Gospel Story Finder

When the apostles tried to leave in August, the malaria that infested the low, swampy ground where they had settled along the Mississippi had disabled nearly everyone. Brigham’s description is typically simple and restrained, leaving us to imagine the physical and emotional suffering of this second dramatic departure: “My health was so poor I was unable to go thirty rods to the river without assistance. … I left my wife sick, with a babe only ten days old, and all my children sick and unable to wait upon each other.”24 His family was even without adequate clothing because of losses to the mob in Missouri; Brigham himself was wearing a cap made out of a pair of old pantaloons, and he took along a quilt because he had no overcoat until some Saints in New York made him one. He commented that he thus “had not much of a ministerial appearance.” But though deathly ill for a time, and literally carried from place to place as he and a few companions were shuttled by the Saints across Illinois, he gradually recovered strength and began to have experiences commensurate with his calling—even though he lacked the “appearance.”

For years, I have wanted to create a large poppy display and in November of last year, I voiced this to our Relief Society president, Yvonne Kerr, who expressed a similar desire. Because we were coming to the close of a horrible year of lockdowns, we felt that setting this up as a project for 2021 would be an ideal time to do it as it would give us something to focus on while we were restricted to our homes and by giving us a common purpose, we would not feel so isolated. Little did we know at that point that we were heading into further lockdowns and this project became a lifeline for many women. The culmination of this work was to be a display at the chapel where we would hold a special commemorative meeting, to which we would invite community leaders as well as our members and friends.
Yvonne asked me to pull a small committee together to make this happen and I knew exactly who to ask.
Yvonne Kerr, president of the Relief Society, said: “We really felt that there was a need for people who weren’t able to get together to be able to do something in unity. “It was a good way for the women of the Church to stay in contact with one another and to be able to serve and help other people.” She added: “As COVID started to progress, we really wanted to run with the idea, to be able to acknowledge that there were other people who had sacrificed a lot more than we got to sacrifice. We were very privileged to be able to acknowledge them by creating the poppies.”
Yvonne Kerr told the Advertiser: “It was very well attended. We were surprised by how many people came. It was really wonderful—a lovely event and a great tribute to those who served in our military services and a great way to thank them for what they’ve done for us.”

As I think of the consecration of missionaries, I can’t help but think of one of our elders who came into the mission field leaving a terminally ill mother at home, with the anticipation that she probably wouldn’t be there when he completed his mission. This elder loved his mother very much and promised her that he would be a good missionary and complete his mission. Shortly after arriving in the mission field, he fell and broke his foot. Fearing that he might have to return home for it to heal and fearing this might break his promise to his mom, he determined to not tell anybody about it and for two years he limped and hobbled on a foot that required surgery when he did return home. “Take my feet and let them be, swift and beautiful for thee . . . ” That’s a beautiful phrase and I believe it describes why the Prophet, Isaiah, said, “How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of those that bring glad tidings of good things . . . ”

One morning a family gathered to study the scriptures as usual. As they gathered, the father felt a negative spirit: some members of the family did not look very excited to participate. They had family prayer, and as they started to read the scriptures, the father noticed that one of the children did not have her personal set of scriptures with her. He invited her to go to her room and bring her scriptures. She reluctantly did so, and after a period of time that seemed like an eternity, she returned, sat down, and said, “Do we really have to do this now?”
The father thought to himself that the enemy of all righteousness wanted to create problems so that they would not study the scriptures. The father, trying to stay calm, said, “Yes, we have to do this now because this is what the Lord wants us to do.”
She responded, “I don’t really want to do this now!”
The father then lost his patience, raised his voice, and said, “This is my home, and we will always read the scriptures in my home!”
The tone and volume of his words hurt his daughter, and with her scriptures in hand, she left the family circle, ran to her bedroom, and slammed the door. Thus ended the family scripture study—no harmony and little love being felt at home.
The father knew that he had done wrong, so he went to his own bedroom and knelt down to pray. He pleaded with the Lord for help, knowing that he had offended one of His children, a daughter whom he truly loved. He implored the Lord to restore the spirit of love and harmony at home and enable them to be able to continue studying the scriptures as a family. As he was praying, an idea came to his mind: “Go and say, ‘I’m sorry.’” He continued to pray earnestly, asking for the Spirit of the Lord to come back into his home. Once again the idea came: “Go and say, ‘I’m sorry.’”
He really wanted to be a good father and do the right thing, so he stood up and went to his daughter’s bedroom. He gently knocked on the door several times, and there was no answer. So he slowly opened the door and found his girl sobbing and crying on her bed. He kneeled next to her and said with a soft and tender voice, “I’m sorry. I apologize for what I did.” He repeated, “I’m sorry, I love you, and I don’t want to hurt you.” And then from the mouth of a child came the lesson that the Lord wanted to teach him.
She stopped crying, and after a brief silence, she took her scriptures into her hands and started to look up some verses. The father watched as those pure and delicate hands turned the pages of the scriptures, page after page. She came to the verses she sought and started to read very slowly with a soft voice: “For the natural man is an enemy to God, and has been from the fall of Adam, and will be, forever and ever, unless he yields to the enticings of the Holy Spirit, and putteth off the natural man and becometh a saint through the atonement of Christ the Lord, and becometh as a child, submissive, meek, humble, patient, full of love, willing to submit to all things which the Lord seeth fit to inflict upon him, even as a child doth submit to his father.”1
While he was still kneeling next to her bed, humility overcame him as he thought to himself, “That scripture was written for me. She has taught me a great lesson.”
Then she turned her eyes to him and said, “I am sorry. I am sorry, Daddy.”
At that very moment the father realized she did not read that verse to apply that scripture to him, but she read it applying it to herself. He opened his arms and embraced her. Love and harmony had been restored in this sweet moment of reconciliation born of the word of God and the Holy Ghost. That scripture, which his daughter remembered from her own personal scripture study, had touched his heart with the fire of the Holy Ghost.

Two missionaries teaching an older couple in their home in Peru were interrupted by the arrival of the couple’s son, his wife, and three children. The elders explained who they were and what they were doing. The son was suspicious of the missionaries, resulting in an awkward moment. The junior companion prayed silently, “Heavenly Father, what do we do?” The impression came to sing. They sang “I Am a Child of God.”6 The Spirit touched the hearts of this family of five. Instead of two converts, all seven became members, influenced initially by a hymn.

A few years ago I received an anonymous letter from a kindhearted dentist who demonstrated brotherly love and goodwill. I’d like to share it with you:
“Dear President Monson:
“I feel remiss in that I should have sent you a thank-you note sooner. Last December I listened to your talk given during the Christmas devotional. You spoke of an older woman who could not afford to pay for the registration for an automobile she had recently purchased. Others came to her aid. All involved were touched.
“I am a dentist by profession. Not long after the devotional, my receptionist informed me that an acquaintance of hers was coming into my office. She had problems with two of her teeth. She knew this woman and told me of her circumstances. The woman carried many burdens. The family business, which she ran, was doing poorly, and the family was three months behind in paying rent. They had five children, many grown into adulthood, but all had moved back home because of difficult personal circumstances. By sheer force of will, she had kept her family together for some time. Now two teeth were broken.
“The woman arrived for her appointment and explained about her dental problem. She asked if I would allow her to pay her bill over time. She explained to me that her family had experienced several financial reversals and were just recently starting to pay some overdue bills.
“I assured her that her credit was good with me. She asked if I could repair just one of the two broken teeth at that time. I assured her that I could, and we began.
“Since I had the time, I repaired both teeth, for which she was grateful. When the work was completed, thinking of your talk, I told her that if she would not be offended, I should like to make a Christmas present of the dental work, for which there would be no bill. She was astonished. I could sense the depth of the stress and strain she had carried, as uncontrollable tears of gratitude gushed forth due to a small, simple act of kindness. It must have been years since someone showed her some little favor. Not able to speak, she made her way out.
“Both my assistant and receptionist were so moved by her reaction that they also [shed] tears and could hardly speak. I, on the other hand, was doubly glad. One part, in seeing such a simple act have such a happy effect on another. And the second part, for once in my life having a patient in my office crying for joy and not for pain!
“To you, my very best wishes.
“Sincerely,
“A brother in the gospel.”

I learned at an early age about service in the Church. One of my memorable Church experiences took place shortly after I graduated from Primary. One day, my parents told me that Brother Jim Barton, the deacons quorum advisor, had called and wanted to meet with me at our home. No one had ever made an appointment with me before, so I was quite excited—and a little nervous.
When Brother Barton arrived at our home, he sat down with my whole family, which included my parents, my younger brother, and me. He talked about the importance of Church callings and explained to my family about my new calling as the president of the deacons quorum. He asked my parents and my brother if they could support me in that calling. They said that they would.
We talked about the importance of service and of Church callings, and the responsibilities I would have as president of my quorum. Brother Barton testified that the Lord had called me, and he outlined the keys that I would hold in this new calling.
His visit took about an hour, and it made a huge impression on me. I was deeply impressed by the importance of Church callings—of any Church calling. I was also impressed that an adult would take the time and make the effort to help someone so young understand. That one experience set the tone for every Church calling that followed. It also set a pattern for me as I have extended Church callings to others. There is no small Church calling, and the Lord needs us to do our part and do it as well as we can, to share the gospel with others, and to help the Church run smoothly.

I had always had a feeling that I’d serve my mission in Switzerland where my ancestors once lived. So when I got my call to Italy in 1970, I was surprised but excited. In the language training mission (now called the missionary training center), I found out that southern Switzerland, where my ancestors came from, was actually part of my mission. I knew Heavenly Father called me to that specific place for a reason.
Partway through my mission, my companion and I were assigned to be zone leaders over an area that included southern Switzerland—and we had a car.
We went to my family’s village, Vergeletto, and looked up one of my cousins. He showed us around and introduced us to the parish priest, who, upon request, showed us the books of vital records for the area. We then returned home, but a seed had been planted in me that would grow throughout my mission.
With just a month left on my mission, I felt like I needed to take action and find my family’s records before I returned home. I prayed to know if there was something more I could do, and I felt a distinct prompting from the Spirit telling me that I needed to get a copy of those vital records that I had seen months ago. I told my mission president that I felt like I needed to return to my family’s village in Switzerland and explained why. The village was 87 miles (140 km) away, but my mission president gave me permission to go anyway.
It was dusk when the narrow winding road took us up the mountain into the hamlet of Vergeletto. We stopped at the focal point of town, the Catholic church. My companion and I were then drawn to the cemetery across the street from the church that was all lit up with candles.
As we entered the cemetery, I clearly and strongly felt the Spirit guide me like I never had before. That feeling and the fresh alpine air created a sensation I will never forget. In the cemetery, it seemed that every other tombstone had my last name on it. We even saw my great-grandfather’s tomb; it said people went to him to repair their broken bones.
We returned to the church to see if we could find the priest. There we met an old man, who told us it was Il Giorno dei Morti, or a holiday known as the Day of the Dead (which would explain all the candles in the cemetery). The man told us that the priest had services in neighboring villages and would be back in two hours.
My companion and I waited, and when the priest returned, I reminded him of our encounter a few months earlier and then asked if I could see the vital records of the parish again.
He agreed.
The priest brought out a box of books that were hundreds of years old. I told the priest that our Church was microfilming parish records in Parma, Italy, 170 miles (274 km) away. I asked if he would allow us to take the records for a few weeks and have them copied.
He again agreed. I was shocked.
As we left town, I marveled at what had just happened and even checked the rearview mirror to see if the priest was running after us with a change of heart. Two weeks later, we returned the records to him, as promised.
Due to the penmanship, the use of Latin, and the deterioration, the records were hard to read. But then, just a few years ago, I noticed hundreds of records from Vergeletto had been linked to my ancestors in FamilySearch. Family lines that used to only go out three to four generations now extended seven to nine generations!
It turns out a professional genealogist in Alabama, USA, who is not a member of the Church shares a branch of the global family tree with me. He had accessed and read the records from the books I had copied in Italy and attached them in FamilySearch. This man is amazing; we have since collaborated several times. He explained that uploading those names and sources is his way of paying back the Church for all their work in making records available in FamilySearch.
Now my dad’s side of my genealogy fan chart is full of names. And I’ve been blessed to do their temple work.
I’ve often looked back wondering why a Catholic priest would allow a young American—who was also a missionary for another faith—to take his collection of vital records out of the country for copying. Were my ancestors praying for me? Were they praying for the priest’s heart to be softened?
I don’t know—it could have been both those things. But I do know that Heavenly Father can help bring about miracles when we seek His help. And as Elder Dale G. Renlund of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles has promised, family history work holds so many blessings for those on both sides of the veil: “God will strengthen, help, and uphold us; and He will sanctify to us our deepest distress. When we gather our family histories and go to the temple on behalf of our ancestors, God fulfills many of these promised blessings simultaneously on both sides of the veil.” 1 The Lord directs this work, and when you trust Him, He can work miracles for you and your family as you strive to gather Israel.

When I was in my 20s, I had to take a very hard exam to get into a prominent business school in France. I had been studying long hours every day for two years. But I always went to church and institute and fulfilled my Church responsibilities.
The most important part of the exam was the interview. I had an interview with one school, and when they found out I was a member of the Church, it didn’t go well.
Then I took the exam with the school I wanted to go to most. After some time in the interview, the interviewers started asking questions about what I did outside my studying hours. I knew that it was a go/no-go question for me. But I decided in a second I would be faithful to my principles.
I said, “I’m a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints,” and then I spent 15 minutes explaining what I did in the Church.
The director of the school said, “You know, I’m glad you said this. When I was a student, I studied in the United States, and one of my best friends was a Mormon. He was a great man, a very kind person. I consider the Mormons to be very good people.”
What a relief! I was one of the first candidates that year to be accepted to this school.

One of my great blessings is to live surrounded by people who have in difficult situations held fast to their faith and shown largeness of soul. I am referring to my wife, our parents, our children and their spouses, siblings, extended family, friends, and colleagues. I can tell you of my children, uprooted from one place amid difficult family circumstances and thrust into new schools, who drifted at first toward the easy crowd who seemed to accept them, until they recognized that that crowd was taking them places they didn’t want to go, and they had the courage to seek out new friends. That took an ability to see the end of a story from the middle and to change direction.

I’m going to tell you about the time I was chosen to be on the Belchertown, Massachusetts, all-star basketball team. Basketball season had just ended, and my team had been fantastic! We’d lost only one game and won ten! The best players among all the teams were chosen for the all-star team by the recreational department.
When I was told that they wanted me to be an all-star, I was so excited that I couldn’t believe it! Then they said that most of the games were on Sundays but were scheduled for the afternoons so that people could go to church in the mornings.
My parents said that I could make the decision whether or not to be on the all-star team, but they reminded me of our family goal to follow the prophet. I knew that President Hinckley would expect me to make the right decision and keep the Sabbath Day holy. I called the recreation department and thanked them for asking me to be on the all-star team, then told them that I wasn’t going to play on Sundays because of my religious beliefs.
I really wanted to be on the all-star team and was so disappointed that the games were on Sunday. But I know that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ are happy with me, and I know that I did make the right choice.

Many years ago 11-year-old Cori sat in front of the television listening to general conference. When she was younger, she drew pictures, but today she was listening closely for the things the prophet wanted her to do. President Ezra Taft Benson (1899–1994) asked everyone to read the scriptures, go to the temple, spend more time with their families on Sunday, and have family home evening. Cori knew that if she followed the prophet, she could help make her family stronger. Today Cori knows that following the prophet’s counsel increased her family’s love for one another and for Jesus Christ.

Early one summer morning in 1839, an eleven-year-old boy tiptoed quietly out of his house. The grass was still wet with dew as he hurried across the town square. He headed for the harbor, where he asked a man with a boat to row him out to the three-masted ship anchored nearby. The ship, the Coralie, was sailing that morning for the Indies, and young Jules Verne was running away to sea.
But Jules didn’t get very far. Before it reached the Atlantic Ocean, the Coralie put into the port of Piamboeuf, where Jules’s father caught up with the ship. In angry silence Pierre Verne took Jules home. At home the silence ended. While Jules’s mother cried, his father scolded. Jules was spanked, given bread and water for supper, and sent to bed.
The next morning Jules promised his family that in the future he would travel only in his imagination. It was a promise that would take him far. For in his imagination, Jules Verne traveled not only around the world, but to the center of the earth, to the bottom of the sea, to the moon, and far into the future. And through the many books he wrote, he shared his journeys with the rest of us. We, too, can go with Professor Aronnox and Captain Nemo aboard the submarine Nautilus in Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea, with Axel in his Journey to the Center of the Earth, and with Phileas Fogg in his hectic trip Around the World in Eighty Days.

Even before the reunification of Germany, while members in the GDR were still cut off from the rest of the Church, Brother Richter of Chemnitz (then Karl-Marx-Stadt) did not feel removed from his fellow Saints.
While serving as a member of the Dresden mission presidency during this time, Brother Richter had to request permission for a Church meeting; religious gatherings needed official sanction before they could be held. The government authority in charge refused permission, saying he disliked the Church because it was American and because its members no longer needed the government due to the care and support the Church afforded them. He believed the Church had no place in the GDR.
“Our Church is international,” said Brother Richter in reply. “You can put me on a parachute and just drop me somewhere—anywhere in the world—and I will be perfectly at home in the next LDS chapel. Can you do the same?” The official didn’t know how to answer and ended up giving permission for the meeting.

Jacob and Abby walked to their car in the church parking lot. Their mom and younger sister, Sylvie, were waiting for them. Mom looked tired. She was going to have a baby soon, and Jacob knew she felt tired a lot.
“I’ll be glad when your dad gets home from his work trip on Tuesday,” Mom said.
“Me too,” Jacob said.
“I’m hungry,” Sylvie said.
Jacob was hungry too.
“I don’t know what we’re going to have for lunch,” Mom said. “I didn’t feel well yesterday, and I didn’t go to the store like I planned to.” She sighed. “I think we might need to go out for lunch today.”
“Really?” Abby said.
“Just this once,” Mom said. “We’ll go through the drive-through. I’m too tired to cook.”
Jacob sat in the back of the car, feeling confused. His family didn’t go out to eat very often, and it was a real treat. But he was thinking about something he had learned in Primary a few weeks ago. He learned about keeping the Sabbath day holy. His teacher said that Sunday is the Lord’s day and that the prophets have said we shouldn’t go to stores, restaurants, or movies on Sunday. Jacob knew he had promised to keep the commandments. But he really didn’t want to miss out on lunch. And it wasn’t as if they did this all the time.
As they got closer to the restaurant, Jacob didn’t like the way he was feeling. He said a silent prayer that he would know what to do.
They pulled up to the drive-through. Mom rolled down the window and said, “I’d like a cheeseburger and a salad please.”
Then Abby and Sylvie gave their orders. Jacob was next.
“Jacob, what do you want?” Mom asked.
In a quiet voice, Jacob said, “Nothing.”
Mom looked surprised. “Aren’t you hungry?”
“I just don’t want anything,” Jacob said.
There was silence in the car, and then Abby said, “I think Jacob doesn’t want to break the Sabbath.”
Mom turned around and looked at Jacob. “Well,” she said, “Jacob is right.” She turned back to the window and said, “We’ve changed our minds. We’re going home for lunch.”
“You mean I don’t get my hamburger?” Sylvie asked as they drove away.
“You get something better,” Mom said. “You get to keep the commandments and honor the Lord’s day. We can have eggs and toast at home. That will be quick and good.”
“Maybe later Abby and I can make some cookies,” Jacob said.
“That would be fine,” Mom said. “But I’ve already had a treat today. I’ve had a reminder that we can always choose the right, even when other people are doing something they shouldn’t. You set a good example for our family today, Jacob. I’m proud of you.”
Jacob smiled as they drove home. The confused feeling was gone. He knew that what he felt now was better than any restaurant lunch.

The war in Europe had ended in May 1945. But months later, even though Christmas was approaching, the dreary nightmare of years of destruction still stretched a shadowy hand over much of Europe. Austria’s beautiful city of Vienna, on the River Danube, lay largely in ruin.
Famous public monuments like Saint Stephen’s Cathedral, the opera house, and the great theater were virtually destroyed. It was still a time of digging out and starting over.
It was also a time of want. Food, clothing, and clean drinking water were scarce. Nearly 270,000 citizens of Vienna were homeless. Bombed-out buildings loomed over streets full of holes. And Vienna was a city divided, with Allied forces each patrolling the areas under their jurisdiction. People didn’t go out at night; there was still a lot of fear in the air.
A number of Latter-day Saints were stationed in the American sector. Local Church members made contact with us and invited us to attend services they were organizing, which we did with joy. We were happy to see them and glad for the fellowship. As Christmas approached, we Americans wrote home to our families and suggested they send us food and other presents we could share with our fellow members of the Church.
A plan was laid out so that all of the Austrian members would have servicemen visit them to celebrate Christ’s birth. Captain Gibson and I were assigned to spend an evening with the branch president’s family.
Captain Gibson had been there before, but I had not. As we drove across the bridge over the River Danube, I saw that the damage on the eastern side of the city, which included much of the port area, was particularly heavy. Vacant ruins gave no indication of street names or house numbers. There were no street lights to help us find directions.
After several minutes, however, Captain Gibson said, “Stop here,” and I did.
He leaned out of the vehicle, cupped his hands around his mouth, and clearly, firmly whistled the Primary song, “Jesus Wants Me for a Sunbeam.”
We waited. The dark, empty street was terrifying. I had misgivings about being in the wrong location. I didn’t know what would happen. I didn’t know if we’d ever get back.
Then, across the street and three floors up, shutters on a window opened. In soft, clear notes that sweet little tune was whistled again, and when I heard it my fears left me. It was the response we’d arranged ahead of time. We were to whistle a Church song and the members were to whistle a response if everything was all right.
A minute later we heard footsteps, then saw the branch president’s daughter running across the street, accompanied by a trusted neighbor. They opened a gate to an inner courtyard, and we drove our vehicle in off the street. They closed the gate behind us and locked it.
The branch president’s daughter was obviously excited. She nearly danced up the three flights of stairs, where we met her parents and another daughter. We looked around the meagerly furnished apartment. Though the family was in very poor circumstances, it was, after all, Christmas Eve, and the table was set for dinner.
We feasted on love and companionship more than the food. We feasted on the knowledge that God’s son was born into a weary world to bring it hope and light. We feasted on the firm belief that with war’s end the gospel would again be preached in Europe and that the Saints would again be free to gather and worship.
We sang the songs the Saints all sing, hymns and Christmas carols. The family gave us each a handmade Christmas card. We gave them some food and clothing. Together we knelt in a prayer of thanks, and then Captain Gibson and I returned to our quarters, enriched and strengthened.
That was many years ago, and the horrors of postwar Europe seem long past and far away. Vienna is once again the beautiful city on the Danube, where Saint Stephen’s Cathedral and the other famous buildings all rebuilt, stand as monuments to man’s commitment to overcome the bombs and flames of war.
Even now, though, whenever I hear “Jesus Wants Me for a Sunbeam”—especially when it’s almost Christmas—my mind is filled with memories of a dark street where a gentle whistle reminded me that wherever the Saints gather, there is always faith, rejoicing, fellowship, and hope.

One of my favorite books is the British classic Jane Eyre, written by Charlotte Brontë and published in 1847. The main character, Jane Eyre, is a penniless, teenage orphan who exemplifies what it means to be true. In this fictional account, a man, Mr. Rochester, loves Miss Eyre but is unable to marry her. Instead, he begs Miss Eyre to live with him without the benefit of marriage. Miss Eyre loves Mr. Rochester as well, and for a moment she is tempted, asking herself, “Who in the world cares for you? or who will be injured by what you do?”
Quickly Jane’s conscience answers: “I care for myself. The more solitary, the more friendless, the more unsustained I am, the more I will respect myself. I will keep the law given by God. … Laws and principles are not for the times when there is no temptation: they are for such moments as this. … If at my individual convenience I might break them, what would be their worth? They have a worth—so I have always believed. … Preconceived opinions, foregone determinations, are all I have at this hour to stand by: there I plant my foot.”8
In a desperate moment of temptation, Jane Eyre was true to her beliefs, she trusted in the law given by God, and she planted her foot in resistance to temptation.

Over time we brought in more friends, including Cameron, a member of the Church from California who joined the group a few months after we started. Cameron and Josh clicked immediately, which accelerated Josh’s interest in the Church. By summer, there was no question he would join the Church. That only strengthened our dedication to meet week after week, as we understood intuitively what Elder Gary E. Stevenson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles would say in general conference less than a year later: “By sharing our positive experiences in the gospel with others, we take part in fulfilling the Savior’s great commission [to ‘teach all nations’ (Matthew 28:19)].”2
By July, Josh had set a baptism date, so Cameron flew across the country to Massachusetts to baptize a man he had only previously met on Zoom. It was also wonderful to see Eddie and Jack show up to witness the ordinance. “Of course I’m coming,” Jack had said earlier in the week when I asked him if he planned to go. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.” Jack, a college kid with lots of other things on his mind in the waning days of summer, left home in southern Connecticut by 7:00 a.m. to support his new friend in an adventure neither of them could have described a year earlier.
Eighteen months after his baptism, Josh—now Elder Keaton—is proudly serving a mission in Sacramento, California.

While in Guadalajara, Mexico, Sister Yee learned about and saw so many incredible examples of sisters acting according to those sympathies as they sought to meet a local need.

One such sister was Sister Pulido, who saw a need at a local hospital to help families and individuals who came from far away and needed food and clothing while they waited for treatment. She gathered 120 Relief Society sisters, several missionaries, and others in the community to find donations of food, water, blankets, and clothing. About 1,500 people donated goods, and the sisters and others prepared lunches and food for nearly 1,200 people. The goods were given to those who were waiting their turn for treatment at the hospital.

This sister said she was doing this because she had compassion for these people. With tears in her eyes, she humbly explained that she had been one of those individuals waiting in the hospital as her husband came and went for cancer treatment. She said her greatest blessing and desire is to minister as the Savior would.

When our son Eli was in fourth grade, his class set up a mock government where he was elected by his peers to serve as class judge. One day a sitting judge from the Utah Second District Court visited, put his official robes on Eli, and then administered an oath of office for their class. This ignited in Eli’s young, impressionable soul a passion for studying law and the Lawgiver Himself, Jesus Christ.
After years of diligent effort, Eli received an invitation for an interview with one of his top choices for law school. He pronounced, “Mom, I was asked 10 questions. The final question was, ‘Where do you derive your moral compass?’ I stated that throughout history humankind has derived systems of morality by patterning their lives from archetypes. The archetype of morality I strive to pattern my life from is that of Jesus Christ. I stated if all of humanity abided by the teachings of Jesus Christ in the Sermon on the Mount, the world would be a better, more peaceful place.” Then the interview ended, and he thought to himself, “There go my childhood dreams. No one in secular academia wants to hear about Jesus Christ.”
Two weeks later, Eli was admitted with a scholarship. Before committing, we visited the campus. The law school looked like a castle and was set high on a hill overlooking a beautiful lake. Remarkably, as we walked through the magnificent library and stately corridors, we found on banners and carved in stone attributes from the Sermon on the Mount.