Gospel Story Finder

As a young man, Heber J. Grant became seriously ill. He feared that he would die.
Heber: Heavenly Father, if I am allowed to live, I promise I’ll be willing to go to the ends of the earth to preach the gospel.
Heber recovered, and in 1901 he was able to keep his promise when President Lorenzo Snow called him as a missionary.
President Snow: You are called to be the first missionary in Japan. It will not be easy, but the Lord has revealed that it is your duty. Will you go?
Heber: Yes, President Snow.

My senior year of high school began with the tardy bell ringing, echoing through the empty hallway. Agghh! Late for the first day! I slammed my locker door shut and ran down the hall to my first class. Why did school have to start today? I had slept in this morning and missed the bus. Mom had already left to take my little sister to preschool, so I hopped on my mountain bike and covered the two miles to school in record time.
School should start next week! Why couldn’t today just be a repeat of yesterday?
“Hey, Andrew, Mr. Lazy Bones, wake up! It’s gonna get hot soon and we gotta do Pet Piranha before the sun hits it!”
My best friend Josh made a habit of charging into my room like that. I shouldn’t have been the least bit surprised this morning. With school starting tomorrow, this would be our last chance to go rock climbing with no schedules or homework to worry about.
“Dude, get up!” Josh hopped onto my bed and started jumping until I could no longer ignore him.
“Okay, okay, I’m up already!” I whined in my best morning voice. “Where’s my stuff?”
“I thought I told you to lay it all out last night, since I knew you’d sleep in again.” Josh tried to sound impatient, but I could hear the excitement in his voice.
I got dressed. As I picked up my harness, climbing shoes, and chalk bag, my Book of Mormon fell to the floor. I had set it on top of my gear yesterday afternoon to remind myself to read before going to bed, but the time had grown late and I was sleepy. What did it matter if I missed reading the scriptures for one more day?
Reading the scriptures every day was a goal I had agreed to in seminary before school let out for the summer. Our teacher had said something about how reading the scriptures would protect us. It had motivated me enough to make the goal, but I had long since forgotten why it seemed so important.
As I picked up the book, I also thought about my goal to say my prayers every morning and night, but that could wait too. After all, I could pray anytime. I tossed the book on my unmade bed and headed out the door with Josh.
Mr. Fenton had just started class as I walked through the door to algebra III. I avoided his gaze as I made my way to the back of the class.
Uh, oh. Amy sat there in the back, smiling at me and clearing her notebook off a desk next to her. Amy was all right as a person, but the way she looked at me sometimes made me feel uncomfortable. The brownies she sometimes cooked for me tasted great, but that didn’t mean I wanted her to give them to me.
After Mr. F. had begun again, Amy looked over and smiled. “You missed the bus,” she whispered, as if I didn’t already know. I nodded my head and looked back up to find Mr. Fenton staring straight at me.
“Do you think you two could get reacquainted after class, Andrew?”
I thought of defending myself, of telling him that I hadn’t said anything. “Yeah, sorry,” was all I said. I didn’t look at Amy again, even though I sensed her trying to get my attention. I tried to pay attention for a while as Mr. Fenton droned on about our first assignment but soon found my thoughts drifting back to yesterday’s adventure.
Outside my house, I set my gear in the back of Josh’s truck. We backed out of the driveway and drove up the canyon to our destination. The guidebook told us that Pet Piranha was rated 5.11a***, right at the edge of my climbing comfort zone. The three stars next to the rating, however, promised good holds and a fun, doable climb.
We pulled off the highway at the bridge and began the steep hike to the cliffs. Once there, we studied the drawing in the guidebook, looking for Pet Piranha while walking along the cliff base.
“This must be it,” said Josh. “See, this looks like the tower to the left, and there’s Chips Ahoy that joins it halfway up.” He dropped the guidebook and walked over to touch the cliff. I pulled the tarp and rope from his pack and looked up to find Josh already four feet off the ground. He pulled himself close to the rock and swung his right hand high above his head to the next hold.
“What are you doing?” I asked. “Aren’t ya gonna wait for the rope?”
“Yeah, sure,” he answered. He lowered himself a bit and jumped to the ground. “But someday, I’m gonna free solo this route.”
Josh stared up the route as he spoke. He wasn’t afraid of anything, and I didn’t doubt that he meant it. But free solo? That meant no rope, no protection at all, nothing to keep him from falling all the way to the deck if he slipped even once. And it happened to the best of them. We had read magazine articles about guys who free soloed and talked about how great it was, but now at least two of them were dead.
“Don’t be crazy, Josh. What if you die? Who would I climb with then?”
“But think of the rush!”
“Listen, if you slipped from even halfway up this route, you’d deck so hard you’d crush at least three dozen bones and blow your chance to ever climb again. How would you like to spend the rest of your life as a paraplegic?”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right. Anyway, I don’t think I’d really have done it.” He turned away from the cliff and smiled cheerfully. I finished doing up my harness and waited for him to tie in.
My next class was seminary, or released time, as they called it officially. I had signed up with Josh, and we were both in Brother Stowers’s class. I stopped by my locker, then headed outside toward the seminary building. The touch of the morning breeze against my face reminded me of yesterday’s breeze in the canyon.
“You gonna go first?” Josh asked, smiling.
“I thought you were going first,” I answered.
“Of course you did. I always go first. That’s why you should go first today. This is the last day of summer. Ya gotta do something memorable!”
The thought of leading this climb frightened me a little, but why not? If I couldn’t finish, Josh could always come up and do it.
“All right, I will then.” I pulled on my tight climbing shoes and tied myself in with a figure-eight knot. As each second passed, the knot of fear inside my stomach cinched tighter.
“Climbing,” I said, trying to sound as casual as Josh always did.
“Climb on,” he answered in a sing-song voice.
I chalked my hands and stepped up to the cliff. The first holds weren’t too bad. They were small and a bit polished, but I moved up to the first bolt eight feet off the ground and clipped in. I breathed more easily once I had the rope clipped through the quickdraw. Now there was something to catch me if I fell.
I can do this! I moved up toward the second bolt. The moves became technical and balancy. My feet were placed uncomfortably off to one side as I tried to lay back on vertical handholds. I made it to the next bolt, but the thought of letting go with either hand to clip frightened me.
“I don’t know if I can clip this!” I yelled down to Josh.
“So skip it,” he yelled back. “You can clip the next one.”
Yeah, right! Falling without protection nearby would result in a long fall, and my chances of getting hurt would increase dramatically. My stomach tightened again and adrenaline seeped quietly into my veins. I knew I couldn’t hang on forever. I slowly let go with one hand and reached down to the gear loops on my harness, unclipped a quickdraw, and clipped into the bolt. I reached down for the rope and clipped it into the draw. A cool wave of relief swept over me as the gate snapped shut around the rope.
“Lookin’ good, Andrew!” Josh yelled from below.
My arms were getting tired, and I couldn’t see my next move. “I don’t think this thing is only an .11a!” I shouted down. Maybe it got easier higher up, but the fear was already making me use up my strength much faster than I needed to.
“I’m getting awfully pumped! I’m not sure I can finish this!” It was times like this that I began to wonder why I climb in the first place. “Hold me for a minute while I rest then.”
“Gotcha. Go whenever you’re ready.”
Josh took up the slack in the rope, and I sat in my harness and let the rope hold me up. I was glad for the bolt right there, something that would hold me up, keep me from falling, and let me rest. The bolts also marked the route, telling me where I could expect to find holds that would take me to the top.
I shook out my tired forearms and looked down to where the highway and river twisted along the canyon floor. A few swallows floated gracefully on the updrafts. For a moment, I forgot my fear of the climb. Then I looked back at the gray and black limestone in front of me. I touched the narrow edges and ran my fingers along thin cracks and seams. It was beautiful, and I remembered why I came here—the thrill of the climb, the beauty of the natural world, the sense of accomplishment after a challenging ascent, and just spending time with my best friend.
I walked into seminary and found my name on a desk at the back. I sat down as Brother Stowers walked into the room. He told us a little about himself and asked each of us to give a short introduction as well.
Next to me on the back row sat a girl I had never seen before. She must have been new in town, and I wouldn’t mind being one of the first to get to know her. The new girl said her name was Amber, and she had just moved here from Wyoming. Josh noticed my interest and bobbed his eyebrows at me. I gave him a “Give me a break!” look, even though it was futile to deny that I was interested.
Having learned Amber’s name and given my own short introduction, I was free to let my mind wander again.
I took a deep breath and called, “Climbing.”
Josh answered with a cheery “Climb on,” and I went back to work.
I had scouted out a few potential moves and tried them out. They worked all right, but they were small and I had to move quickly to avoid burning out again and coming off the wall. I climbed to the third bolt and clipped again. Only three more bolts to the top. By now I was more than 30 feet above the deck. “I sure wish these bolts were closer together.”
With my middle finger in a shallow pocket and my index finger stacked on top of it, I smeared my feet on a bulge and looked up for the next handhold. “Ya know, this doesn’t feel anything like an .11a,” I shouted down. “Seems more like an .11d!”
I reached up and pinched a tiny crystal, then shifted a foot to an eighth-of-an-inch-wide ledge. It had a sharp edge and felt secure, and I breathed a little easier as I shifted most of my weight back to my feet. “I bet the guidebook got it wrong,” I yelled while moving my right hand to a large rock flake above my head. “I bet it was a typo and this is really a .12a or maybe …”
As I pulled down against the flake, it broke loose and sent me hurtling backward into empty space. “Falling!” I shouted instinctively.
Just for an instant, the wind whistled past my ears; then the slack ran out and the rope caught me with a gentle jerk on my harness. I held my feet out in front of me, and they landed softly against the cliff, almost 15 feet below where I had fallen.
“Yahoo!” Josh shouted. “What a screamer! You got some serious air on that one. You okay?”
“Yeah,” I answered as I watched the loose rock tumble down the mountainside below. That would explain the wrong rating. The route has probably changed as other holds have broken off. That would make it a completely different climb than it used to be. The shock of the fall quickly turned to excitement and elation with the adrenaline still pumping hot through my veins and brain.
“You owe me your life!” Josh said in his most dramatic tone of voice. It was his standard line every time he caught a fall. I laughed and he asked, “Wanna try again?”
“Nah, I’m gonna let you finish. I’ve had enough for one day.”
After I lowered down, Josh tied in and climbed quickly up to where I had fallen. I noticed him carefully testing each hold before trusting it with his entire weight. He agreed that the route was more difficult than an .11a, but he enjoyed it just the same. We spent the rest of the afternoon eating granola bars and drinking apple juice in the shade, then wading through the river and finally swimming once a water fight had broken out between us.
My thoughts returned to class when Amber started reading a scripture.
“… with a promise immutable and unchangeable, that inasmuch as those whom I commanded were faithful they should be blessed with a multiplicity of blessings.”
Boy, wouldn’t it be nice if we could count on everything being that dependable. Like climbing routes and guidebooks. Like life even. I thought of raising my hand to share the analogy, but I hadn’t been listening and wasn’t sure if it would fit into the discussion.
“That’s one reason why we call Christ ‘the Rock’,” Brother Stowers said. “Because he never changes, we can trust him to bless us when we keep his commandments just as he promised people in the early church and throughout history.”
Now I was intrigued. The Rock, huh? This analogy is getting better. Only the true Rock can be depended on like that. Everything else in this world can eventually break off, and that could put a person in a great deal of danger or pain if he had trusted it too much. I looked at Josh and he smiled. He must have thought the same thing. Suddenly I found my hand raised above my head.
“Yes, Andrew?” Brother Stowers called on me after consulting his seating chart.
“So we should clip into the rock frequently, I guess,” I blurted out.
“Clip?” Brother Stowers asked, a bit confused.
I should have backed up and explained things a little. Now no one would know what I was talking about. I was remembering the cliff breaking apart yesterday. I was thinking about how each clip on yesterday’s climb gave me a great sense of security and how I wished they were closer together. I was thinking about my broken resolves to read the scriptures and pray every day and how foolish it seemed to put them off now that I could see it all in perspective.
Then Josh jumped into the discussion. “Yeah,” he said, “attach ourselves, anchor ourselves to Him.”
“Ah, yes,” Brother Stowers said. “That’s a good point. And how can we do that.”
“Pray,” one student volunteered, “every morning and night.”
“And study the scriptures often,” added Amber.
“Yes,” agreed Brother Stowers, “and if we anchor ourselves that way to the Rock, then … Well, I think Paul said it best in his letter to the Romans. Andrew, would you please read the last two verses of chapter eight?”
“Sure,” I answered. I flipped open my New Testament and began reading, “For I am persuaded, that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, Nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.”
I suddenly felt the strength of the Spirit in the room that everyone else had probably felt throughout the entire lesson. It burned inside me, confirming to me that the words I had read were true, that Heavenly Father and Christ love us more powerfully than we can know, and that they are always there for our security and well-being in this unpredictable world. It made me feel strong and confident.
I thought again of my broken resolutions. This time I’ll really do it. No more procrastination.
“Nothing can separate us from Him,” I added thoughtfully, “except for ourselves.”
The class was silent as everyone pondered my last comment. Brother Stowers nodded his head. His mouth began to form another word, but it never came out. Instead, the bell rang marking the end of the hour, and everyone scrambled to pile up their books and make their way out the door. Brother Stowers smiled and walked to the door. He shook our hands as we left class and told us he would see us tomorrow. I, for one, could hardly wait.

Although Gabriel Salomão Neto is not a Latter-day Saint, he feels blessed by the Perpetual Education Fund just the same. “This is a great thing your church is doing,” he says, speaking for many employers in Brazil.
Mr. Neto, a manager and co-owner of a large vending-machine company in São Paulo, has reason to be grateful. He was so impressed with the qualifications of Church member Silvia O. H. Parra, who earned a degree in business administration with help from a PEF loan, that he hired her as his executive secretary.
“We love the job she does. She is hardworking and efficient. We believe in her, and we trust her,” says Mr. Neto. “The investment your church made in her has paid off—for you, for her, and for us.”
Grateful for the Perpetual Education Fund and for her membership in the Church, Silvia teaches English classes at her São Paulo ward to both members and nonmembers. “As I have received,” she says, “I also want to give.”

Vanessa—Bless these walls, so firm, and stout. Keeping want and trouble out. That’s what my Great Grandmother Gillman would pray for as a young mother living in the Midwest. They were right in the middle of “tornado alley” and she was absolutely terrified of any storm that would blow through. To the point where she would gather her girls under her bed and hide and cry. It’s probably no surprise that my grandmother, her daughter, grew up to be afraid of storms too. But when she had children of her own, she didn’t want to burden her kids with that same fear, and so as storms came in, she would bravely take her kids to the window to ooh and awe at the wonder of nature and sometimes even run outside with them to play in the rain. I’m so grateful for her wisdom and courage because as a result my mother grew up loving thunderstorms and so did I. I’m especially grateful for the lesson learned, that our outlook and actions can completely change how we experience storms in our lives.

President Thomas S. Monson tells of Kathleen McKee, who passed away when he was her bishop. She had no family, so she had requested that Bishop Monson give away her few possessions. She had asked him to find homes for her three canaries. Two were beautifully marked and were to go to friends. But the third, a scruffy canary with gray on her wings, was to be the Monsons’. “He isn’t the prettiest,” Sister McKee had said, “but his song is the best.”

Bishop Monson reflected that Sister McKee had been much like her favorite canary. Not gifted with great beauty or numerous posterity, she nevertheless had befriended many neighbors in need, given comfort almost daily to a cripple on her street, and brightened each life she touched (see Ensign, August 1987, page 2).

I would like to share with you an experience I had with one small dimension of his efforts to lead a wayward son. A year and a half ago, I was assigned to go to a stake conference in New Mexico. The normal route would have been to fly to Albuquerque, rent a car, and drive to Grants, where the conference was to be held. But for some reason I was impressed that I must go to Gallup and get a car there. It had meant taking a little tiny plane. I was the only passenger on the plane with two pilots. It was a terribly windy day, and I wasn’t sure we were going to arrive.

When we arrived safely at Gallup, I was very, very happy to land. I went into the airport, took out my driver’s license, and put it on the desk to pick up my car. The gentleman there said, “Mr. Paramore, I’m sorry, I can’t let you have a car.”

“Why not?” I asked.

“Your driver’s license has expired.”

It had expired a week earlier on my birthday! What was I going to do? I picked up the phone and called the local bishop. He was on his way out the door to perform a marriage ceremony. I told him I was Elder Paramore, and he said, “Who?”

I told him again and I’m not sure he believed it.

He replied, “I’ll see what I can do.”

But I knew he didn’t believe that I was there because he said, “We don’t have a conference here today. What are you doing in Gallup?” I was out of my pattern; I was out of the route that I should have taken.

Sitting over in the corner of the room was a young man with his teenage son. He was dressed in tank top and construction clothes and had long clean hair. He came over to the desk, and he said, “I understand you are in a little trouble. I just came by to get some applications to take flying lessons, and I couldn’t help hearing that you need help. Could I take you somewhere?”

I said, “You would be a great Christian if you could.” I explained my dilemma.

“You buy my gas,” he said, “and I’ll drive you over.” We had sixty miles to go. So we got in his old, old worn-out car, filled with junk, and we started toward Grants, New Mexico.

On the way, I asked what every Latter-day Saint would ask:

“What do you know about the Mormons?”

“Have you ever been to Salt Lake City?”

“Have you ever read the Book of Mormon?”

To all of them the answers were affirmative.

When I asked him if he knew the Book of Mormon was true, there was a long, long pause. Finally he responded by saying, “I’m an elder in the Church, and two years ago my wife left me and my two children for another man. I was a member of the branch presidency where I live. The members of my branch cut me off and blamed me for the departure of my wife. We’ve never been able to go back to church because of those feelings.

“Do I know if the Book of Mormon is true, Brother Paramore? (I knew who you were.) I’ve read the Book of Mormon many times, and I know it’s as true as anything on this earth.”

In the hour and a half that passed as I rode with him to Grants, I began to see that I was sitting in the presence of a great man of God; that he knew the gospel is just as true as I did; that he had been deeply hurt by some of the members, and he hadn’t been back among them. We had a wonderful conversation, including a discussion of his son some day going on a mission. I’ve written him every week, sent him copies of the Church News every week, and given him other things to read. He is making great progress. Now, think about it. There are five billion people upon the earth, and here was one man out in the wilderness about whom the Lord was concerned. So he sent a General Authority, all unknowing, out of his way, redirecting his path. It could have been anyone, but it happened to be me. And when I came home that day, I knew that God loves all his children.

“You know what I wish, Mother?” Tina asked. “I wish I had a little house of my very own.”
“That’s a nice wish,” said Mother as she put on her oven mitts and set the casserole on the table. “Please tell Marlene and your dad it’s time for supper now, dear.”
Tina went down the hall. I’m going to make me a house of my own tomorrow, she decided.
The next day while helping her dad rake the dead leaves, Tina found the perfect place for a house. It was under the spruce trees that separated the yard from the neighbor’s.
Tina raked out all the dead grass from under the trees and all the spruce needles and bits of paper that had blown and caught there during the winter. She discovered that the branches came almost down to the ground and made a perfect house at the bottom of the tree.
Dad gave her an old rug to lay on the ground, and the space beneath the branches was even big enough for her table and chairs. Eating her lunch under the tree was great fun. But that evening the weatherman on television predicted rain, so Tina and her dad had to put all her things back into the garage.
In the morning it was too stormy to play outside in her house again. Tina decided to make a house under the dining room table out of blankets and chairs and the cushions from the den. She set out her little dishes under one chair. Her baby doll Amanda had a nursery under another chair. And there was even a bedroom for another doll.
But after a couple of days of having the blanket house in the dining room, the rest of the family began to complain.
“What’s the mess in there with all the blankets?” Tina’s big sister Marlene asked.
“It’s Tina’s house, dear,” replied her mother. “She’ll take it down before Sunday when Grandma comes to dinner.”
“Can’t you make her clean it up now? Shawn is coming over to do homework and it looks just awful.”
Then Dad asked, “Where are all the cushions from the den? I wanted to take a nap.”
It was always the same. Tina’s fun never lasted very long. She wanted a house she didn’t have to move because company was coming or because it was going to rain or just because she was in somebody’s way.
“Jim wonders if we would store his ice fishing shanty here for the summer,” Tina’s dad announced one day at lunch. Tina loved her dad’s youngest brother. He had no family of his own, and he often came to visit them. Uncle Jim was a big man with a light brown beard that tickled.
“I guess he misses not having a backyard since he moved into an apartment,” said Mother. “I’m sure we can find a place for his fish shanty.”
On Saturday Tina watched her uncle back his pickup truck into the yard. He slanted some planks from the back of the truck to the ground and Tina’s dad helped him slide the little wooden house down onto the grass in the corner of the yard.
Tina watched from her swing. It was a neat little house, smaller than the toolshed but tall enough in the center for a man to stand up. It was painted yellow and had brown shingles on the roof. There was a stovepipe with a cloth tied around it coming out of one wall.
Uncle Jim stopped to give Tina a hug and a tickle with his beard. “There you are, pumpkin,” he said, “a house for you to play in.”
“For me?” Tina asked.
“It’s all yours until next winter,” he promised.
Tina jumped out of the swing and ran to look inside the little house. It had one window in the back opposite the door, and there was a bench fastened to one wall. Across from the bench was a shelf. But the floor had two large round holes. Why would anyone build a house with holes in the floor? she wondered.
Tina ran into the big house and found Uncle Jim at the kitchen table. He grinned at his niece. “Well, what do you think?”
“It’s a wonderful little house, Uncle Jim! Can I really play in it?”
“Sure you can. Your dad’s going to nail some plywood over the holes in the floor. Wouldn’t want you to catch your foot in one.”
“What are the holes for?”
“I fish through them. The lake is frozen when I put the shanty out each winter. I cut holes in the ice with a long drill called an ice auger and put my lines down through the holes into the water. The shanty protects me from the weather. It gets so warm inside that I have to take my parka off—almost forget how cold it is outside.”
“You’ll be Tina’s friend for life,” said Mother. “She’s been wanting a playhouse.”
“Well, about Christmastime I’ll have to borrow it for two or three months, if that’s OK with you.”
“Oh, yes!” said Tina. “Thank you, Uncle Jim.” She felt a smile spreading over her face and she put both arms around Uncle Jim’s neck and hugged him hard.
“You’re welcome, pumpkin. I needed a place to store it, so we’re helping each other.”
Tina went to the garage to get her table and chairs. She stopped on the way to admire the little house again. It was just what she had dreamed about, and she would never have to put it away—even when it rained.

Colly Creek Ward
The Colly Creek Ward, Topeka Kansas Stake, challenged the Primary children to bring their scriptures every Sunday. They placed an anchor on the bulletin board and started making a paper chain connected to the anchor. The name of each child who brought his or her scriptures was written on a paper link every Sunday. Soon the chain grew to reach the back of the Primary room! This activity reminded the Primary to be “anchored” in the scriptures.

I’ve been on both sides of the fence. I can remember a time when I believed but did not know for myself. I’m a five-generation Latter-day Saint. Most of our people have been in the Church since the days of Joseph Smith. Every one of my ancestors and Sister Reeve’s ancestors crossed the plains as pioneers. The Lord has blessed us abundantly, and I’ve been aware that I have had many blessings—that I’m riding on a ticket that someone else paid for. It has kept me mighty humble.

This force that can cut us off can also keep us from knowing. Because I was raised in a Latter-day Saint home, we prayed; Dad and Mother prayed. Dad was in the bishopric all the years I can remember as a child. I can remember going away to school. I grew up in Millard County. We lived there during the Depression, and it was hard. I determined that I did not want to be there anymore. You’d work all year. You’d get up at 5:00 in the morning and work until 9:00 at night, and, when the season was over, you owed more than you did when you began in the spring. I had worked all summer. I had been paid a dollar a day. I had saved every cent I had earned. That is different from what we do today. I hadn’t spent one cent. I wanted to go to school. I had $96.35.

Before I went away, I came to the bishop. I said, “Bishop, tomorrow I’m going away to school. I’ve worked all summer. I’ve saved all that I’ve earned. I have $96.35. Do you think that the Lord expects me to pay tithing on that when I need so much more to go to school and there’s no other place to get any?”

This great bishop, and I’ll be grateful to him forever, looked me right in the eye and said, “If you pay your tithing, you’ll have what you need when you need it.”

I went home and got the money, those nine dollars. I carried them down, and they got bigger as I got closer to his office, until when I got to the desk they were almost as big as wheels. The greatest trial I had had up to that point was to put them on his desk. I still have the receipt in my safety deposit box.

I went away to school. I rode in the back of a grain truck to get there. One of the first things that happened to me was that I sat in a class where a learned man said, “God is dead.” I was shaken up. I was depending on Him. The bishop said He was going to help me. This learned man said that thinking people, anyone with intellect, would know that God is dead. We didn’t have a telephone at home. I couldn’t call Dad and Mother to be reassured. I hadn’t met the new bishop yet. The pillars that held my house up had fallen down, and I needed to know. I can still remember that night when there was no place to go but to my knees. There alone in that little one-room apartment, I kneeled down. I prayed—no fancy words—something like this, “Father in Heaven, Dad and Mom have been praying to you all these years. This learned man says you’re dead. I need to know. Are you there?” When I went back to that man’s class, I knew something he didn’t know. I knew there was a God, and He wasn’t dead. I knew that He could hear, and I knew that He could answer. From that hour until now, that assurance has been like an anchor to my soul.

Jamie was looking forward to the garage sale. She helped her mother sweep the driveway and set up the long folding tables. Then she printed a large GARAGE SALE sign to display at the end of their street.
“Do you think we’ll have lots of people?” Jamie asked.
“I hope so,” Mother answered. “The newspaper ad should help.”
A broken toaster, some mismatched dishes, and outgrown clothing lined the tables. Jamie was fascinated by the people who came to browse through the collection of old items.
“Why would anyone pay fifty cents for an old blue bottle?” Jamie asked after an elderly lady had left with her purchase.
“Why, she’ll put some pretty silk flowers in it and think it’s the world’s greatest treasure!” Jamie’s mother explained. “People like to have unusual things without having to pay a lot for them.”
“Do you think someone will want to buy my old high chair and crib?” Jamie asked.
“Yes, I’m sure someone will,” replied Mother. “They’re almost like new.”
“I don’t like to think of my things being in someone else’s house,” Jamie said with a frown.
“Well, we certainly can’t use them anymore!” Her mother laughed. “You’re a big girl now. I’ll bet if you looked through your room, you’d find some things to get rid of too.”
Jamie went to her room to look for something she could sell. Her bookshelf was lined with books about giants and kings and clowns. This one used to be my favorite, she thought as she looked through the pages of How to Tell Time. I can’t sell it! she decided.
Inside her desk she found a set of plastic letters and numbers that she’d used in first grade. One of the Cs was missing, and the 8 was bent. I might need these to play school the next time Andrea comes over, Jamie thought. Finally, after thinking about everything in her room, Jamie decided to sell her blocks. They had been stored in the farthest corner of her closet for a very long time.
Back outside, Jamie told her mother, “I’m going to sell my blocks for two dollars.”
“Two dollars is rather high,” Jamie’s mother said as Jamie placed the box of blocks on the table. “You may want to lower the price.”
None of the adults were interested in the two-dollar box of blocks. Jamie began to think she’d keep them after all. Then an old blue car pulled up in front of the house. A young woman, followed by three small children, walked up the driveway.
“Your ad said you had a high chair and crib for sale,” the woman said.
“Yes, we do,” replied Jamie’s mother. “They’re right over here on the lawn. As you can see, they’re in very good condition.”
“They are nice,” the woman said. “The ones we have at home are worn-out.”
“Yes, I can imagine,” Jamie’s mother said, smiling at the three active children.
Jamie noticed that the dress the little girl was wearing was much too small for her. One of the little boy’s shoes had a hole in the toe, and his shirt was too big. The baby wasn’t wearing shoes, and Jamie thought his feet must be cold.
“My name’s Anne,” the little girl told Jamie. “I’m going to be in first grade this year!”
“Oh, that’s nice,” Jamie said. “How old are your brothers?”
“Marty’s four, and Alex is almost two,” Anne told her. “We’re going to have a new baby pretty soon!”
Marty spied the box of colorful blocks sitting at the edge of the table. “They’re pretty!” he said. He picked up a purple block and turned it around and around, looking at all its sides. “Bet I could build a real high tower with all of these!” he boasted.
“How much are the blocks?” Anne asked.
“Two dollars,” Jamie said. “They’re really good blocks. I haven’t used them very much.”
“Oh.” Anne sighed. “We won’t be able to buy them, Marty.”
“I have some money!” Marty declared. “Eighteen cents from my piggy bank!”
“I know,” Anne whispered to him, “and I have thirty-five cents. But even together it won’t be enough.”
“Maybe we can ask Mother for the rest,” Marty suggested.
“No,” Anne said. “She only has enough for the baby furniture.”
Jamie watched Marty’s freckled face sag into a sad frown. She watched his little fingers place the purple block back into the box. Then she thought about how useless the blocks had been sitting in her closet.
“Two dollars is probably too much for them,” Jamie admitted. “They do have some scratches. I think eighteen cents is a fair price!”
“You do?” Marty grinned. “That’s great!”
Marty counted out his dime and eight pennies. Jamie put the coins into the money box.
“Thank you,” Marty said, clutching his new treasure.
“I have some other things I don’t need anymore,” Jamie said. “If you’ll wait a minute, I’ll bring them out!”
“I don’t think we have enough money to buy any more,” Anne said.
“Wait until you see if there’s anything you like before you decide,” Jamie said as she hurried inside.
Jamie got How to Tell Time from the shelf. One of the clock hands on the cover was slightly bent, but that wouldn’t matter. It could still help a six-year-old learn to tell time. She gathered all the letters and numbers from her desk, put them into a shoe box, and then hurried outside.
“I’m too old for these things now,” Jamie said with a smile as Anne looked at the toys. “And they’re only thirty-five cents.”
“But aren’t these worth more than that?” Anne asked.
“No, thirty-five cents is just right,” Jamie replied. “You’ll have a lot of fun playing school with them.”
“I can’t wait to tell time!” Anne cried. “Thank you!”
As the old blue car pulled away from the curb, Jamie could see three excited faces looking back at her. Jamie waved. The coins she clutched in her other hand were forgotten. Inside, Jamie had a zillion dollars’ worth of happiness.

Later I climbed the Mount of Olives by way of a very old stone path. The huge stones were polished from the countless sandals of several thousand years. The feet of Jesus probably climbed this path from Jerusalem to Bethany. It was long and steep, and I stopped several times to gulp much needed air and to wipe the sweat from my eyes. As I lifted my eyes to see the top of the hill, I imagined myself to be one of the Savior’s disciples, following him up the path to Bethany. Perhaps I would have stumbled on a projecting rock and called, “Master, wait for me.” Or I might have asked, “Lord, what of the last days?” For a moment I stood there, aboard my own personal time-machine, wondering about the closeness to Christ that I was feeling. As tears came unexpectedly, I understood those I had seen in President David O. McKay’s eyes during a sacrament meeting a few years ago. He had cried in contemplation of the suffering of a close friend, a man called Jesus.

When Quinn was younger, his father, Greg, told him that he would support Quinn in pursuing roping—if he did three things: kept his language clean, kept the Word of Wisdom, and stayed morally clean. Quinn also decided that he would keep the Sabbath day holy by not competing on Sundays. Knowing that he made those commitments early on helps Quinn stay on track. He knows where he stands, and for him doing what’s right is a simpler choice.

One of the most challenging experiences of my life happened shortly after the passing of our 10-year-old daughter from brain cancer. The saying “You can’t take it with you” came with clarity as we looked around her room one Saturday afternoon.
Clarissa was gone, but her room still held the identifiable remnants of her earthly stay. We now had the daunting task of deciding what to do with her personal belongings. I knew that parting with a single item would not be easy, especially for my wife.
Dealing with the whirlwind of details associated with hospitals, chemotherapy, and radiation had left us little time to clean and organize.
Memories came as we packed up items she’d arranged on her headboard or bookshelf. They all held heartfelt meaning—from her favorite blanket, book, or necklace to her stuffed animals, schoolbooks, and football. My wife sobbed as we asked what to do with each item.
We gathered many of Clarissa’s books and took them to her elementary school for other children to enjoy. We gave her dresser to a neighbor. Some of her clothes went to cousins. Focusing on others helped make the difficult situation of parting with her things a little easier.

Wilford Woodruff recorded a powerful recollection from the early days of the Church. A discussion of scriptures and living prophets came into question. One man asserted modern revelations should be confined to what was already contained in scripture.

At that moment, Joseph Smith asked Brigham Young to stand and declare his testimony of living prophets. Brigham Young stood and set the Bible, Book of Mormon, and Doctrine and Covenants in a stack before him and said, “Those books do not convey the word of God direct to us now, as do the words of a Prophet . . . in our day and generation. I would rather have the living oracles than all the writing in the books.”

When he was through, Brother Joseph said to the congregation, “Brother Brigham has told you the word of the Lord, and he has told you the truth.”

One Sunday before a stake conference, I visited two branches using public schools as meetinghouses. I was shocked by the humble and modest conditions of the buildings, which lacked even some basic amenities. As I met a few members there, I was ready to apologize for the inadequate conditions of their meetinghouse, but they were happy to have a nearby place to gather, avoiding the usual long walk. Again, there were no complaints—only smiling faces and grateful hearts.

The faithful widowed mother who raised us had no confusion about the eternal nature of the family. She always honored the position of our deceased father. She made him a presence in our home. She spoke of the eternal duration of their temple marriage. She often reminded us of what our father would like us to do so we could realize the Savior’s promise that we could be a family forever.
I recall an experience that shows the effect of her teachings. Just before Christmas one year, our bishop asked me, as a deacon, to help him deliver Christmas baskets to the widows of the ward. I carried a basket to each door with his greetings. When he drove me home, there was one basket remaining. He handed it to me and said it was for my mother. As he drove away, I stood in the falling snow wondering why there was a basket for my mother. She never referred to herself as a widow, and it had never occurred to me that she was. To a 12-year-old boy, she wasn’t a widow. She had a husband, and we had a father. He was just away for a while.
I anticipate that glorious future day when the separated will be reunited and all of us will be made complete as the Lord has promised. I testify of Jesus Christ, the Only Begotten Son of the Eternal Father, whose priesthood authority and whose Atonement and Resurrection make it all possible, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Don’t be like the lazy bird that traded its feathers for worms.
Illustration by Greg Newbold
I remember the story of a bird that started to trade his feathers for worms. It was easy to get food that way, and the bird thought he had plenty of feathers. As he continued to trade his feathers, the bird enjoyed not having to get up early to hunt for worms anymore. He could sit in his nest all day and never have to move a muscle. Eventually, however, the bird got too used to this and realized he could no longer fly because he had lost his vital feathers.
This can happen to anyone who falls into the trap of bad habits, lazy routines, or use of addictive substances. In For the Strength of Youth we read that these things “harm your physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual well-being. They damage relationships with family and friends and diminish your feelings of self-worth. They limit your ability to make choices for yourself.”1 Being active and eating right help us to avoid these bad habits. If the bird had continued to fly and hunt, he never would have lost his feathers. Similarly, if we “flap our wings” and exercise regularly, we develop the ability to avoid tendencies that harm and degrade us.

My bishop and I were having a pleasant conversation in his office, but in truth, I wasn’t paying much attention.
It was the middle of December, and we were meeting for tithing settlement. I had always had a testimony of tithing and had paid a full tithe, so I didn’t think much of the short meeting. And I was anxious to get back to studying for my college finals, especially because I had just found out I had failed my math final—for the second time.
I was feeling very discouraged, and my mind was elsewhere.
My bishop looked at me kindly.
“I noticed you didn’t pay fast offerings this year,” he said, smiling.
That brought me back to attention.
He was right.
Fast offerings had been at the back of my mind for months. They were something that my family rarely discussed growing up, and we didn’t really talk about them at church, either.
I mistakenly thought I didn’t have to contribute much, partly because I was now in a YSA ward, and partly because I was blinded a bit by my own pride and didn’t really have a testimony of fasting or fast offerings.
I thought that paying my tithing and just going without food was enough.
“I haven’t,” I said. “But if I’m paying my tithing and fasting, that’s what counts the most, right?”
My bishop smiled and explained to me the importance of paying a fast offering alongside fasting every month, and the number of temporal blessings it provides for those in need in the ward.
But most of all, he emphasized the blessings available to those who are willing to sacrifice and to keep the law of the fast.
He looked me in the eye and said, “Those blessings can help you with whatever challenges you’re facing at the moment, even those in your education.”
My mouth fell open. I hadn’t even told him that I had just failed my math class.
“So what you’re saying is,” I said, “if I pay my fast offerings, I’ll be able to pass math next semester?”
We both laughed, but I was a little shocked when he actually nodded.
He told me that if I would study and gain a testimony of the importance of the law of the fast and paid a fast offering every month, I would be surprised at the blessings that Heavenly Father would shower on me.
Seeing that this math class was the only thing keeping me from progressing in school and that I had struggled with math (especially math that included both numbers and letters) throughout my life, I decided to give it a shot.
At the start of the next semester, I made a promise to myself that I would study math harder than I ever had, and that I would also learn as much about fasting and fast offerings as I could.
I had always fasted growing up, but I hadn’t ever made it meaningful. Most of the time on fast Sunday, I just thought about how I was so hungry that the fruit snacks toddlers had dropped on the floor in sacrament meeting actually looked appetizing.
When the start of the new month came around, I had a hard time paying my tithing and fast offering. I was a poor college student, and I didn’t have much to offer!
But as the months went by, I felt my begrudging attitude and pride slowly fade. As I focused on the why of fasting, I felt my heart and faith change with every fast Sunday in many ways:
My prayers at the beginning and end of my fasts became more sincere and meaningful.
Paying fast offerings helped me fast with purpose, and instead of simply focusing on my stomach growling, I started recognizing the Spirit’s soft voice and influence.
The pure, yet profound, spiritual strength I would feel at the end of each fast would fill my soul and warm my heart.
I ultimately realized that when we willingly make sacrifices for others, we are refined into more Christlike beings, because sacrifice is exactly what He did for us. His life was just one long act of giving.
I felt charity enrich my soul every month as I thought of how many people we are able to serve with our willingness to give. And I also felt gratitude for all the blessings in my life that I had sometimes previously overlooked.
Fasting for the purpose of sharing light and blessings with others became much more important than what was in it for me.
I felt more connected to Heavenly Father and the Savior.
Despite ongoing challenges, I experienced many little mercies, and I felt a lot of joy in my life.
I was struck by the words of Elder Joseph B. Wirthlin (1917–2008) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles when he said:
“Fasting in the proper spirit and in the Lord’s way will energize us spiritually, strengthen our self-discipline, fill our homes with peace, lighten our hearts with joy, fortify us against temptation, prepare us for times of adversity, and open the windows of heaven. …
“As we live the law of the fast, we not only draw nearer to God through prayer, but we feed the hungry and care for the poor.” 1
That’s a lot of promised blessings that are just waiting for us.
Since this experience, fasting and fast offerings have become an important part of my discipleship. I feel closer to my Heavenly Father and Savior each time I give. And sometimes I even fast when it isn’t fast Sunday to seek answers and comfort for myself or on behalf of others.
I’ve realized that the law of the fast is truly a gift.
And in case you were wondering, yes, I did miraculously pass that math class that semester. And I didn’t just pass it—I got one of the top scores in the class. I studied, of course, but for once in my life, those letters and numbers just finally seemed to click in my mind.
Heavenly Father is indeed a God of miracles.
As we strive to follow Him and His Son, Jesus Christ, along with Their commandments, we can move forward with faith, hope, and charity, and They will remind us that They are with us and ready to bless us for our efforts.

I remember attending a stake conference not long ago and hearing a very cute example of receiving the promptings but not being obedient. After the morning session of the conference, we were having dinner at the stake president’s home. His counselors and their wives were there. One of the counselors was a rancher with a family of eight or nine children, as I recall, and his ranch was made up of many square miles. Before we sat down to eat his wife was kind of smiling because, she said, I had talked that day about being obedient to the promptings of the Spirit. She continued to smile and said: “Early in our married life, my husband was out on the ranch late one night, and he had a breakdown. So he knelt and prayed and asked Heavenly Father to let me know that he was having problems so I could go out and find him.”

And she did. He had prayed, and she, feeling the promptings of the Spirit, had gone out, gotten in the pickup, and found him broken down somewhere on the ranch. She continued:

That got to be kind of a thing with us. Over the next twenty years whenever he got in trouble, he would pray, and I would get the promptings, and would get in the car and go out to find him. While I was carrying our last baby, and I was about nine and one-half months pregnant [and that means you really are], and I was in my mid-forties. It was about ten-thirty at night, and I was seated waiting for either him or the baby, whichever came first, when I got the impression, “Your husband is in trouble; go out and help him.” I was just too big and too tired and too old, and I just couldn’t do it, so I said to the Lord, “You’ll just have to help him get home yourself.” Then at about one-thirty in the morning he came in, and he didn’t say, “Hi, honey,” or anything. He just came right to me and said, “What’s the matter? Didn’t you get my message?” I said, “Yes, but I just couldn’t come out, so I had the Lord do it for me.”

One of the great challenges of life is to live to receive the message and then to have the courage to obey it.

Let me give you one example of tenacious faith in a missionary. In 1999, Sister Marci Barr came to the Nagoya Mission from Columbus, Ohio. She was a convert to the Church. Japanese was not easy for her, but she was tenacious. She was not going to give up or give in. In fact, early in her mission she was so determined to learn Japanese that she tried riding her bike and studying at the same time. This resulted in a painful bike accident and is not recommended. “Persistence, perseverance, and stubborn determination” characterized everything about Sister Barr. Once she learned how to communicate, she never stopped talking with people about the gospel of Jesus Christ.

We know that in Japan, and in every other country of the world, there are those who are ready to hear the gospel. There are great promises made to faithful, persistent, and even tenacious missionaries who open their mouths with boldness and love and who work with all their might in the ways that the Lord has set forth. One such promise is that the Lord “will open the hearts of the people, and they will receive you.”19

Some missionaries become fearful of rejection and let their fears overcome the loving boldness that they once felt. Not Sister Barr! She found and taught and she taught and found all of her mission. She never gave up. She knew that God had sent her, and she knew that God would fulfill His promises made to those who would be faithful to the end.

On the very last day of her mission she was traveling by train and subway alone to the mission home in Nagoya. That is how we did transfers in those days. She had faithfully completed her mission. That night I would interview her and tell her that she had done a wonderful job—and she had!

As she traveled to the mission home, there was a group of high school–age Japanese girls talking together on the subway. She approached them and asked if she could visit with them. She spoke of the gospel and its restoration. She gave a missionary tract to one of the girls who seemed interested and told her of the sister missionaries who served in the area where she lived and who could teach her the gospel. One last time she began to share the gospel in Japanese to one who so needed it in her life.

She got off the train, came to the mission home, and had her interview, never telling me of her experience on the train. To her it was unremarkable. It was what she did as a missionary. Sister Barr was a young woman who had become a missionary and who would be a missionary every day and every minute she could. She was simply continuing to do what she knew was right, all the way to the end. Perhaps this is the best definition of gospel tenacity I know: No matter what, continue to have faith in God and His promises and do what is right, all the time, regardless of who knows.

You might be interested to know that Sister Barr—now Marci—returned home to Columbus. There in a student ward she met her future husband. They have been blessed with children and happiness and joy.

The girl on the train that Marci found—Hitomi Kitayama—was taught by the sister missionaries. It took time, but Hitomi persevered and displayed her own form of tenacity as she first learned the truths of the gospel and then embraced them, along the way overcoming opposition from family members and her own doubts.

We next met Hitomi nearly six years later at a mission conference in Tokyo, where she was serving as a missionary. It was at this missionary conference that she told us of her meeting Sister Barr on the subway and of her subsequent conversion to the gospel. She was a truly happy missionary. It had been a long journey from the subway in Nagoya to her being one of the Lord’s missionaries in Tokyo. After her mission she met another returned missionary, Shimpei Yamashita. They were married in the Tokyo Japan Temple on December 20, 2008, and they now have three beautiful children. Interestingly, her husband, Shimpei, is the son of a man I taught in the summer of 1971 while I was on my first mission to Japan.