Gospel Story Finder

Eric was different from the other children and he knew it. But he wasn’t sure whether he liked being different. He often thought about it when he woke up early in the morning and had to stay in bed and be quiet so he wouldn’t wake up his brothers. Sometimes he would turn on his lamp and read. Other times he would lie in the dark and listen to the cars and trucks whizzing by on the highway or to the roosters crowing. Then he would think about how far away the cars and the rooster were and why he could hear them so well in the morning, when he never even noticed them in the daytime while he played.
Sometimes Eric would think about his curly red hair and how the other children called him “Red, Red, the Fire Head” and how he had to share a room with his three brothers instead of having a room all by himself like his friend Andy Rogers. Those were times he didn’t like being different.
It wasn’t just his red hair and waking up early that made Eric different. And it wasn’t just having seven brothers and sisters when his friends had only one or two.
Eric was the only one in his school class who went to Primary and the only one in his neighborhood who couldn’t play boisterous games on Sunday.
Mostly, Eric decided, it wasn’t much fun to be different, but lately he was thinking about something else. In two weeks it would be his birthday and he’d be eight years old. Sometimes when he’d wake up in the mornings, he’d think about being baptized. He tried to imagine how it would be when he put on the white clothes and walked down the steps into the water. He could picture his dad standing in the water waiting for him and holding out his hand for Eric to take. This thought made Eric feel good.
One day on the way home from school Eric talked to Andy about being baptized. “Are you going to be baptized when you’re eight?” he asked his friend.
“I don’t think so,” Andy replied. “I don’t know much about those things.” Eric thought, I am different again!
Then Andy asked, “Will you be baptized when you’re eight?”
Eric looked at Andy for a moment and decided, Andy won’t tease me if I tell him about it because he’s a good friend. “Yes, I will,” Eric answered. “In two weeks it will be my eighth birthday. And that’s old enough to be baptized. I can hardly wait.”
Then an exciting idea came to Eric. “Andy,” he asked, “would you like to come to my baptism. My dad’s going to baptize me. I get to wear all white clothes and sit on the front row with my dad. You could come and bring your dad, too, if you’d like.”
When Eric’s baptism date finally came, his whole family went with him. Andy and Andy’s dad, Mr. Rogers, were there too.
Before the baptism all the people participated in a brief service. First there was a song and then a talk about Jesus being baptized and about the importance of following Him.
Jesus was different too, Eric realized. It was a very comforting thought.
When it was time to be baptized, everything happened just like Eric had imagined. But now he could really feel Dad’s strong hand reach out for his. He could feel the cool water pushing softly against his waist. For a few minutes Eric didn’t think of anything at all except the sound of his dad’s voice and the warmth of his dad’s hand and the cool water all around him.
After the baptism and after he and Dad had changed clothes, Eric shook hands with everyone and his mother gave him a tight hug. Then Eric and his dad walked to the back of the room to see Andy and Mr. Rogers, who were both looking pleased. Dad shook hands with Mr. Rogers and said, “Thanks for coming, Frank.”
Mr. Rogers waited a moment before he answered. “It was my pleasure,” he said. “It was a lot different than I expected. I’m glad we were here to see it.”
Then he turned to Eric and shook his hand. And Eric knew that something very important had happened not only to him but to Andy and his father too. And then Eric knew that in some ways it was good to be different.

I have learned, as I have mentioned in previous messages, never to postpone a prompting. On one occasion many years ago, I was swimming laps at the old Deseret Gym in Salt Lake City when I felt the inspiration to go to the University Hospital to visit a good friend of mine who had lost the use of his lower limbs because of a malignancy and the surgery which followed. I immediately left the pool, dressed, and was soon on my way to see this good man.

When I arrived at his room, I found that it was empty. Upon inquiry I learned I would probably find him in the swimming pool area of the hospital, an area which was used for physical therapy. Such turned out to be the case. He had guided himself there in his wheelchair and was the only occupant of the room. He was on the far side of the pool, near the deep end. I called to him, and he maneuvered his wheelchair over to greet me. We had an enjoyable visit, and I accompanied him back to his hospital room, where I gave him a blessing.

I learned later from my friend that he had been utterly despondent that day and had been contemplating taking his own life. He had prayed for relief but began to feel that his prayers had gone unanswered. He went to the pool with the thought that this would be a way to end his misery—by guiding his wheelchair into the deep end of the pool. I had arrived at a critical moment, in response to what I know was inspiration from on high.

My friend was able to live many more years—years filled with happiness and gratitude. How pleased I am to have been an instrument in the Lord’s hands on that critical day at the swimming pool.

I had been serving with the U.S. Army in Vietnam for two years. Vietnam has two seasons, hot and dry and hot and wet. This morning was hot and wet, just as each previous day had been for the past several weeks. I was sitting in a shallow ditch, too tired to care about the mud oozing into my army boots or the stench of the blood stained water around my feet. Sweat was pouring down my brow, soaking my shirt. The oppressive heat made breathing laborious.
I had spent the past three weeks on patrol operations. Now, with those of my colleagues still alive, I was waiting by a loading zone for helicopters to take us back to base camp.
I thought of the past few days—of my friends who had died, of the pain of those who hadn’t, and of how tired I was of everything. We had had weeks of constant patrol, chasing enemy troops by day and praying at night that they wouldn’t come looking for us. But they always did.
I instinctively crouched deeper into the ditch as a bullet whined overhead. An enemy sniper had started shooting, so this was no time to be careless. Our guards were scanning the jungle, but they had not yet spotted the source of the rifle fire.
The roar of helicopters filled the air and three of them landed some ten meters behind me. Their machine guns opened up to keep the enemy occupied. Fresh troops, our replacements, scrambled off the helicopters and into the ditch as our wounded were loaded aboard. The entire exchange lasted only seconds, and then the helicopters were gone. The next flight would be for us. “Just a little longer,” I thought to myself as I tried to control the urge to stand up and stretch my cramped legs.
In the silence broken only by muffled conversation and occasional gunfire, I became aware of someone whistling a familiar tune. What was that song? It seemed to calm my fears and shut out the war. I listened intently and looked around to see a soldier sitting about a meter away. I couldn’t make out his name tag; he was another private from the company that had just arrived. He continued to whistle—and then I recognized the tune, “We Thank Thee, O God, for a Prophet.”
I quickly crawled over to him and asked if he was a Latter-day Saint and if he held the priesthood. He said yes, and my heart skipped a beat; I had not been in touch with another Church member since I had attended the Saigon Branch several months before. I asked if he was worthy to bless the sacrament, and he told me that he was.
It was the Sabbath; I knew that only because of the day and date feature on my watch. I had an army ration biscuit and a canteen of water, so I asked if he would help me with the sacrament. He nodded and we crawled out of the ditch—out of sight of the other soldiers—into the tall grass and bamboo.
I pulled from my pocket my serviceman’s copy of Principles of the Gospel that my bishop had given me when I had received my draft notice. I offered my helmet, upturned, for our table, and the soldier produced a clean white handkerchief for the sacrament cloth. Kneeling with my new companion in the mud, I unwrapped the biscuit and broke and blessed it. While I prayed, he watched the jungle with his rifle ready. We served each other. Then he laid down his weapon, took the canteen cup of water, and blessed it while I guarded him.
Never in my life has the bread of the sacrament tasted so sweet and the water so pure as it did that day, nor has my soul been so strengthened by the ordinance. We clasped hands, then quickly crawled back to the protection of the ditch. Immediately, the noise of the helicopters again filled the air, and I was up and running for the loading zone with my colleagues. I turned and looked back, my fear had left me. My brother-in-the-gospel smiled and waved. I climbed aboard the helicopter, and we were gone.
I never asked that soldier’s name, nor he mine, but in those brief moments we forged a bond to last throughout eternity. Another member of the Church had rescued my soul from the horror and despair of war. Partaking of the sacrament in the jungle had brought me closer to the Lord than I had ever been before.
Through a gospel ordinance, we had found peace.

Let me illustrate with a personal and treasured experience. For many years my assignments took me into that part of Germany which was behind what was called the Iron Curtain. Under Communist control, those who lived in that area of Germany had lost nearly all of their freedoms. Activities of youth were restricted; all actions were monitored.
Shortly after I assumed my responsibilities for that area, I attended a most uplifting conference held in that part of Germany. Following the inspirational songs and the spoken word, I felt the impression to meet briefly outside of the old building with the precious teenage youth. They were relatively few in number but listened to every word I spoke. They had hungered for the word and encouragement of an Apostle of the Lord.
Prior to attending the conference, before leaving the United States, I felt the prompting to buy three cartons of chewing gum. I purchased three flavors: Doublemint, Spearmint, and Juicy Fruit. Now, as the gathering of the youth was concluded, I distributed carefully to each youth two sticks of gum—something they had never before tasted. They received the gift with joy.
The years went by. I returned to Dresden—the site of our earlier conference. Now we had chapels; now the people had freedom. They had a temple. Germany was no longer separated by political boundaries but had become one nation. The youth were now adults with children of their own.
Following a large and inspirational conference, a mother and her daughter sought me out to speak to me. The daughter, who was about your age and who spoke some English, said to me, “President Monson, do you remember long ago holding a brief gathering of youth following a district conference, where you gave to each boy and each girl two sticks of chewing gum?”
I responded, “Oh, yes, I surely do remember.”
She continued, “My mother was one to whom you gave that gift. She told me that she rationed in little pieces one stick of gum. She mentioned how sweet to the taste it was and so precious to her.” Then, under the approving smile of her dear mother, she handed to me a small box. As I opened the lid of the box, there I beheld the other stick of gum, still with its wrapper after nearly 20 years. And then she said, “My mother and I want you to have this,” she said.
The tears flowed; embraces followed.
The mother then spoke to me: “Before you came to our conference so many years ago, I had prayed to my Heavenly Father to know that He indeed cared about me. I saved that gift so that I might remember and teach my daughter that Heavenly Father does hear our prayers.”
I hold before you tonight that gift—even a symbol of faith and assurance of the heavenly help our Father and His Son, Jesus Christ, will provide you.

Fatima skipped down the street. She was walking home from school with Mamá. She hummed a song while she skipped.
“Ms. Lopez asked us to learn a song,” said Fatima. “Can you teach me one?”
Mamá smiled. “Of course!”
When they got home, Mamá and Fatima sang songs together. They sang lots of songs. But they hadn’t sung her favorite one.
“Can I sing a Primary song?” Fatima asked.
“Sure,” Mamá said.
Fatima sang “Families Can Be Together Forever.” She practiced the words with Mamá. Then she sang it alone. She sang it until she got all the words right.
At school, Fatima was excited to share her song with her class.
“Does someone want to share their song?” Ms. Lopez said.
Fatima raised her hand. “I will!”
She stood up and smiled. “I have a family here on earth. They are so good to me,” she sang.
While she sang, Fatima felt happy. And she remembered the whole song! Everyone in her class clapped.
After class, Mamá came to pick up Fatima. Ms. Lopez spoke to Mamá.
“She sang a beautiful song. And she didn’t seem scared at all.”
Fatima smiled. So did Mamá.
“We sing beautiful songs every week at church!” Fatima said.
“You can come with us anytime,” Mamá said.
Ms. Lopez smiled. “Thank you.”
Fatima sang as she walked home with Mamá. She liked sharing a song with her class. Singing made her feel happy.
This story took place in Guatemala.

Among the lessons taught me by my father was gratitude for what it meant to be a General Authority. Some years ago Father, then over eighty years of age, was expecting a visit from a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles on a snowy winter day. Father, an artist, had painted a picture of the home of the Apostle. Rather than have the painting delivered to him, this sweet Apostle wanted to go personally to pick the painting up and thank my father for it. Knowing that Father would be concerned that everything was in readiness for the forthcoming visit, I dropped by his home. Because of the depth of the snow, snowplows had caused a snowbank in front of the walkway to the front door. Father had shoveled the walks and then labored to remove the snowbank. He returned to the house exhausted and in pain. When I arrived, he was experiencing heart pain from overexertion and stressful anxiety. My first concern was to warn him of his unwise physical efforts. Didn’t he know what the result of his labor would be?
“Robert,” he said through interrupted short breaths, “do you realize an Apostle of the Lord Jesus Christ is coming to my home? The walks must be clean. He should not have to come through a snowdrift.” He raised his hand, saying, “Oh, Robert, don’t ever forget or take for granted the privilege it is to know and to serve with Apostles of the Lord.”

Being prompted to go on a mission wasn’t the first time Chris asked for and received the Lord’s guidance in his life. He was 16, had just split from a skating partner, and was having a hard time. “My dad gave me a blessing, and he told me the Spirit would be with me and would comfort me,” he says.
After the blessing, Chris was prompted to read D&C 58. Verses two through seven have made a big difference in his life. “I thought they were written exactly for me,” he says. “Everything in those verses has come to pass in my life and is still coming to pass. Those verses have given me so much comfort.”
Trying to obey the counsel he received in D&C 58, Chris is serving a mission when the Lord asked him to, and he is ready to bear testimony of the Savior and the gospel in the Baltic states. He knows he will have more difficulties than toe picks and changing partners there, but he also knows that when he asks for guidance, the Lord will answer.

“Mom!” Lizzie shouted. “Max keeps tickling me! Even when I told him not to.”
“I do not!” Max shouted back. “I only tickled her a little bit. And she was poking me!”
“Kids!” Mom called down the hall. “I thought we were going to build a blanket fort. Stop fighting and come help.”
Lizzie darted away and ran to the family room. But Max was still grumpy.
Why is Lizzie such a tattletale? he wondered as he dragged his feet. Tickling’s fun, isn’t it? Besides, Lizzie always pokes me, and I don’t like that either.
When Max got to the family room, Mom had already pulled out a pile of blankets. He reached for his favorite yellow one, but Lizzie grabbed it first.
He yanked it out of her hands. “That’s mine!”
“Give it back!” Lizzie snatched up a pillow and hit him on the arm.
“Stop!” yelled Max. But Lizzie just whacked him on the other arm.
“Whoa, whoa, kids!” said Mom. “This isn’t how we build a fort.” She sat down on a couch cushion on the floor and pulled Max and Lizzie down next to her. “Let’s all take a deep breath.”
Max looked behind Mom and glared at Lizzie. Then he took a sort-of deep breath.
Mom put her arms around Max and Lizzie. “If someone’s doing something you don’t like and they don’t stop, how does that make you feel?”
“Not good,” said Lizzie quietly.
“Yeah,” said Mom. “Poking and tickling and pillow fights are only fun when everyone’s having fun. We respect each other by stopping when we’re asked to stop.”
“But it’s just tickling,” said Max.
“Well, it might just be tickling to you. But it might really bother Lizzie,” said Mom. “Heavenly Father gave us each amazing bodies to take care of and protect. And that means it’s OK to say ‘stop!’”
“So no more poking?” Lizzie asked.
“I hate being poked!” Max said to Mom. “What if we made a new family rule? When someone doesn’t want to be touched and says ‘stop,’ we stop right away.”
“That’s an excellent idea,” Mom said. “What do you think, Lizzie?”
Lizzie smiled. “I like it, especially if that means no tickling too.”
“Good,” said Mom. “If someone’s touching you, and you don’t like it, you can tell them no.”
“Even if you are the one bothering us?” Max grinned.
“Yup. Even if it’s me or Dad or Lizzie or a friend—stop means stop. And if they don’t listen and touch you anyway, you can tell me or Dad right away.”
“But isn’t that tattling?” Lizzie asked.
“It’s not tattling,” Mom said. “And you should tell even if the other person says not to.”
“Does this mean I don’t have to hug Aunt Mindy when she comes?” Lizzie asked. “She hugs too tight, and I don’t like it.”
Mom smiled. “Yeah, Mindy’s hugs are pretty strong. You can just wave goodbye instead and say ‘no thank you’ if she wants to hug. It’s OK. There are people I don’t like to hug either.”
Max made his eyes look big and sad. “Does that mean you don’t like hugging us?”
Mom just laughed and pulled Lizzie and Max into a big hug. “No, silly, you are my very favorite people to hug. Now let’s finish our fort!”
They stood the couch cushions up to make walls. Then they pulled over the kitchen chairs and draped blankets across them. Lizzie and Max crawled inside and pushed another cushion into the entrance to make a door.
Lizzie smiled and reached out to poke Max.
“Stop,” Max said, and Lizzie’s finger stopped right in front of him. He grinned and stuck his finger out, ready to poke her back. “OK. Now go.”

The fact that President Kasue and other Chyulu Church leaders have hungered to learn more has contributed to the strength of the Church here. When President Brown invited all priesthood leaders to attend leadership meetings in Nairobi, he did not expect those from Chyulu to attend because of the distance and cost of travel. However, 11 brethren from Chyulu arrived early on the morning of the meeting. They had walked 20 kilometers to catch a train at midnight and traveled all night. They attended the leadership meeting that day, with some of them requiring translators. That night they stayed with Church members, and the following day they traveled back to Chyulu, expressing deep gratitude for the privilege of being at the meetings.

On 11 February 2023, Cyclone Gabrielle raced through New Zealand’s Hawke’s Bay, and left in its wake destruction and suffering. The Nuhaka Primary School in the small Hawke’s Bay community of the same name suffered extensive damage and was finally declared uninhabitable.
But through a unique collaboration between The Church and the Ministry of Education, the school obtained a wonderful solution to this and moved into the Nuhaka meetinghouse to hold classes.
Nine months later, the school continued to thrive in the church meetinghouse-turned-school during the week and students have settled in, enjoying the benefits of meeting in a building that has been dedicated to the Saviour, Jesus Christ.
Principal Raelene McFarlane said the use of the Church’s meetinghouse has been an answer to many prayers in the small community. Nine months after the school moved into the building, the results couldn’t have been better.

Illustrations by Kevin Keele
It was a windy day. Nine-year-old Batbayar was walking home from the bus stop after school. He hugged his coat tighter in the wind. Luckily, it wasn’t far to his grandparents’ house, where he lived in Mongolia.
“Hi!” Batbayar said as he came inside.
“Welcome home,” Grandma said. “I made some khuushuur for a snack.”
“Thank you!” Batbayar reached for one of the warm, spicy Mongolian meat pies.
“Wait! Don’t eat any until the missionaries get here,” Grandpa said. “They’ll be coming any minute.”
Batbayar loved it when the missionaries from Grandma and Grandpa’s church came to visit. He always learned a lot from them. But there was just one problem.
“Will they ask me to read from the Book of Mormon again?” Batbayar asked. “Reading is hard for me.”
“That’s why they’re bringing another book today,” Grandma said.
“What book?” Batbayar said.
“You’ll see,” Grandpa said.
Soon the missionaries arrived. They ate Grandma’s delicious meat pies together. Then Batbayar said, “Grandma says you brought me a book.”
“I think you’ll like this book,” Sister Heitz said. “It has lots of pictures.”
Batbayar looked at the cover. Book of Mormon Stories, it said. A picture on the cover showed people building a boat.
“I remember that story,” Batbayar said. “The man didn’t know how to build a boat. So he prayed. And God helped him.”
“That’s right,” Sister Enkhtuya said. “Will you try reading this book? Then you can pray and ask God if what it teaches is true.”
“I will,” Batbayar promised.
That night he read from the book with pictures. He read the story about the boat. Then he prayed. He fell asleep thinking about the man who built the boat and how God helped him.
From then on, each night Batbayar read a story. Then he prayed. And each night, he fell asleep thinking about what he read.
When the sister missionaries came again, they taught Batbayar more about Jesus Christ. Batbayar learned about prophets. He learned about God’s commandments. He kept going to church with Grandma and Grandpa. And he kept reading and praying.
One day Batbayar had something important to tell his grandparents. “When I read the stories in the book with pictures, my heart feels good,” he said. “When I pray, I feel they are true. I think I should be baptized.”
Today, Batbayar is a member of the Church. He has gotten better and better at reading. And he still reads the Book of Mormon every night!

One winter’s night during a particularly nasty snowstorm, there was a serious automobile accident in a small Idaho town not far from the Utah border. A young child was critically injured. I was an air ambulance pilot in the Salt Lake City area and was dispatched in a fixed-wing aircraft to pick her up and bring her back to Salt Lake.
The closest airport to the accident was in Pocatello, Idaho. While it would take us only about 45 minutes to fly from Salt Lake City to Pocatello, it would take the ambulance crew nearly three hours to transport the girl from the accident site to Pocatello because of hazardous driving conditions. Even though the air transport team would arrive well before the ambulance crew, the doctor in charge wanted us there early to transfer the little girl from the ambulance to the airplane without any delay, getting her on her way to a major trauma center.
The weather was bad; these were the absolute minimum conditions we could land in. A small commuter airliner was also on approach to Pocatello, about 10 minutes ahead of us. I listened intently to the other pilot’s radio communications, knowing we would encounter the same conditions. His approach was routine, until he should have been able to see the runway. It wasn’t visible, however, and he had to give up the approach and go around.
Now it was our turn. I was very concerned—what if we couldn’t get in and had to return without the injured girl? I quickly said a silent prayer. I told Heavenly Father if He wanted us to pick up that little girl I would need His help.
I began the descent. It seemed to take forever. I couldn’t see a thing except gray cloud and snow blowing horizontally past the windshield. I was quickly approaching the point where, like the commuter airliner, I would have to break off the approach. I waited until the last possible instant, and then suddenly the runway lights came into view. They were dim but good enough. I reduced the power and landed and offered a silent prayer of gratitude for the miracle I had just experienced.
As I taxied to our parking spot, two things were obvious—the storm wasn’t going to let up, and the company that usually provided us with deicing service and a hangar to protect the aircraft from the weather had closed for the evening.
A few minutes later the commuter airliner landed safely. Immediately the control tower closed and the controllers went home. After the passengers and crew of the commuter plane left, the ground staff locked up the airport terminal building and went home too. My colleagues and I were left with no way to deice the airplane or to put it in a hangar, and the snow was beginning to fall even harder. There was a very real possibility we would not be able to leave until the next morning.
The transport team and I decided it would be best to wait and see what conditions were like when the ambulance arrived. As I looked out the plane’s window, I could see the snow starting to stick to the commuter airliner, parked not far from where we were. Knowing it would be unsafe to attempt a takeoff with any amount of snow or ice on our airplane, I went outside. The snow was falling very hard and beginning to stick to our wings. I walked around to where I would be out of view and offered another prayer.
Time seemed to pass very slowly that evening. Occasionally I would look out at the snow accumulating steadily on the commuter plane, but I avoided going outside again to check our own wings.
After nearly two hours the ambulance arrived with the little girl. I opened the cabin door and got out. The commuter plane was covered with snow and ice. I turned around to see what condition our plane was in. Although I had tried to have faith and be optimistic, I am ashamed to say I was astounded by what I saw. Tears of gratitude welled up in my eyes as I walked around the airplane. It was clean and dry—absolutely no snow or ice anywhere on it. It looked as if it had just come out of a heated hangar. The snow had also stopped falling, and visibility had improved to the point where it would be possible to take off.
Heavenly Father had provided the miracles we needed that night to get a little girl to the hospital. It was a very humble pilot who bowed his head in gratitude that evening for the great blessings he had received.
The flight back to Salt Lake was completely routine. Certainly my prayers and the prayers of that girl’s family and friends had been answered. I never did hear what the little girl’s final outcome was, but my testimony of the overwhelming love and compassion our Father in Heaven has for His children was strengthened that winter night.

When I phoned my fiancée to wish her a happy birthday, she asked about my decision. I told her I had decided to go on a mission, but that I would like to talk with her when she came to see me in a few weeks. She insisted that we talk about it right then. Her sweet voice became choked as if something bitter were being swallowed against her will. We said good-bye.
I went to my room to pray to my Heavenly Father so she could understand and accept my decision. A little later the phone rang and that same sweet voice said with firmness, “Thank you for the birthday gift.” At first I thought she was being ironic, but then I realized she was sincere.

“You’re it!” Mandy said. She tagged her little brother and then swam away. Mandy’s family was staying in a motel until they could move to their new home. It was fun eating ravioli warmed up in the microwave for lunch. And they got to swim in the motel pool almost every day!
But there was one not-so-good part about the motel. The motel manager’s office was right under their room, and the manager thought Mandy and her brothers and sisters were too loud. “How can I rent rooms when it sounds like a herd of elephants are over my head?” he asked Dad.
After lunch Mandy’s little brother Aaron jumped off the bed and hit the floor with a thump. Mandy winced and looked up at Mom.
“No jumping. Tiptoe, please,” Mom said.
But it was too late. The phone rang.
“Uh oh,” thought Mandy.
Mom picked up the phone. Mandy could hear her apologizing to the manager.
Mom’s shoulders sagged as she hung up the phone. “Edward and Mandy,” she said, “I need to put Aaron and Emily down for a nap. Will you please take Kristine and Daniel for a walk?”
As they started across the motel parking lot, Mandy spotted something small and brown on the ground.
It was a wallet. And it had money in it!
“Look, Edward!” she said, holding the wallet up high.
“We need to take this to the manager’s office right away,” said Edward.
Mandy felt her stomach clench. Why did they have to take it right now? Couldn’t Mom or Dad return it later?
But Mandy knew the right thing to do.
The children opened the office door and timidly stepped inside. The manager frowned. “Um, we found this wallet in the parking lot,” Mandy said. Her hand shook as she set the wallet on the counter.
A man who was standing at the counter looked over. “That’s mine,” he said. He quickly looked through the wallet. “And everything’s here. Thank you, kids!”
Mandy looked up at the manager. His frown was gone, and his eyes were twinkling.
After they left the office, Daniel asked, “Was that wallet magic?”
“Why do you think it’s magic?” asked Edward.
“Because it made the grumpy man happy!”
Edward shook his head. “The wallet wasn’t magic,” he said. “He was happy because we did the right thing.”
Mandy had a special feeling inside. She never knew choosing the right could make people so happy.
A few days later, Mandy and Dad went to pay the week’s bill. The manager smiled at Mandy. He had only called once since they found the wallet, and just to thank them for being honest. Mandy felt like she’d made a new friend.
“Choosing the right really is magical,” Mandy thought. She waved goodbye, and the manager waved back. “And he really isn’t so grumpy after all.”

The heat was sweltering, and it was raining heavily. Still, the missionaries continued down the road, a mix of perspiration and rain rolling off their backs and faces. To their left and right were the humble houses of the people of Hong Kong.
As they walked, Elder Tavita Sagapolu seemed a giant. Standing 1.8 meters tall and weighing over 120 kilos, the former college football star, who was now a full-time missionary, towered over most of the people in this city. And now he discovered that he towered over their homes, too. The buildings came up only to his chin.
After approaching one of the houses, Tavita’s more experienced companion, who had been on his mission several months, turned to the young Samoan man and offered to let him knock on the door. This would be the first door Tavita would knock on since arriving in Hong Kong, and it would be an experience that he would remember throughout his life.
Tavita shook with nervousness as he prepared to knock. “My mouth went dry and refused to open,” he recalls. Nonetheless, he mustered the courage to approach the door, a door so small he had to kneel down to knock.
“As I was kneeling there, I forgot how strong I was. I didn’t even have to knock—my hand was shaking so much that all I had to do was put my arm up to the door.” Before Tavita knew what was happening, the door fell in under the weight of his arm. Panic swept through him as he tried to put the door back on its hinges before anyone came.
Suddenly, an elderly woman appeared at the door. When she opened it, it fell on her. She came out screaming. “I grabbed my companion and put him in front of me. I said to the woman, ‘Here, talk to him!’ The memory of that little old woman’s face after the door fell down will always be with me.” Now, when he recalls the episode, Tavita chuckles.

What does learning how to cut hair have to do with setting up stage lights?
“It’s all part of my plan,” says Lisa, a young adult now in her first year of college.
Lisa started cosmetology school at age 16. She even found a program that let her attend shorter days at high school so she could train at cosmetology school in the afternoons. The fact that she’s now at college studying theater tech doesn’t mean that the whole salon thing didn’t work out, either. In fact, everything is unfolding exactly how she’d hoped.
“I wanted to have a skill I could use to help pay for college,” Lisa says. “Plus, it lets me serve other people and save money on family haircuts for the rest of my life!”

I’ve had poor eyesight for as long as I can remember and have always needed the aid of prescription lenses to correct my vision. When I open my eyes every morning, the world appears very disorienting. Everything is out of focus, grainy, and distorted. Even my dear husband is more reminiscent of an abstract portrait than the well-loved and comforting figure he really is! My reflexive need, before I do anything else at the start of my day, is to reach for my glasses to help me make sense of my surroundings and enjoy a more vibrant experience as they help me navigate throughout my day.
Over the years, I’ve come to recognize that this behavior illustrates my daily dependence on two things: first, a tool that helps me to clarify, focus, and ground the world around me; and second, a need for tangible guidance to continually point me in the right direction. This simple, routine practice mirrors to me a significant observation about our relationship with our Savior, Jesus Christ.
In our lives that are often filled with questions, worries, pressures, and opportunities, our Savior’s love for us individually and as His covenant children and also His teachings and laws are available daily resources that we can depend on to be a “light which shineth, … enlighten[ing our] eyes [and] quicken[ing our] understandings.” As we seek for the blessings of the Spirit in our lives, we will be able to, as Jacob taught, see “things as they really are, and … as they really will be.”
As covenant children of God, we have been uniquely blessed with a rich supply of divinely appointed tools to improve our spiritual vision. The words and teachings of Jesus Christ as recorded in scripture and messages from His chosen prophets and His Spirit received through daily prayer, regular temple attendance, and the weekly ordinance of the sacrament can help to restore peace and provide the necessary gift of discernment that brings Christ’s light and His understanding to the corners of our life and in a world that may be cloudy. The Savior can also be our compass and our pilot as we steer through both the calm and the turbulent waters of life. He can make plain the correct path that leads us to our eternal destination. So what would He have us see, and where would He have us go?
Our dear prophet has taught that “our focus must be riveted on the Savior and His gospel” and that we must “strive to look unto Him in every thought.” President Nelson has also promised that “nothing invites the Spirit more than fixing your focus on Jesus Christ. … He will lead and guide you in your personal life if you will make time for Him in your life—each and every day.” Friends, Jesus Christ is both the purpose of our focus and the intent of our destination. To help us to remain fixed and heading in the right direction, the Savior invites us to see our lives through Him in order to see more of Him in our lives. I’ve come to learn more about this specific invitation through my study of the Old Testament.
The law of Moses was given to the early Israelites as a preparatory gospel, designed to ready the people for a higher covenant relationship with God through Jesus Christ. The law, rich with symbolism pointing believers to “look forward to the coming” and Atonement of Jesus Christ, was meant to help the people of Israel focus on the Savior by practicing faith in Him, His sacrifice, and His laws and commandments in their lives—it was intended to bring them to a greater understanding of their Redeemer.
Just as we are today, God’s ancient people were invited to see their lives through Him in order to see more of Him in their lives. But by the time of the Savior’s ministry, the Israelites had lost sight of Christ in their observances, setting Him aside and adding to the law unauthorized practices that had no instructive symbolism pointing to the true and only source of their salvation and redemption—Jesus Christ.
The everyday world of the Israelites had become disoriented and obscure. The children of Israel, in this state, believed that the practices and rituals of the law were the path to personal salvation and in part reduced the law of Moses to a set of protocols administered to rule civilian life. This required the Savior to restore focus and clarity to His gospel.
Ultimately a great portion of the Israelites rejected His message, even going so far as to accuse the Savior—He who gave the law and declared that He was “the law, and the light”—of breaking it. Yet Jesus in His Sermon on the Mount, speaking on the law of Moses, declared, “Think not that I am come to destroy the law, or the prophets: I am not come to destroy, but to fulfil.” Then the Savior, through His eternal Atonement, ended the codes, regulations, and ceremonial practices observed by the people of Israel at that time. His final sacrifice led the shift from sacrificial burnt offerings to our rendering of “a broken heart and a contrite spirit,” from the ordinance of sacrifice to the ordinance of sacrament.
President M. Russell Ballard, teaching on the subject, said, “In a sense, the sacrifice changed from the offering to the offerer.” When we bring our offering to the Savior, we are being invited to see more of Jesus Christ in our lives, as we humbly submit our will to Him in recognition and understanding of His perfect submission to the will of the Father. When we fix our sight on Jesus Christ, we recognize and we understand that He is the only source and way to receive forgiveness and redemption, even unto eternal life and exaltation.
As an early follower of the gospel, I encountered many who observed and perceived changes in my behaviors, practices, and choices after I joined the Church. They were curious about the “whys” of what they were seeing—why I chose to be baptized and join this congregation of believers, even The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints; why I refrain from certain practices on the Sabbath; why I’m faithful in keeping the Word of Wisdom; why I read the Book of Mormon; why I believe in and incorporate the teachings of modern-day prophets and apostles into my life; why I attend weekly Church meetings; why I invite others to “come and see, come and help, … come and stay,” and “come and belong.”
At the time, those questions felt overwhelming and, transparently, sometimes accusatory. But as I grappled with people’s scrutiny, I came to realize that their probing was, in fact, my first invitation to pick up and put on a pair of spiritual lenses to clarify, focus, and solidify what motivated my adherence to gospel practices and standards. What was the source of my testimony? Was I only carrying out “outward performances” without allowing those practices connected to God’s laws to “strengthen [my] faith in Christ” or to demonstrate understanding that Jesus Christ is the only source of power in my observances?
Through rigorous effort to look to and for Jesus Christ in my every thought and deed, my eyes were enlightened and my understanding quickened to recognize that Jesus Christ was calling for me to “come unto” Him. From this early season of discipleship in my youth, I can recall an invitation extended to me by the missionaries to join them as they taught the gospel to a group of young girls about my age. One evening, as we were seated in the family home of one of these young women, their tender question of why I believe pricked my heart and allowed me to testify to them with deepened understanding of the Lord’s vision about the spiritual motivations of my discipleship and has refined my testimony going forward.
I learned then, as I know now, that our Savior, Jesus Christ, directs our feet to meetinghouses each week to partake of His sacrament, to the house of the Lord to make covenants with Him, to the scriptures and teachings of prophets to learn of His words. He directs our mouths to testify of Him, our hands to lift and serve as He would lift and serve, our eyes to see the world and each other as He does—“as they really are, and … as they really will be.” And as we allow Him to direct us in all things, we receive testimony that “all things denote there is a God,” because where we look for Him we will find Him—each and every day. This I testify in the sacred name of Jesus Christ, amen.

It was a beautiful September day with a warm sun shining. It was only the beginning of the school year, but I was already anxious to finish high school and seminary forever.
“And this scripture I want you to mark with a star,” said Brother Eliason, my seminary teacher. It was Genesis 39:9 [Gen. 39:9], and I automatically marked the scripture, emphasizing “… how then can I do this great wickedness, and sin against God?” We went on to verse 12 [Gen. 39:12] and marked “… fled, and got him out.” Then I drew a star in the margin, which was Brother Eliason’s code for “Very Important Scripture.”
He told us about Joseph’s situation and how it took a great deal of strength for him to run away from Potiphar’s wife. Joseph knew he was in a situation where he needed to have made his decision beforehand. Then Brother Eliason said, “If you ever remember a scripture in your life, remember this one.”
Soon, that day was over, then that week, the month, and then the year. I was planning to go to college, but my plans changed drastically when my mother was diagnosed with cancer. She and my stepfather and I moved to a small apartment close to the hospital she needed.
My stepfather and I took turns driving Mom to the hospital. The medical treatment made her terribly sick, and soon she lost all of her hair. She had been a strong woman who had survived the death of her first husband and the problems of bringing two families together when she married my stepfather, so to see her so weak was very depressing for me.
I enrolled in a community college to take classes and get out of the house, and it was there that I met Ron. He was the friend I needed, and we soon started spending all of our time together. He was older, although he’d never been married, and he had a nice car, a house, and a boat. He was not a member of the Church.
It was easy to forget my problems at home when I was with him, because we did so many fun things together. He even came to church with me regularly. But soon he was suggesting that we spend the night together, since that was the way his relationships usually progressed. I repeatedly told him about my religious conviction against this, but he didn’t give up.
I needed a friend, and I mistakenly continued to see him. I started to weaken at the same time I knew being with him was wrong. I was weak and vulnerable, and it because easier to ignore the Spirit.
Then one night, in one of my weakest times, I started to rationalize. I believe that Ron loved me, and I knew he could take care of me. I suddenly felt very secure in his arms. Then I heard a voice in my head that said, “… fled, and got him out.” I was startled that I would remember that phrase after all that time. Then the voice seemed to come even louder, “… fled, and got him out.” Without another thought I literally fled from the room and the situation.
When my head cleared, I could see how close I had come to making a mistake that would have changed my life forever. I could see how Satan used my emotions to cloud my judgment, and I could also see how one scripture had saved my life.
I often wonder if Brother Eliason knew the impact of what he was teaching us on that ordinary fall day. I am thankful for him and for both a Heavenly Father and an earthly father who love me more than Ron ever did. And I’m thankful for the scriptures—especially for the one I remembered so well.

Marcella frowned as she tried to wiggle her toes in her shoes. The shoes were too small and they hurt, but she knew she shouldn’t complain. At six years old, she knew there was no money for new ones.
The past year had been hard for the Nelson family. In May, Marcella’s tiny baby sister had died of pneumonia. And just six weeks later, her father, Eric, had been killed in an accident at work. How she missed her gentle father.
Now Marcella’s mother was struggling to support her two young daughters with her sewing. Even though she was a skilled seamstress, there wasn’t enough money. The kitchen cupboards in their small home were practically bare. No, bigger shoes just weren’t an option right now.
“Time for breakfast,” Mother called. Marcella struggled not to limp in the tight shoes as she walked to the table.
“Oh, honey.” Her mother knelt at her side. “Those shoes are too small for you, aren’t they?” Marcella could hear the worry in her mother’s voice.
“A little.” Marcella tried to sound unconcerned. “It’s all right.”
“You’re trying to be brave,” Mother said gently. “But I can see they hurt. I will try to get you some new ones soon.”
“I want new shoes too!” piped up little Arvella.
Their mother picked Arvella up in a big hug. “You know your shoes are just fine,” she said. Arvella’s shoes were hand-me-downs from Marcella. They were worn, but at least they fit properly.
Arvella stuck her bottom lip out. “I want new shoes, too,” she repeated obstinately. Marcella and her mother smiled at each other. Arvella didn’t understand their difficult position, and somehow her innocence made them feel better. They talked and laughed as they ate breakfast and cleaned up.
Suddenly Mother became serious again. “Girls,” she said slowly, “we need to go to town today. I have $2.50.”
Marcella couldn’t believe it! That was a lot of money in Utah in 1905. “That’s great!” she exclaimed. She imagined the food they could buy to stock their empty shelves. Maybe she could even get new shoes!
Marcella’s smile faded when she saw the tears in her mother’s eyes. “We owe $2.50 for tithing,” she said softly. Then she gathered her girls around her. “I know we are almost out of food. I know that you need new shoes so badly, Marcella. But if we want the Lord to bless us, we must keep His commandments.”
Then she pulled out her worn Bible and turned to Malachi. She read to the girls the Lord’s promise that if they paid tithing, the windows of heaven would open to them.
“What does it mean that the windows of heaven will open?” Arvella asked.
“It means that Heavenly Father will bless us,” Mother said. “It says that we will receive such a great blessing that there won’t be room enough to receive it. I know that we need the Lord’s blessing now more than ever. I believe His promise.”
“I believe it, too,” Marcella said.
“Me too,” Arvella chimed in.
“Oh, you are good girls.” Mother pulled them close. “Let’s pray together, and then I am going to take this money straight to the bishop.”
The girls and Mother knelt. Mother asked Heavenly Father for a way to get more food for her little family and shoes for Marcella. After the prayer, they all wiped tears from their eyes. Then, with a smile, Mother said, “Let’s go pay our tithing, girls!”
They walked the short distance to the bishop’s house and gave him the tithing. Although her feet hurt, Marcella enjoyed the walk and the good feeling in her heart. She knew Heavenly Father would bless them.
As they approached their home, they saw Uncle Silas and Aunt Maud pulling up. Both girls ran to Uncle Silas, and he swung them high into the air.
“Hello, Sarah,” Aunt Maud said, giving Mother a quick hug. “We just came to see how you and the girls are doing.”
“Well,” Arvella said seriously, “Marcella’s shoes are too small, but we paid our tithing and it will be fine.”
“Arvella!” Her mother gave her a stern look. “We’re fine, Maud. How is your family?”
They all went into the house and chatted pleasantly. Marcella quickly took off her tight shoes and put them away. She noticed her aunt and uncle looking around the house carefully. Aunt Maud even opened a cupboard as she visited. Too soon, their visitors had to leave.
Later that afternoon, Marcella was surprised to hear a cart outside. It stopped at their home, and a delivery boy came to the door. “A delivery for Sarah Nelson,” he said.
“That’s my mother,” Marcella said.
“But I didn’t order anything,” Mother objected.
Suddenly Uncle Silas appeared in the doorway next to the boy. “It’s for you, Sarah,” he said gently. “You can put everything here on the table,” he directed the delivery boy.
The boy brought in bags of food. The girls danced around the table in delight. They hugged Uncle Silas, who quickly excused himself to go home. There was so much food! Sugar, beans, flour and cornmeal, cured meats and dried fruit—the cupboards would be full! Last of all, the delivery boy brought a small package wrapped in brown paper to the table.
After the delivery boy left, the girls approached the small package. What could be inside? First Marcella and then Arvella shook it. Then Marcella carefully pulled back the paper. Into her lap fell not one, but two pairs of shoes! Marcella picked up the largest pair and put them on. They fit perfectly, and she happily wiggled her toes in complete comfort.
Then she saw Arvella’s face. Her sister had picked up the second pair of shoes and was staring at them in delight. She looked at her mother in wonder. “I thought you said I didn’t need shoes, Mama,” she said questioningly.
“Your old shoes would do,” her mother said through her tears. “But when Heavenly Father opens the windows of heaven, you never know what might pour down.”

I explained to Kami that we definitely had been chosen because we would not seek such a challenging assignment. This was reinforced just a few days later when Sister Brough and I were assigned to travel to India for a missionary conference. The flight from Hong Kong to New Delhi, India, was a late-night flight that arrived in New Delhi at about two o’clock in the morning. Even at that late hour, there were hundreds of taxi drivers who wanted to provide our transportation. After selecting a driver, we began our journey of about 40 kilometers to the hotel. Even though it was late, the roads were crowded with animals, people, and other vehicles. As we were going through an intersection, the taxi’s motor quit. I watched with increasing anxiety as the driver fruitlessly attempted to start the motor. Finally, in obvious frustration, the driver turned to me and in his very best English said, “Push taxi!” It was three o’clock in the morning, and my wife and I were very tired. I got out of the taxi and tried to push it across the intersection but was not able to do so. The driver then said to my wife, “Push taxi.” Lanette got out of the car and began to help me push the taxi through the intersection. As we were struggling to get the taxi through the traffic, I said to my wife, “There were a few things we didn’t understand when we were given this assignment.”

I shall never forget the experience we had in June of 1993 at a special meeting in Beijing, China, with couples who were then teaching English in North Vietnam and Mongolia. After two days of training and inspiration, we closed with this familiar song:
It may not be on the mountain height
Or over the stormy sea,
It may not be at the battle’s front
My Lord will have need of me.
(“I’ll Go Where You Want Me to Go,” Hymns, no. 270)
As we were singing, my wife leaned over and whispered in my ear: “But it might be ‘on the mountain height,’ or it might be ‘over the stormy sea,’ or it might be ‘at the battle’s front.’” The Lord surely had need for these beautiful people serving in this interesting area of the world. These wonderful missionary couples did not choose to come to these countries. Yet as we now look at the results of their service, I know that they were chosen by the Lord for their special calling.
On four different occasions, Sister Brough and I and our family have excitedly opened the envelope containing the mission call and assignment for one of our children. Each time, we have contemplated with excitement the various possibilities for their service. While preferences were expressed, the moment their eyes saw the words “You are hereby assigned to serve in the (blank) mission,” without exception a wonderful feeling of good and right came over each family member. We each knew that a prophet had guided a divine selection process to which four of our children have gladly responded. Tens of thousands of returned missionaries can also testify of this process and the divine inspiration of their own missionary calling.
I never completely satisfied little Kami’s question that night. Over the years, we have recalled that challenging evening when a small child was a bit overwhelmed with life. We have explored other scriptures and many other stories since that time. We have received the wonderful promise to those the Savior had chosen “that whatsoever ye shall ask of the Father in my name, he may give it [to] you” (John 15:16).
That promise—of answer to our prayers—is directed even to a small child. This was reaffirmed recently when I heard Kami, now 15 years old, respond to a question directed to her by an adult friend: “How come you were so lucky to live in Hong Kong when you were a child?” She looked directly at me as she gave her answer to our friend: “It wasn’t luck; we ‘were chosen.’”
That personal and prophetic revelation is the foundation upon which our Church service is firmly based is my witness, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.