling of drama.

She said it happened on a summer Saturday afternoon. She was tired. Tired of being single. Tired of trying to be a faithful Latter-day Saint. Not so much tired of being kind and virtuous as tired of nothing good seeming to come of it. She’d not had a date in months.

She saw no prospect of even becoming friends with, let alone marrying, a man who shared her faith and ideals. In frustration she found herself deciding something. She decided that afternoon, consciously, that years of good works and restraint had produced too little and promised no more. She said to herself almost aloud, “Oh, what’s the use?”

The phone rang. It was a man’s voice, a man she knew. He lived in the same apartment building. He’d asked her out before. She’d refused because she was sure he’d expect her to compromise her standards she’d preserved at great effort. But, almost as if directed by a scriptwriter, he called at that instant.

She didn’t say, “Yes.” She said, “I’ll think about it.” She thought about it. He called again. And finally, she repeated to herself, “Oh, what’s the use?” She went. She found she had been right about his intentions. And in a choice about time and about waiting or not waiting, her life changed. So, she will never know what might have been ahead on the path she decided wasn’t worth the price; she knew quickly the other one was uphill, and a hard climb.

This story happened in the USA.
Zack likes to run, jump, and play. Zack also has sensory processing disorder.
For Zack, that means he doesn’t like loud noises. And he likes to do the same things every day.
Every afternoon he plays with the same toy airplane.
Every night he reads the same bedtime story.
And every Sunday he sits in the same chair during Primary.
One day at church, all the kids practiced for the Primary program in the chapel. This was very different!
Zack doesn’t like it when things are different.
Mom had him stand in the front row so he had room to wiggle.
His friend stood next to him to help him feel better.
His teacher gave him headphones to make everything quieter. But Zack was still upset.
Then the music director and the Primary president had an idea.
Zack’s special job was just right for him! He was happy to feel Heavenly Father’s love.
Illustrations by Natalie Briscoe

“A lot of people wonder why I changed religions,” Kiruba says. “They say Hinduism is very nice, so why change?”
For Kiruba there is no question why she changed. The gospel has changed her life, and the lives of her family members, for the better.
“I had a special dream and knew we should join The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints,” says Kiruba. “I told my granny about it, and she took my brother, sister, and me to church. We were baptized shortly after.”
Four months later, her parents were baptized, and the family has experienced the sweetness of the Spirit in their lives. It is a sweetness they are all willing to share with anyone who will listen.

Bright lights. Screaming crowds. Thousands of fans on Facebook. When 17-year-old Gerson Santos became a top-10 finalist in the Portuguese televised musical talent competition Ídolos, he had to adjust to the fame and attention that came with his success. Gerson decided to embrace this unique opportunity to preach the gospel and quickly became known across the Portuguese media as the “Mormon competitor” willing to answer questions about his faith.

Ídolos was a television show I really enjoyed watching. I have always liked performing and hoped to someday enter a music competition. This year I didn’t hesitate; I simply signed myself up for the show and went to the audition with my dad. I guess you could say I’ve been preparing for Ídolos my entire life. Every experience I had with Ídolos was amazing, without exception. I tried to take advantage of every opportunity that came my way.

Once during a dinner with the other contestants, we talked a little bit about religion, and I spoke about my faith and the standards of the Church. Later I gave each of the finalists a copy of the For the Strength of Youth pamphlet so they could better understand what I believe. Some said the Church’s standards seemed really conservative, but others praised me for having such high standards in these days.

I continued to say my prayers, read my scriptures, participate in seminary, and take the sacrament every Sunday. I am currently preparing to serve a mission, which is something I’ve wanted to do since I was little. I serve in my ward as ward pianist, ward missionary, and assistant to the bishop in the priests quorum. I had to dedicate almost all my time to the competition, but I made sure to first dedicate time to the Lord.

Joseph F. Smith was one of the youngest missionaries to serve a full-time mission for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He was only fifteen years old when he was called to preach the gospel to the people of the Hawaiian Islands.
This mission call came at a difficult time in Joseph F.’s life. His father, Hyrum, a brother of the Prophet Joseph Smith, had been killed in Carthage Jail when Joseph F. was only five years old. His mother, Mary Fielding Smith, died in the Salt Lake Valley when he was thirteen, and he felt alone and frightened.
To comfort him, the Lord blessed Joseph F. with a beautiful dream soon after his mother died. He dreamed that when his life was over, his beloved mother and father, President Brigham Young, and the Prophet Joseph Smith met him in heaven. They put their arms around him, and he could feel how much they loved him. It made him feel peaceful and safe inside.
As Joseph F. began his mission to Hawaii, his mission president, Francis Hammond, gave him a blessing promising him that he would become “a mighty man.” He blessed him that “the spirit of his father, Hyrum, the martyr, would rest upon him.”
Joseph F. served a very successful mission in Hawaii. He was quite poor, however, since he had no family to send him money. He sometimes went for several days without food, but the Hawaiian people often shared with him.
After nearly four years in Hawaii, Joseph F. returned home. One morning when he and several other missionaries were returning to Salt Lake City, a group of rough Mormon-haters rode up on horses, firing their guns and cursing.
The leader jumped off his horse and shouted, “We will kill anyone who is a Mormon!” The other missionaries had fled into the woods, but Joseph F. bravely stood his ground. The man shoved a gun in Joseph F.’s face and asked, “Are you a Mormon?”
Joseph F. stood tall and said, “Yes siree; dyed in the wool; true blue, through and through!”
The man was surprised at his reply. He put the gun away, shook Joseph’s hand, and said, “Well, you are the pleasantest man I ever met! I’m glad to see a fellow stand up for his convictions.” He jumped back on his horse and rode off with his companions.
For the next sixty-one years, Joseph F. Smith’s life was full of service to the church he defended so proudly that morning by the campfire. At age twenty-seven, he was ordained an Apostle, and he served as a counselor to four Church presidents: Brigham Young, John Taylor, Wilford Woodruff, and Lorenzo Snow. In 1901, Joseph F. Smith was ordained the sixth President of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He served as President for seventeen years, until his death in 1918.

Four years ago I made a personal commitment to write to my 94-year-old grandmother every week for the rest of her life. My mother has been caring for her for several years, and because my grandmother’s eyesight is failing, Mother reads my letters to her.
It hasn’t been easy to write every week, but as I have struggled to fulfill my commitment, two specific blessings have come into my life. The first blessing was one I expected—the joy of knowing that both my mother and my grandmother would come to know and love our five children as they read about our daily activities and experiences.
The second blessing came after I had written the letters for one year. Without my knowledge, my mother had kept each letter I sent. After accumulating a year’s worth of letters, she bundled up the stack and mailed the letters back to me.
As I reread my old letters, I discovered I had a detailed family journal in my hands Although I recorded major events in my personal journal, detailed accounts of our family’s day-to-day activities were kept alive in the pages of my letters. This unexpected family journal paints a vivid picture of our family life and will help our posterity know what we were like as a young, growing family.

“Will the ice be solid enough today, Grandma?” asked Mary Running Deer. She pressed her face against the cold window pane in their little home on the reservation. The Dakota prairie was awash with snow as far as she could see.

Grandma’s answer was a surprise. “Let’s get bundled up, for it’s cold out on the pond!” she declared with a twinkle in her dark eyes.

“You really mean it, Grandma!” exclaimed Mary.

“Oh, I can hardly wait!” chimed in Mary’s sister, Nancy.

Grandma touched the tip of her nose and smiled. “It felt cold enough last night to frostbite my nose. I’m sure the pond is frozen solid enough for me to teach you girls our old Indian game.”

The proper name for Grandma’s old Indian game is Nit an tai sin um. But the girls usually just called it “Grandma’s old Indian game.”

Mary and Nancy scurried to find their winter coats. Grandma wrapped herself in an Indian blanket coat and slipped into a pair of sturdy buckskin leggings.

Suddenly there was a loud thumping underneath the wooden table in the corner.

Mary laughed. “Old Buck doesn’t want to be left out of the fun,” she said.

The big yellow dog slowly pulled himself up from his resting-place. He laid his graying muzzle on Mary’s knee as she sat down to put on her boots.

Grandma’s weathered face crinkled into a grin. “When will that dog realize he’s getting too old for these excursions?” she asked, shaking her head and then pushing her gray hair into place. “In dog years, Buck is even older than I am,” Grandma added.

Hearing his name, Buck wandered over and shoved his nose into Grandma’s hand. She patted the dog affectionately and spoke directly to him. “I’ll have to admit you are an amazing dog, Buck. What would I ever have done without you, especially with me trying to be both a mother and a father to Mary and Nancy!”

Mary spoke up. “I’ll never forget the time I fell into the pond when I was just a little girl, and Buck pulled me to safety while I held on to his tail.”

“And not only that,” reminded Grandma, “Buck pulled you all the way home on my travois. He was so careful to choose the best route because he knew you were hurt.”

Nancy opened the door with a mittened hand, and Buck was the first one out into the cold, clear air. Nancy smiled. “Buck knows where we’re going. He never lets Mary very far out of his sight, especially when we’re going near the pond.”

Mary grabbed a shovel from the side of the house, and everyone began trudging across the brilliant white snow.

Buck struggled along behind in their footsteps, but he just wasn’t up to bounding and playing in the snow as he had done in past winters.

Grandma explained how to play the old Indian game as they went along. “See all the sticks and small stones in this bag,” Grandma said, pulling open an old deerskin bag. “My grandmother and her grandmother before her used to play this same game on the ice when they were young girls.” She paused. “I’ve heard some people say that Nit an tai sin um is a little like a sport called bowling. But I’m sure bowling doesn’t compare to this game.”

Mary and Nancy couldn’t help smiling at each other. Grandma always preferred the old Indian ways.

When they reached the pond, the two girls shoveled the snow off a large space on the ice. And Grandma shook the contents of the little bag onto its smooth surface.

After handing several small stones to each of the girls, Grandma began her instructions: “Now you must sit about ten feet apart to play this game—”

Suddenly, everyone heard a sharp cracking sound from the other end of the pond, followed by the sounds of splintering ice and splashing. A shrill, terrified yelp echoed across the pond.

“Oh, no!” gasped Grandma. “Buck has probably broken through the thin ice where the little creek runs into the pond.”

“Grandma! We must save him!” cried Mary, dashing across the snowy pond.

“Stay close to the bank!” Grandma called hoarsely.

They could hear Buck thrashing desperately to keep from going under the ice. Mary, Nancy, and Grandma half stumbled, half ran along the snowy bank. Buck’s shrill yips were a plea for help. Then abruptly the yelping stopped. Mary and Nancy looked at each other in panic. Has Buck gone under? they wondered.

The girls’ footsteps became frenzied. Then they spotted Buck lying very still on the snowy bank. Somehow, the valiant animal had managed to pull himself from the icy water.

“Oh, Grandma!” choked Nancy, tears running down her cheeks. “Will he die?”

“Not if we can quickly get him back to the warm house,” panted Grandmother, gasping for breath. “But how will we ever carry him? He’s so heavy.”

“Grandma!” burst out Mary hopefully. “The travois! We can pull Buck back to the house on your travois.”

Mary and Nancy sped back to the house, and hauled to the pond the travois poles, blankets, and Grandma’s huge buffalo hide that had been in the family longer than any of them could remember.

The two girls wrapped the suffering dog in the blankets and comforted him with soft words.

Grandmother tied the hide to the two poles and made the travois sturdy. “I’m glad my grandmother saw fit to teach me some of the old Indian ways,” she observed.

This time when Nancy and Mary smiled at each other, they were in complete agreement with Grandma.

Gently they eased Buck onto the travois. The exhausted dog looked up at his rescuers with soft, mournful eyes. Straining to lift his head, he weakly licked Mary’s hand.

A lump caught in Mary’s throat. “He’s trying to tell us thanks.” She paused. “Maybe by pulling him back on the travois, I can partly repay Buck for the time he helped to save my life when I fell into the pond.”

Mary positioned herself between the travois poles and pulled carefully. She wanted to give Buck as safe and comfortable a journey as her faithful friend had given her on this same travois many years before.

From the time I received the first birthday dollar from my grandmother I was taught to save one dime to return to the Lord as tithing. Tithing settlements were something I always looked forward to. I loved to watch the bishop put a check mark by the words “full-tithe payer” and know that the Lord was pleased with me.
I’d never held much of a job growing up, and most of my income came from baby-sitting. I kept my tithing in a separate envelope until I remembered to take it to church. Often six months worth of tithing went with me to tithing settlement.
When I got my first job after high school, I decided to open a checking account so that I would have easier access to my money. Unfortunately, I didn’t open a savings account for my tithing, and I hadn’t formed the habit of paying it on a monthly basis. But I lived at home and spent very little money, so I didn’t worry much about it.
I loved working as a nurses’ aide at the local hospital, and by the first of December I decided to apply for admission to the nearby junior college. I counted what I had in the bank and was excited to confirm that I had enough money for housing and tuition for the next three semesters if I finished working the rest of the month.
So I went to the college, made a down payment for my housing, and paid my tuition. The rest of the housing money was due when I started school the first week of January.
It was then that I realized I had forgotten to take into account the tithing that was outstanding when I balanced my books. What was I going to do?
When my tithing settlement appointment came, I was still unsure how I would handle my situation. It was the first settlement I had attended without my family, and as I sat waiting for my turn, I was tempted for the first time in my life to not pay a full tithe. After all, I reasoned, I’d always paid a full tithe before. What would just this one year matter? Besides, I could always make it up during next year. And my family wouldn’t be there to hear me pronounce the words “part-tithe payer.”
All the stories I’d ever heard about people paying their tithing and still being able to meet bills came to my mind. But they don’t apply to me, I thought. I’m in this situation because I put myself here. I just simply have to choose. Do I want to pay a full tithe, or do I want to go to college?
I still wasn’t sure until the bishop looked me in the eye and asked, “Does this amount represent a full tithe?”
“It doesn’t now, but it will,” I answered as I took out my checkbook and wrote a check for the 80 dollars I owed. Peace flooded over me, and I knew I had made the right choice.
After praying about my situation, I decided to go ahead with my plans for college. I went to the housing office, and I was given a two-week extension. Then I went looking for a job. I found one in the cafeteria, but I wouldn’t be paid in time to meet my obligation.
On the last day of the extension I went to the mailbox and found a check made out to me from the hospital. It was for 90 dollars for the accrued sick and personal-leave days I had not taken. I had no idea it was coming. I now had enough for my tithing and the 80 dollars I owed at the housing office.
This time I paid my tithing first.

Long years ago, Elder Frank Croft was serving a mission in the state of Alabama. While preaching to the people, he was abducted by a vicious gang, to be whipped and lashed across his back. Elder Croft was ordered to remove his coat and shirt before he was tied to a tree. As he did so, a letter he had recently received from his mother fell to the ground. The vile leader of the gang picked up the letter. Elder Croft closed his eyes and offered a silent prayer. The attacker read the letter from Elder Croft’s mother. From a copy of that letter, I quote:
“My beloved son, … remember the words of the Savior when he said, … ‘Blessed are ye when men shall revile you and persecute you and say all manner of evil against you falsely for my name’s sake. Rejoice and be exceeding glad for you will have your reward in Heaven for so persecuted they the prophets which were before you.’ Also remember the Savior upon the cross suffering from the sins of the world when He had uttered these immortal words, ‘Father forgive them, for they know not what they do.’ Surely, my boy, they who are mistreating you … know not what they do or they would not do it. Sometime, somewhere, they will understand and then they will regret their action and they will honor you for the glorious work you are doing. So be patient, my son, love those who mistreat you and say all manner of evil against you and the Lord will bless you and magnify you. … Remember also, my son, that day and night, your mother is praying for you.”
Elder Croft watched the hateful man as he studied the letter. He would read a line or two, then sit and ponder. He arose to approach his captive. The man said: “Feller, you must have a wonderful mother. You see, I once had one, too.” Then, addressing the mob, he said: “Men, after reading this Mormon’s mother’s letter, I just can’t go ahead with the job. Maybe we had better let him go.” Elder Croft was released without harm.

One particular example of true love left a permanent impression in my mind. I once came across a general conference talk by Elder Joseph B. Wirthlin (1917–2008) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles where he spoke on charity, or the “pure love of Christ” (Moroni 7:47).

Elder Wirthlin began by quoting Jesus’s teaching that the greatest commandment is to love God and to love our neighbor (see Matthew 22:37–40). Of course, I’d heard this scriptural account many times before. And always, for me, that level of Christlike love had seemed somehow beyond reach. How could I, plain old me, ever love as purely or as effectively as the Savior? It felt like an impossible goal.

But then Elder Wirthlin described an elderly couple who’d been married for many years. The wife grew unable to care for herself fully, including being able to paint her fingernails.

So the husband decided to paint them for her, simply because it made her smile. “That is an example of the pure love of Christ,” Elder Wirthlin declared.2

And with that brief example, something clicked in my brain. Painting fingernails? Not raising Lazarus from the dead or healing the blind, but a quiet act of kindness? That’sconsidered the pure love of Christ? Well … gee, I could do that!

Elder Wirthlin continued, adding further clarity. “Sometimes the greatest love is not found in the dramatic scenes that poets and writers immortalize. Often, the greatest manifestations of love are the simple acts of kindness and caring we extend to those we meet along the path of life.”3

My mind latched on as this idea took hold. I could perform those acts of kindness. What’s more, I knew for certain I’d been the recipient of countless such acts my whole life. True love isn’t glamorous or glittery. It’s quiet yet powerful. And available to all.

A tender, sweet story about receiving peace from the scriptures appeared in the January 1991 Ensign, submitted by Sister Carole Seegmiller. Using a few excerpts, I quote from her article: “Dad decided that our family should begin an intensive study of the scriptures to help my brother Bruce prepare for his mission. Dad’s goal was to read the entire Book of Mormon before Bruce left, tape-recording our voices as we went along. … We would take turns reading a chapter [each]. …
“The family finished the Book of Mormon a few months later, … so Dad decided we should read and record the four Gospels from the New Testament. I complained this time, telling Dad that I didn’t see the point: we could buy audiotapes of professionals reading the scriptures—and they sounded a lot better than we did. Still Dad persisted. ‘Carole, one day these tapes will be a great blessing to us.’ …
“I began to enjoy these times together with the family. I especially liked to hear Dad share his personal insights about a passage. Soon I began to sense the peace that comes through studying the scriptures. We finished reading the four Gospels shortly before Bruce left for the Missionary Training Center. …
“After Bruce left, I noticed how comforting the tapes were to Dad. He often listened to them, partly just to hear Bruce’s voice, I thought, since they had been very close. Sometimes at night Dad would fall asleep listening, and I would smile to myself as I heard the familiar click-click-click of the recorder that had run to tape’s end. …
“When Bruce had been gone for more than a year, Dad died quietly of a heart attack. … All of our family members … gathered except Bruce, who had determined to finish his mission.
“That evening, after [the funeral], I was feeling low. I went upstairs to Dad’s room and dejectedly sat down at his desk. I noticed his well-used tape recorder lying nearby; inside was one of our tapes of the New Testament, which Dad must have listened to the night before he died. I began rewinding the tape, stopping it at random, hoping to find solace in hearing the gentle resonance of Dad’s voice. … I sat upright as my father spoke from the tape:
“‘Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.’ …
“I listened to that passage over and over; the words reached out and wrapped a comforting arm around me. …
“Peace did come to us that night. … Since then, I have tasted the sweet peace of the New Testament time and time again. To me, that is its greatest message” (“Our Family’s Tape-recorded New Testament,” Ensign, Jan. 1991, p. 27).

I will mention just part of one such account. Two weeks ago I received a touching letter from a father of seven who wrote about his family and, in particular, his son Jason, who had become ill when 11 years of age. Over the next few years, Jason’s illness recurred several times. This father told of Jason’s positive attitude and sunny disposition, despite his health challenges. Jason received the Aaronic Priesthood at age 12 and “always willingly magnified his responsibilities with excellence, whether he felt well or not.” He received his Eagle Scout Award when he was 14 years old.
Last summer, not long after Jason’s 15th birthday, he was once again admitted to the hospital. On one of his visits to see Jason, his father found him with his eyes closed. Not knowing whether Jason was asleep or awake, he began talking softly to him. “Jason,” he said, “I know you have been through a lot in your short life and that your current condition is difficult. Even though you have a giant battle ahead, I don’t ever want you to lose your faith in Jesus Christ.” He said he was startled as Jason immediately opened his eyes and said, “Never!” in a clear, resolute voice. Jason then closed his eyes and said no more.
His father wrote: “In this simple declaration, Jason expressed one of the most powerful, pure testimonies of Jesus Christ that I have ever heard. … As his declaration of ‘Never!’ became imprinted on my soul that day, my heart filled with joy that my Heavenly Father had blessed me to be the father of such a tremendous and noble boy. … [It] was the last time I heard him declare his testimony of Christ.”
Although his family was expecting this to be just another routine hospitalization, Jason passed away less than two weeks later. An older brother and sister were serving missions at the time. Another brother, Kyle, had just received his mission call. In fact, the call had come earlier than expected, and on August 5, just a week before Jason’s passing, the family gathered in his hospital room so that Kyle’s mission call could be opened there and shared with the entire family.
In his letter to me, this father included a photograph of Jason in his hospital bed, with his big brother Kyle standing beside the bed, holding his mission call. This caption was written beneath the photograph: “Called to serve their missions together—on both sides of the veil.”
Jason’s brother and sister already serving missions sent beautiful, comforting letters home to be shared at Jason’s funeral. His sister, serving in the Argentina Buenos Aires West Mission, as part of her letter, wrote: “I know that Jesus Christ lives, and because He lives, all of us, including our beloved Jason, will live again too. … We can take comfort in the sure knowledge we have that we have been sealed together as an eternal family. … If we do our very best to obey and do better in this life, we will see [him again].” She continued: “[A] scripture that I have long loved now takes on new significance and importance at this time. … [From] Revelation chapter 21, verse 4: ‘And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away.’”

Let me tell you about a young Laurel president who explained it this way: “‘You see,’ she said, ‘I was called to be a class president of 17 girls, and the bishop said I was responsible for them. I was scared to death. I didn’t even know for sure where they were. Then he told me to decide on my counselors and reminded me of the need to pray and ask the Lord. I wondered how it worked—how would I know who the Lord wanted?’ …
“‘I wrote 17 names on a piece of paper. Then I prayed about those names. … I kept thinking and praying and [crossing off names] until the third day. With only two names remaining, I had a strong feeling that I knew who Heavenly Father wanted. That’s how it works’” (Ardeth G. Kapp, “Yes, You Are Old Enough, Girls,” New Era, May 1974, p. 14).

Whenever Robert Norton got on a bike, he was a whole new person.
“Robert would go outside at eight in the morning and ride his bike in our driveway until ten at night. He got so good at it that he was the fastest Special Olympics cyclist in Connecticut,” says his younger brother Lee. “Before he got involved in Special Olympics, Robert was a loner. But when he came to Special Olympics, he opened up. He made friends, and kids at school started talking to him, though they hadn’t before.”
For nearly 30 years, the Special Olympics has been helping athletes with disabilities compete with one another on local, national, and international levels. Robert, who was mentally disabled, competed in many Special Olympics before he died in 1992. “I miss my brother, and I never put him out of my mind,” explains Lee. “The Special Olympics really fulfilled Robert’s life and was a great thing for him.”