Gospel Story Finder

I remember an occasion when I was hospitalized for an illness, and it was difficult for me to sleep. When I turned off the lights and the room became dark, I saw a reflective sign on the ceiling in front of me that said, “Call, don’t fall.” To my surprise, the next day I observed the same message repeated in several parts of the room.
Why was that message so important? When I asked the nurse about it, she said, “It is to prevent a blow that might increase the pain you already have.”

I can still remember when my parents took our family to the newly erected Swiss Temple, the first in Europe, to become a forever family. I was 16 then and the youngest of four children. We knelt together at the altar to be sealed on earth by the power of the priesthood, with a wonderful promise that we could be sealed for eternity. I will never forget this magnificent moment.
As a boy I was quite impressed that we crossed country borders to be sealed as a family. To me it symbolizes the way temple work crosses worldly boundaries to bring eternal blessings to all the inhabitants of the earth. The temples of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints are truly built for the benefit of all the world, irrespective of nationality, culture, or political orientation.

For Sarah and Cristina, prayer is a part of every audition. “I pray before and after every audition,” Sarah says. “I pray for help that the director will remember me when casting. I also say, ‘Help me to get the part if I’m meant for it; help me to understand why if I don’t get it.’”

Cristina remembers many prayers offered as a family when Sarah was auditioning for Promised Land. “We prayed for a long time together as a family. We didn’t want to do it if it might have a negative effect on the family. We really wanted Sarah to have this opportunity if it would bless our family and if we would be able to bless others. And I think it has.”

Luckily, Promised Land is filmed in Utah, and Sarah has found time to lead a somewhat normal life. “It’s been incredibly hard,” Sarah says, “But it’s actually worked out very well. On my days off I can go to school with my friends. If I have a late call [movie lingo for filming a show later in the day], I go to school in the morning, and if I have an early call and wrap early, then I go to school later. I have my weekends off to be with my friends and with my family on Sunday.”

In May, prior to her entering the Miss Utah Pageant contest, Sally found time to enjoy a two-week foreign language tour in Mexico.
There an older Mexican friend, charmed by the stunning blonde with an Acapulco tan, exclaimed, “You seem so happy all of the time. How can I be as happy as you?” Sally answered him without hesitation, “I am happy because I know that I am a daughter of God. And you are my brother. You can be happy too if you will become a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”

About 30 years ago I met a man whom I will call Thomas. He was 45 years old when I met him. Twenty years earlier his parents had joined the Church. Thomas had no interest in his parents’ new religion. But his parents loved him, and they treasured the hope that someday their son might be brought to know the truth of the restored gospel. As the years passed, they tried many times to persuade him to at least meet with the missionaries and hear their message. He refused again and again, and he mocked his parents for their religious faith.

One day in desperation his mother said, “Thomas, if you will take the missionary discussions one time, then I will never again talk to you about the Church.” Thomas decided this was a good bargain and agreed to meet with the missionaries. During the first three discussions, he simply sat there full of pride, occasionally making fun of what the elders were teaching.

During the fourth discussion, about the Atonement of Jesus Christ and the first principles of the gospel, Thomas said nothing but grew unusually silent and listened closely. At the end of the lesson, the elders bore their testimonies of the Savior. One of the missionaries then felt prompted to open his Bible and read these words:

“Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.

“Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls” (Matthew 11:28–29).

Without warning, Thomas burst into tears. “Are you trying to say that Christ can forgive me of my sins?” he asked. “I have lived a terrible life. I am haunted by the memory of my sins. I would do anything to be freed of the guilt I feel.”

His pride had been a facade that hid a soul captive to sin and guilt. The elders assured Thomas that Christ would forgive him and free him from the burden of guilt if he would but repent and be baptized and confirmed. Then they bore testimony of the power of the Atonement. From that moment on, everything changed in Thomas’s life. He had much to repent of and to overcome, but through the blessings of the Lord, he qualified for baptism.

More than 20 years later, as I sat in the chapel of the Frankfurt Germany Temple, a gray-haired man in front of me turned around and said, “Aren’t you Elder Porter?” To my great joy, I recognized Thomas—a man freed from bondage by the power of Jesus Christ.

The salesman said, “It’s rather interesting that you should ask those questions. A few nights ago I was at the airport in Salt Lake City and it was extremely crowded. I hadn’t been there very long when your ‘boss’ came in. The only empty seat was right next to me, and there I was smoking a cigarette. As he sat by me I turned away from him and blew the smoke in the opposite direction. He then put his arm around me and said, ‘Never mind, young man. We know that not all of the people in the state of Utah are members of the Church.’”
Then the salesman told me that the man, President David O. McKay, my “boss,” had asked him basically the same questions that l had.

Things can feel pretty crummy sometimes, but you don’t have to stay down! These simple strategies have helped me conquer my crummy-day woes.

Sometimes it’s hard to see the little ways God shows that He knows and loves you—especially when you’re distracted by the bad stuff. For example, one morning after several people mentioned a zit I had on my forehead (one dubbed it “the volcano”), I could barely respond without an angry outburst. It almost ruined my day.

During difficult times like this, I cultivate gratitude by listing ways I see God’s hand in my life every day. I write down at least three blessings per day, often more.

Sometimes they may seem little or silly, but they are always things that help me know that God is aware of me specifically. For example, that same day at my job a particularly grumpy customer gave me a compliment—I was floored. He didn’t even mention “the volcano”! It went on my list.

What blessings have you seen today? Focus on the positive. Maybe your friend’s text was an answer to your prayers or simply put a smile on your face. Write down the tender mercies you see, and you’ll keep noticing more.

When we physically record these times that we see God’s hand in our lives—rather than just think of them briefly—it shows God that we recognize them and are grateful for them. President Henry B. Eyring, Second Counselor in the First Presidency, described what happened as he engaged in this process:
“Something began to happen. As I would cast my mind over the day, I would see evidence of what God had done for one of us that I had not recognized in the busy moments of the day. As that happened, and it happened often, I realized that trying to remember had allowed God to show me what He had done.
“More than gratitude began to grow in my heart.”1

He was a mean, gruff man. Every word that came out of his mouth was angry and sharp. His words always dug into us. He was mad at the world, mad at life, mad at God.
We hoped that the Christmas spirit would flicker in his soul. But, as with the rest of his dreams that year, the candle was being snuffed out.
Oh, he hadn’t always been that way. He used to be loving and funny. He had a quick wit. That disappeared when he stopped going to church.
I can’t remember when my dad became mean and gruff. It happened gradually. He sort of shifted that way like sand.
Mom and I are regular churchgoers. Maybe that’s why we can deal with anger so well. We know God loves us. We know that he loves Dad too. Though I guess it’s sometimes hard even for Him.
Dad was a big man. The kind that could play Santa Claus without the pillows. The bishop must have thought so too because he marched right over to our house after church and asked Dad to play Santa Claus that year.
Has he lost his marbles? I thought. Who’d want a Santa that would yell at the kids?
Dad thought it was just silly so he laughed sarcastically. I heard bitterness in his voice as he said, “Inactive for years—now he’s giving me a job that I don’t need any brains to do.”
The bishop stared and so did I. He should have known, I thought to myself.
“You think it over, Brother Henderson,” the bishop said and made a speedy exit. Dad just grunted and turned on his noisy TV.
“Think it over all right,” I complained to Mom later. “He wants a miracle.” I was disgusted with the whole thing by now. “Dad will never do it.”
Mom just stood there listening. She was a quiet person—the type that would take lots from Dad and never say very much. The type that sat alone in church every Sunday while I sat with my friends. The type that taught a rambunctious Primary class and smiled.
“We mustn’t give up, Andi. There’s a part of him that someone still might reach,” Mom said. Here was a woman who hadn’t heard a home teaching message for years because Dad refused, and she was telling me about miracles.
“Hogwash!” I answered. I hurried out the door to catch a movie.
I suppose that I should have been more understanding of Dad. After all, his business had been ruined. He had lost everything when his store burned down. We had lived on borrowed money until he could rebuild. He must have felt defeated. I guess that’s why he wasn’t going to play Santa—mainly because he had stopped believing there was one. He had stopped believing in himself. He just sat there in his chair watching television reruns. I sometimes thought he didn’t really watch them. Maybe it was just there to keep him from thinking or hurting. I was beginning to think that no one could help him. But there was Brother Darrin.
Brother Darrin was our long-suffering home teacher. He came every month. He always acted like he expected Dad to let him give a lesson. Brother Darrin was short and thin and soft spoken. Dad couldn’t wait to give him a hard time. The teachers quorum had to draw straws to see who would come with poor Brother Darrin. Dad had scared them all, one by one. But through it all, Brother Darrin was persistent.
I listened just to see how Brother Darrin would sneak the gospel in. One minute he and Dad would be talking about fishing, and Brother Darrin would put in loaves and fishes before Dad could get his next word out. The strangest thing was that Dad liked Brother Darrin.
I knew that Brother Darrin must have said his prayers the week before the Christmas party because he was starting out rather boldly. “Brother Henderson, do you believe in miracles?” I just gulped and pretended to be a fly on the ceiling. I knew Dad was going to explode. When I finally started to breathe again, I heard Dad say, “No, not anymore.” The silence hung heavy in the air.
Brother Darrin continued, “Well, I do, Brother Henderson. I’ll see you at the Christmas party.” He added quickly—“in a Santa suit.” Out he went, leaving Dad to glare at Mom and me as if it were our fault. He got up and turned on the TV.
“Doesn’t even faze him,” I whispered to Mom. “He’s as hard as an old rusty nail.” That time I said it pretty loud.
I soon learned from Tricia Darrin that her father had been fasting and praying for Dad. “Won’t help,” I promptly informed her. “Tell him to stop before he gets anorexia.”
She giggled for a minute. “He’s serious, Andi.”
As I knelt to say my prayers that night, I found myself thanking Heavenly Father for a dedicated home teacher. I even began begging to somehow get my dad back to church even if it was just to the cultural hall to play Santa.
The night of the Christmas party finally arrived. Mom and I carried our fruitcakes to the car as usual. When we came back in the house, Dad was in his chair watching television. “Good-bye, we’re leaving,” we announced. He grunted a good-bye without even looking up. Suddenly an envelope slid under the door. I handed it to Dad since it had his name printed on the front. We left feeling empty and downhearted. I knew Mom felt worse than I did because she started to hum. Humming usually meant tears.
We went to the program and watched the Primary act out the Nativity, including a sheep that fell off the stage during the big scene.
We tried not to think of Dad sitting in front of the TV when he should be here with us. Across the aisle was Brother Darrin.
Soon the big announcement came for Santa. The air filled with anticipation. “Wonder who they got?” I asked Mom. She just answered, “Some unfortunate stand-in.”
“Ho ho ho!” the shouts soon resounded in the hall. The children started to squeal in joy. The jolly Santa sounded familiar, like a sound that I had heard long ago. As I turned I gasped, for I couldn’t believe my eyes. Mom must have turned about the same time.
“Dad,” I said in a strange voice.
“It’s a miracle,” said Mom. Her voice was strange too. Her eyes were swimming in a pool of green. I looked over at Brother Darrin. He just winked and smiled.
Mom went up and got in line to sit on Santa’s lap. “Hi, good looking,” he said to her. “I think I know what you’d like for Christmas.” By this time her tears were spilling over into his glued on beard. “You’d like your husband to come back to church.” She just nodded and cried. “I think Old Santa can arrange that.” He gave her a quick kiss, “Move along, kid. Santa’s got others to see.”
I’ve never seen Mom look so happy, nor the bishop and Brother Darrin for that matter. They all looked like they swallowed chocolate-covered ice cream and it tasted sweet.
I couldn’t understand miracles right then, but I remembered the note that came under the door. I decided that it must have had something to do with it. I ran the whole block home just to read it. What it said shocked me. Scribbled in uneven handwriting were the words:
Dear Brother Henderson:
I believe in you and I love you.
Brother Darrin
I guess that’s why it was the best Christmas ever. Dad thought so too. He’s now the second counselor in the bishopric, and that, he says ironically, is a job that nobody should have, not even Santa Claus. Secretly he loves it—just ask Mom. Too bad she still has to sit alone in church. Now, though, she probably doesn’t mind so much.

Brad introduced Jenna to the gospel when they were 17. He baptized her just a week after she turned 18. “My parents were present when I took the discussions and were not shy about asking questions,” Jenna says. “But they always thought that this was a fleeting thing with me.”

Brad and Jenna wrote to each other during Brad’s mission. When Brad returned from his mission and asked Jenna to marry him, “my parents realized that this was not a fleeting thing,” Jenna says. “For two years my parents knew they would not be able to see me be married, but it wasn’t until Brad and I began to plan and prepare that their hurt began to show. They felt left out. They felt as if they were being told that they weren’t good people because they weren’t members and didn’t have temple recommends. Brad and I had even considered having a civil marriage and then waiting a year to be sealed. However, I knew in my heart that I needed to stand up for what I believe in. We needed to be an example to my parents, our friends, and family.”

While Brad and Jenna were being sealed, one of the temple workers talked to Jenna’s parents about the temple. Jenna had planned one more thing: “I gave my parents each a card telling them how much I loved them and that I knew someday they would understand why I had made this decision.”

The day after their sealing, Brad and Jenna continued their wedding celebration. Back home in Wisconsin, they publicly exchanged rings and held a reception at the church. “My mom and father-in-law both gave talks,” Jenna says. “We tried to make my family feel as involved as possible.”

As Jenna looks back on her wedding, she remembers the tender feelings she shared with her parents. “I know more than anything that they were able to feel the Spirit in the temple waiting room and that Heavenly Father helped them to feel at peace and to know that the decision I was making was right.”

At the end of eighth grade, I was having a really hard time. It seemed like nothing was going my way.
I never saw my mom. She worked a night shift and took care of my aunt who was dying of cancer. My dad had died a year earlier. I felt very lost and alone, like I had no friends or family to comfort me. At school I was quiet and didn’t open up much. I quit hanging out with my friends. At the time, I didn’t think I was acting that differently. I tried to be myself and be as happy as I could. Now I look back and realize I was feeling down and falling even further.
A friend who I had just started hanging out with had a very strong testimony. She was in one of my classes, and one day, out of nowhere, she handed me a letter. In it, she described her hardships and expressed her testimony, which was one of the strongest testimonies I had ever read.
At the end of the letter there was the scripture, John 14:18: “I will not leave you comfortless: I will come to you.”
I felt as though God was telling me through my friend that I was not alone, even though I felt as though I had no friends or family. Now I know I will never be alone because I can go to my Heavenly Father through prayer. He will always be there.

Eric’s father had a tiny farm out in the country. He had taken the family to work on the farm, but Eric remained at home in his shed, alone. Meanwhile, his sores enlarged to huge wounds and infection entered into his bones, a life-threatening condition called osteomyelitis.

When he was 18, Eric saw his friend Emmanuel Ofosu-hene speaking English with an obruni (white man). The obruni was a Mormon missionary, Elder Old. “I only spoke Twi, but Emmanuel interpreted for me: ‘I am so sick I think I will die. Can you help me know what to do so I can go to heaven?’

“Elder Old and his African companion sat with me and taught me. For some reason, they started with the Word of Wisdom. I knew they were speaking the truth because I already knew coffee and tobacco were bad.” They also gave Eric a brochure about the restored gospel of Jesus Christ and invited him to church.

“When I went, I saw this Church was different,” he says. “It was reverent.” Even though it took him an hour to push himself to church in his wheelchair, Eric loved the meetings. “I wanted to go up front and be with people,” he says. “But I stayed at the back because I knew I smelled bad.”

Eric told the missionaries, “What I am learning is true.” He also told them he wanted to be baptized, but doctors had warned him not to get his wounds wet. “I will rely on God to provide answers,” he said. He attended church for about a year and then became too ill and weak to wheel himself there.

Eric’s mother, Lucy, met the missionaries, studied the gospel, and was baptized in 2015. But because her broken leg had never been properly set, it was painful for her to walk. Attending meetings was a challenge for her, as well.
Eventually, Eric was taken to the hospital again. In Ghana, patients have to provide their own water, food, bedding, medicine, and bandages. If they have no money, they are not treated. Eric’s mother and sisters did what they could. Eric received food and medical attention infrequently, so he grew weaker.

Then Eric received some unexpected visitors. Missionaries, Sister Peprah and Sister Nafuna, had seen his photograph at the church and came to see him in the hospital and brought him food. It had been a year since he had been to church, but he told them he still wanted to be baptized.
A few days later, Eric’s sister visited him and found him very ill. She ran home and told their mother. Though their mother had suffered permanent leg damage in the accident with Eric, she walked to the hospital, wincing with every step. “You must come home,” she told Eric. “If you’re going to die, I at least want you near.”
The next morning, the sister missionaries came to the house. “You weren’t at the hospital,” Sister Peprah said. “So we came here.” With them were Elder and Sister Wood, senior missionaries from New Zealand. They took inventory of needs and promised to return.
A few days later, Eric’s father took the family back to the farm—except Eric, who found himself alone again and without food or water. When Elder and Sister Wood returned and discovered Eric alone and hungry, they brought him food and water. They returned the next day and noticed fluid running down his leg and found a huge open ulcer on his thigh. They immediately took Eric back to the hospital.
The Woods learned of a medical humanitarian team from the United States that would be coming to Ghana. The team would perform surgery for Eric without cost. The surgeon treated the ulcer on Eric’s leg. But when he saw the severity of Eric’s wounds, as well as the osteomyelitis, he determined he could not do all the necessary procedures in Ghana. Based on his recommendation, the humanitarian organization initiated a process that would eventually bring Eric to the United States to receive additional treatment and permanently close his wounds. In addition, a shelter in Winneba, Ghana, run by members of the Church, agreed to have Eric live there when he returned so that he could attend school and complete his education.
While in Utah for surgery, Eric visits the reflecting pool near the Salt Lake Temple. Eric says he loves the feeling of peace he finds at the Salt Lake Temple.
Elder Wood, an engineer by profession, rebuilt Eric’s hand-pedal tricycle. He performed a similar overhaul on his wheelchair. He also counseled with President Cosgrave of the Ghana Kumasi Mission, a medical doctor. They felt Eric could be baptized if proper precautions were taken.
Eric shows his tricycle to his mother and siblings after senior missionaries repaired it.
“Elder Wood wrapped my body in plastic, with tape around the plastic,” Eric explains. “Then he carried me into a font filled with water treated with disinfectant. I was baptized on June 26, 2016.” Eric had relied on the Lord, and the Lord had provided a way.
Today, Eric is studying to become a computer technician. But also feels he can influence others through music—he likes to rap in Twi. His upbeat message talks about how God rescued him. One of his favorite scriptures says, “Look to God and live” (Alma 37:47). And he still says, “I see God in everything.”
He adds, “I don’t want anyone to think the way Heavenly Father has blessed me is identical to how He will bless them. But He will bless those who trust Him. When you have to deal with hard things, pray and trust God.”
Eric looks forward to a bright future. He’s studying to be a computer technician and also feels he can inspire others with music.

Cambodia has gone through many tragic civil wars. I was born right after the conflicts ended. Life was difficult and food was scarce as my parents struggled to raise eight children. At times, I wondered what my future could possibly hold under such conditions.
In1998, my life changed when I joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I was baptized one year before finishing high school. Lacking the financial means to attend college, I chose to serve a full-time mission. While serving, my spiritual eyes were opened. I came to understand God’s eternal plan for His children and how I could prepare to establish an eternal family of my own.
The spiritual truths of the restored gospel allowed me to know that one day I would marry in the temple and be sealed to my wife and children forever. I pictured us going to church together, singing hymns together, studying the gospel together, and one day sending my children on missions and then seeing them start their own families sealed in holy temples. What a beautiful vision I had for our family. I hope everyone has this kind of vision.
My dream began to be fulfilled in 2005, when I was sealed to a lovely woman in the Hong Kong China Temple. Since then, the eternal path has become clearer. The Lord has blessed us with five energetic sons.

Just as a simple picture allowed Christ to enter into one family’s Christmas traditions, a few notes of music have strengthened another family’s feelings about Christmas.
The Pikes, of Holladay, Utah, have made music an integral part of their lives, and of their Christmases, by producing an annual concert for friends and families in the East Millcreek (Utah) Eleventh Ward.
“Music has a very strong part in my life,” says 18-year-old Emily Pike, who has been helping her family put on the concert for two years. “We think of the Christmas program as a gift that shows the people in the ward how much we love them.”
Emily has found that singing and listening to the words of a hymn or choral music invite the Spirit to dwell inside her. She says that her family tries to bring this feeling into everyone’s heart as they prepare their Christmas program.
“I have always felt the Spirit more strongly when I sing,” Emily says. “I’m able to get into the music more when I’m thinking of the words and what they mean to me. It brings out the life of Christ and helps me to remember what Christmas is really about.”
“You learn to love the music, and you just feel so much happiness, and you feel Christ’s love with you [when you sing].”
As Emily joins her family this season to sing hymns about our Savior, she knows she will be blessed. She also knows that her Christmas will be more meaningful. Most of all, she knows that a short verse in the Doctrine and Covenants is true in her own life. “The song of the righteous is a prayer unto me, and it shall be answered with a blessing upon their heads” (D&C 25:12).

Eleven-year-old Mitchell won an international art contest about saving the rain forest. His prize was a trip to the rain forest in Brazil for himself and his mother. During his visit to Brazil, he saw many interesting insects and animals, unusual plants, and giant trees. While there, he climbed a very high tower and heard the echo of his voice as he sang out over the tall trees.
When he returned from the trip, Mitchell and his mother attended a dinner for those who had participated in the contest. Someone who had heard him sing in the rain forest invited him to sing for those gathered at the dinner. “Oh no!” he said. He felt shy in front of all those people.
During the dinner, when the people learned that he and his family were “Mormons,” they began to ask questions about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. “Mormons aren’t Christians, are they?” someone asked. Mitchell’s mother quickly assured their new friends that Mormons are indeed Christians. But some people did not seem to believe her.
When Mitchell heard their questions, he whispered to his mother that he had changed his mind—he would like to sing for them. He stood and sang, “I feel my Savior’s love In all the world around me. His spirit warms my soul Through ev’rything I see. He knows I will follow him, Give all my life to him. I feel my Savior’s love, The love he freely gives me.”*
When the beautiful song ended, no one in the room doubted that Mitchell loved the Savior, Jesus Christ, and that Mormons are, indeed, Christians. Mitchell had sung his testimony. He had let his light shine.

As families, we all have needs. Just a few heartfelt words about mothers who parent alone: Let me share with you the story of a mother of five whose husband was deployed overseas. She relates:
“When my husband left in early February, we had reliable vehicles. However, by November, they had broken down, and we were not able to repair them. During this same time, my 17-year-old son let me know that he wasn’t planning to serve a mission because he wasn’t sure if the gospel was true. If ever there was a time in my life that I needed the blessings of the priesthood, it was then. I don’t remember all the details or when and where, but I distinctly remember receiving more than one blessing from caring priesthood holders during that time. I always knew that I could call on my home teachers and they would be there. Neither one could fix my van, but they could give me much-needed priesthood blessings, and they found someone who could fix the car.”

Our family moved to Logandale, Nevada, more than eight years ago, and we have been involved with the Clark County Fair ever since. It is held each year in April, near Easter. Children can show pigs, steers, or lambs they have raised. The animals are judged on Thursday, and the auction takes place on Saturday.
I always dread the auction. I worry that one of my children will have an animal that doesn’t sell. Most parents try to get someone to prebuy their child’s animal. But even if your child’s animal is presold, you still have to wait endlessly for his or her turn at the auction.
One of the most touching events I have ever witnessed took place at the auction three years ago. We had sat most of the day on aluminum bleachers, listening to the auctioneer’s bark, the crowd’s babble, and the animals’ bleating, mooing, and squealing. Suddenly we heard another sound—the wind pelting a freezing rain against the building.
Soon, in addition to parents and extended family attending the auction, we had many other people seeking shelter inside the metal livestock pavilion. They were quite surprised to find an auction taking place. Most were from the big city of Las Vegas and had never experienced a real animal auction before. They apparently found the auction entertaining, and a few even bid on animals. Of course, after the auctioneer explained that the price was per pound, the bidding slowed considerably.
Our boys’ pig came up for auction, and I remember feeling quite relieved when it was sold. All I could think of was getting home, away from the people, the noise, and the smell. It was still raining outside, so while I waited for my brother-in-law to get the car, I listened involuntarily to the auctioneer as he started the bidding on lambs.
A young girl brought out her lamb, and the bidding commenced. I don’t remember the exact amount, but I do remember thinking, “That’s a lot of money for a lamb.” Then a most amazing thing happened. The auctioneer explained that the person who had purchased the lamb was donating it back to the little girl to be resold. He went on to explain that this little girl’s father, who normally would have been there with her, was in the hospital. He had cancer, and the prognosis was not good. The family had no medical insurance, and the father was their sole support.
What happened next will burn in my mind and heart forever.
The bidding resumed, and again the little lamb was sold for an unheard-of amount of money. Again the lamb was donated back to be resold. About that time my brother-in-law returned, wet and windblown, but I couldn’t move. I told him something remarkable was happening, and though I tried, I could not stop my tears.
That lamb was sold again and again, and all those people, many of them from the city, were bidding and giving donations for that local family.
As I stood there in amazement, I couldn’t help but think of another lamb—not one that was sold again and again to benefit just one family, but One who allowed Himself to be sacrificed for all of God’s children. It seemed fitting that Easter was just around the corner. The Spirit bore witness to me that day of the significance of sacrifice in behalf of others and the importance of community.
Regrettably, this little girl’s father did not survive. The family has since moved into our ward, and the wife of that good man bore her testimony in Relief Society one Sunday. She told us how she had been at the hospital with her dying husband when she heard of the auction. She didn’t know who or how many people had donated money, but she was moved to tears when expressing her gratitude for all who cared enough to help. She was amazed at the outpouring of love and support shown to her family that stormy day at the Clark County Fair—the day the lamb was sold.

“Mom! It’s so cold!”
Jacob, one of my seven-year-old twins, stood with river water lapping at his ankles.
My three other kids were having a similar reaction. With my husband away on a hunting trip, I’d joined my extended family for what I hoped would be a fun trip to some hot springs. So far, the “hot” springs were not living up to their name.
Steam rose from a little pond above the river. I moved closer and felt its warmth. “This must be a hot spring,” I thought.
“Can we swim in this?” I asked my aunt, whose children were also in the river.
“I don’t know.”
We looked for a sign that might indicate what the pond was for, but we couldn’t find anything. One by one, our shivering kids moved from the cold river to the pond. My aunt and I stood on the shore, watching and talking as they played.
An older boy appeared near the edge of the pond. “I’m letting the pool out!” he hollered. He cranked a big wheel, and water poured into the pond.
The kids shouted with excitement as the surge of water entered the pond. I was grateful I’d insisted they wear their life vests. I smiled as the rising current carried them toward the left side of the pond.
Jacob broke away from them, fighting the currents to swim to the right side of the pond. He stopped, and a look of serious surprise crossed his face. “Mom, I’m stuck!”
Without another thought, I jumped in and caught his arm to pull him to safety. He wouldn’t budge. Was he stuck on something? I kept pulling, but I couldn’t get him free. The water level continued to rise.
“You guys, he’s stuck! Someone, help me!” But I knew they were too far away.
A splash sounded, and my uncle appeared out of nowhere. He grabbed Jacob, tugging and pulling.
The water was almost over Jacob’s head. Was the life vest hooked on something? I grabbed a strap with shaking hands. By the time I got one buckle undone, the water covered Jacob’s head. “Oh, help!” I prayed.
My uncle yanked backward with all his might. Jacob popped free, and my uncle moved him to the bank.
I scrambled beside Jacob and gathered him in my arms.
“There’s a culvert,” my uncle said, pointing to a 24-inch pipe that we hadn’t noticed. Water was forcefully pushing through it into the river. Jacob’s life vest was most likely all that stopped him from being dragged through it.
With alarm, my uncle and I turned toward the rest of our family. “Everyone, get out!”
As the kids climbed out, I took off Jacob’s life vest and looked him over. He hadn’t swallowed too much water and didn’t have any scrapes or bruises.
“You were being so brave, buddy. Were you scared?”
“No, I just kept holding my breath,” he said. Suddenly I was so grateful for all the time he’d spent practicing holding his breath in the swimming pool.
“How did you know to come?” I asked my uncle as he joined us on the rocks.
“I felt a prompting to come see what everyone was doing,” my uncle said. “So, I came.”
When the others joined us, we looked at the edges of the pond again, and this time, we saw a fallen warning sign that blended in with the rocks and dirt at the side of the pond.
Everyone was shaken up, so I took the kids back to the camping trailer. “Let’s thank Heavenly Father for helping us,” I said. As my kids joined me in prayer, the reality of what had happened hit me.
I knew there were others in similar circumstances who faced a very different, devastating outcome. I didn’t know why Jacob had been saved, but I knew it was a miracle. As I drew my children closer, I was grateful for the time I had with them and the blessing of our eternal family. I knew Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ were aware of us and that They had sent a miracle when we missed the warning signs of danger.

This story took place in Canada.
Dieter wanted to listen to general conference. He tried to sit still. He tried to listen to the talks. But having autism made it hard for him to focus. He wiggled on the couch. He played with his toys. He ran around.
Then he looked over at Dad. Dad was sitting quietly and listening to the speakers. Dieter wanted to be like him. So he got out his art supplies. Maybe coloring a picture would help him sit quietly.
While he colored, Dieter listened to Elder Jeffrey R. Holland speak. Elder Holland told a story about Jesus. Jesus asked a rich young man to give all his money to the poor.*
Dieter wanted to help people who didn’t have enough money too. And he had an idea.
“Mom, I want to paint an owl,” Dieter said. “Can you draw one for me?”
“Sure,” Mom said. She drew an owl.
Dieter dipped his paintbrush into some paint. He painted the owl’s wings first. He made some feathers brown and some feathers orange. As he painted, he listened to the other talks. Even when all the talks were over, Dieter kept working. He wanted the owl to be perfect.
At last Dieter was done. He showed the owl to Mom.
“It looks great!” Mom said. “Should we hang it up?”
Dieter shook his head no. “I want to sell it and give the money to help people who don’t have enough money. Like they talked about in conference.”
Mom smiled. “Let’s see what we can do.”
She posted a picture of Dieter’s painting to sell online. Mom wrote that said Dieter would give the money to a shelter for people without homes.
The next day, Dieter and Mom checked the post. Dieter couldn’t believe it! Lots of people wanted to buy his picture. He was glad so many people wanted to help.
A restaurant in Dieter’s city asked to buy the painting. They said they would pay 10 times more than Dieter and Mom had asked for! Other stores asked him for paintings too. Dieter had more work to do!
Mom traced more animals, and Dieter got out his paints. He painted a wolf, a lion, and an orca. He liked the orca the best. He named it “Otis the Orca.” A grocery store near his house bought it. The next time Dieter went to the store, he saw it hanging on the wall!
“Look, Mom!” Dieter pointed to the painting.
“Wow!” Mom said. “Now whenever we come here, we can remember how your talents helped people.”
Dieter was proud that people liked his paintings. But he was even happier that he could help others. He was glad he had listened during general conference.
Dieter made paintings to sell because he wanted to help people. How could you help others?
Illustrations by Natalie Campbell

This is a net, a fisherman’s net that my father, Kanenori Nishimura, made in Hawaii many years ago. It has been mine since he died thirty years ago, and I have cherished it for his sake. For me, that moment of casting the net is a supremely beautiful one. I loved seeing my father standing on a rocky point on the beach, the net close-gathered in his hands, then with a strong, graceful gesture, like a dancer, flinging the net up and out. It would unfold in flight, opening like a fan or an umbrella, then fall over the fish that were darting like silver arrows through the surf. The lead sinkers around the edge of the net would make it sink gently to the bottom, completely enclosing the fish.

Then my father would jump down into the water and gather the net from the bottom, pulling the outer edges into his hands, until he had scooped it up like a bag. He would walk up on the beach holding the dripping net full of twisting fish in his arms, spread it out, quickly pick out the first for our supper and for the next day—very often a fish or two for several of our neighbors—then release the rest into the sea.

After graduating from high school, I felt impressed to visit all four of my grandparents. I had some free time, and I realized that I might not have this opportunity again, so I spent one week with each set of my grandparents.
I spent my time going through old boxes, reading old letters, and looking at old pictures. I recorded my grandparents’ life stories, walked around cemeteries, and visited where my grandparents and their relatives had lived and worked. It was fun! I learned so much about my ancestors, my grandparents, my parents, and myself. I realized that I wouldn’t have the life that I have if it weren’t for my ancestors.
After my trip, I came back with about 1,000 of my ancestors’ names and have been able to do the temple work for many of them. Following the promptings of the Holy Ghost and visiting with my grandparents was one of the best decisions I have ever made.
Shenley P., California, USA