Gospel Story Finder

I recall when my wife and I invited our teenage sons and daughters to take a challenge, one which they accepted. They were to pray earnestly that the Lord would help them identify a person they were to help come into the Church. There would be no time limit. They were to pray and search and wait until the Spirit spoke to them, until they found that special person who would accept the invitation to either participate with them in a Church activity or to listen to the message of our missionaries.
We promised them that they would know for sure because it would be just as though the Lord were pointing his finger at that person. They were also to pray that they would know what to say to that person at the time.
One son returned in about two weeks with the story that he definitely had been impressed to approach a young man who sat by him at the university. He approached him and was turned down. Naturally he felt discouraged and questioned the validity of our project.
“Did you truly love him?” I asked. “Or were you just trying to compile a statistic? Did you have love in your heart and in your eyes when you approached him? Were you listening to the Spirit to help you as you approached him?”
“Let me try again,” our son asked. “Let me fast and pray about it. Then I’ll try again.”
After fasting and praying about it, he still felt impressed that this was the young man he should introduce to the Church. He approached him once more, this time with great love in his heart, in his eyes, and in his soul. The young man agreed to meet with our son and the missionaries to learn about the Church.
Not only was the young man baptized but his inactive wife was reactivated and their three children will now have the blessings of being reared in an LDS home.

In 1982, the second Christmas after we were married, Cleto and I decided to establish family traditions. Because we were the first members of the Church in our families, our former Christmas celebrations—though they brought us happy memories—lacked genuine compassion and service. Moreover, our first baby, eight-month-old Diego, was reason enough to improve ourselves in this way.
We were quite busy with university studies, household chores, Church callings, and our crash course in first-time parenthood, but we still devoted ourselves to preparing for a special occasion. We used each family home evening in December to make decorations and to come to a better understanding of the symbols and colors we saw everywhere. We also planned on preparing a simple dinner, and we thought up useful and inexpensive gifts. As we undertook a scripture study program, we realized that the true change in our manner of celebrating Christ’s birth would involve choosing a gift for the Savior.
We wondered, “What do you give someone who has heaven and earth at His disposal?” The scriptures provide the answer, declaring that anything we do “unto one of the least of these” (Matthew 25:40) we do unto Him. Because Christmas is a season of friendship and a time of love, we wanted to invite a member of the Church to experience the warmth and sweet spirit we felt in our home. We looked hard to find someone who needed some cheering up and whom helping could be our Christmas present to the Savior.
Each time we invited a ward or stake brother or sister to our home, we were happy to discover that the person was already involved in other activities. But Christmas Eve soon arrived, and we still had not found someone with whom to share our Christmas.
Resigned to our failure, we were getting ready for dinner when the doorbell rang. When I opened the door, I was elated to find a friend we had not seen for some time. Avelar had recently gone through the disappointment of an upsetting separation. He was sad and alone and had felt a strong desire to be with us.
We received Avelar with love, and he told us that he had found the environment he needed to be consoled in the midst of his trials. We told him of our preparations to serve and help someone in need so that he could recognize the Lord knew him and loved him.
For all of us, it was wonderful to realize that the Savior had sent us someone we could not find: our friend Avelar. We realized the overriding importance of relationships among Heavenly Father’s sons and daughters. For that reason, on subsequent Christmases we and our three children always remember that the purpose of the season is to strengthen bonds of unity, love, and friendship.

The same difference was true, too, for the group of approximately 110 teenagers from the Augusta Maine Stake, who were at the Washington (D.C.) Temple. They were there to receive baptism for their kindred dead. The youth themselves had prepared the information for the ordinance work.

For the teenagers of the Augusta Maine Stake, temple activity took on an added dimension, too. Every April the youth of that stake usually made a trip to the Washington Temple to perform baptisms for the dead. This time, as leaders formulated plans for the April 1988 trip, they urged the young people, with the help of their families, to obtain the information on one or more of their ancestors and prepare the records for the temple work themselves.

The response was heartening. Even though many submitted records too late for normal processing, by the time of the trip, the names of about 150 ancestors had been cleared for ordinance work. Virtually every active teenager in the stake—about 110 youngsters—went this time. About sixty-five of them anticipated being baptized for their ancestors.

The group rode for fourteen hours to reach their destination. They spent the next day performing baptisms for the dead. That evening, in a fireside at the Washington D.C. Stake center, many testified that they finally knew what the Spirit was like because they had felt it in the temple. The trip was especially meaningful for those baptized for deceased family members.

I have a great friend, Brother Les Goates, a great and gifted writer, and I asked him if I could lift a part of a story. He told how welfare first came into his home:
“But ‘as for me and my house,’ the welfare program began in the Old Field west of Lehi on the Saratoga Road in the autumn of 1918, that terribly climactic year of World War I during which more than 14 million people died of that awful scourge ‘the black plague,’ or Spanish influenza.
“Winter came early that year and froze much of the sugar beet crop in the ground. My dad and brother Francis were desperately trying to get out of the frosty ground one load of beets each day which they would plow out of the ground, cut off the tops, and toss the beets, one at a time, into the huge red beet wagon and then haul the load off to the sugar factory. It was slow and tedious work due to the frost and the lack of farm help, since my brother Floyd and I were in the army and Francis, or Franz, as everybody called him, was too young for the military service.
“While they were thusly engaged in harvesting the family’s only cash crop and were having their evening meal one day, a phone call came through from our eldest brother, George Albert, superintendent of the State Industrial School in Ogden, bearing the tragic news that Kenneth, nine-year-old son of our brother Charles, the school farm manager, had been stricken with the dread ‘flu,’ and after only a few hours of violent sickness, had died on his father’s lap; and would dad please come to Ogden and bring the boy home and lay him away in the family plot in the Lehi Cemetery.
“My father cranked up his old flap-curtained Chevrolet and headed for Five Points in Ogden to bring his little grandson home for burial. When he arrived at the home he found ‘Charl’ sprawled across the cold form of his dear one, the ugly brown discharge of the black plague oozing from his ears and nose and virtually burning up with fever.
“‘Take my boy home,’ muttered the stricken young father, ‘and lay him away in the family lot and come back for me tomorrow.’
“Father brought Kenneth home, made a coffin in his carpenter shop, and mother and our sisters, Jennie, Emma, and Hazel, placed a cushion and a lining in it, and then dad went with Franz and two kind neighbors to dig the grave. So many were dying the families had to do the grave digging. A brief graveside service was all that was permitted.
“The folks had scarcely returned from the cemetery when the telephone rang again and George Albert (Bert) was on the line with another terrifying message: Charl had died and two of his beautiful little girls—Vesta, 7, and Elaine, 5—were critically ill, and two babies—Raeldon, 4, and Pauline, 3—had been stricken.
“Our good cousins, the Larkin undertaking people, were able to get a casket for Charl and they sent him home in a railroad baggage car. Father and young Franz brought the body from the railroad station and placed it on the front porch of our old country home for an impromptu neighborhood viewing but folks were afraid to come near the body of a black plague victim. Father and Francis meanwhile had gone with neighbors to get the grave ready and arrange a short service in which the great, noble spirit of Charles Hyrum Goates was commended into the keeping of his Maker.
“Next day my sturdy, unconquerable old dad was called on still another of his grim missions—this time to bring home Vesta, the smiling one with the raven hair and big blue eyes.
“When he arrived at the home he found Juliett, the grief-crazed mother, kneeling at the crib of darling little Elaine, the blue-eyed baby angel with the golden curls. Juliett was sobbing wearily and praying: ‘Oh, Father in heaven, not this one, please! Let me keep my baby! Do not take any more of my darlings from me!’
“Before father arrived home with Vesta the dread word had come again. Elaine had gone to join her daddy, brother Kenneth, and Sister Vesta. And so it was that father made another heartbreaking journey to bring home and lay away a fourth member of his family, all within the week.
“The telephone did not ring the evening of the day they laid away Elaine nor were there any more sad tidings of death the next morning. It was assumed that George A. and his courageous companion Della, although afflicted, had been able to save the little ones Raeldon and Pauline; and it was such a relief that Cousin Reba Munns, a nurse, had been able to come in and help.
“After breakfast dad said to Franz, ‘Well, son, we had better get down to the field and see if we can get another load of beets out of the ground before they get frozen in any tighter. Hitch up and let’s be on our way.’
“Francis drove the four-horse outfit down the driveway and dad climbed aboard. As they drove along the Saratoga Road, they passed wagon after wagon-load of beets being hauled to the factory and driven by neighborhood farmers. As they passed by, each driver would wave a greeting: ‘Hi ya, Uncle George,’ ‘Sure sorry, George,’ ‘Tough break, George,’ ‘You’ve got a lot of friends, George.’
“On the last wagon was the town comedian, freckled-faced Jasper Rolfe. He waved a cheery greeting and called out: ‘That’s all of ‘em, Uncle George.’
“My dad turned to Francis and said: ‘I wish it was all of ours.’
“When they arrived at the farm gate, Francis jumped down off the big red beet wagon and opened the gate as we drove onto the field. He pulled up, stopped the team, paused a moment and scanned the field, from left to right and back and forth—and lo and behold, there wasn’t a sugar beet on the whole field. Then it dawned upon him what Jasper Rolfe meant when he called out: ‘That’s all of ‘em, Uncle George!’
“Then dad got down off the wagon, picked up a handful of the rich, brown soil he loved so much, and then in his thumbless left hand a beet top, and he looked for a moment at these symbols of his labor, as if he couldn’t believe his eyes.
“Then father sat down on a pile of beet tops—this man who brought four of his loved ones home for burial in the course of only six days; made caskets, dug graves, and even helped with the burial clothing—this amazing man who never faltered, nor flinched, nor wavered throughout this agonizing ordeal—sat down on a pile of beet tops and sobbed like a little child.
“Then he arose, wiped his eyes with his big, red bandanna handkerchief, looked up at the sky, and said: ‘Thanks, Father, for the elders of our ward.’”

David soon discovered that he was the only member of the Church in his new school. With only a small number of students there, David knew he would get more attention from teachers because of the class size, but he didn’t want any special attention from his peers for being a Latter-day Saint.
“I was quiet about my beliefs at the beginning,” he says. “It was a new environment, and I was afraid I would be shunned and it would be hard to make friends.”
Then around his third year in the school, David remembered his priesthood lessons about letting his light shine.
“One time there was a big assembly at the school, and as I was looking around, it struck me that I was the only priesthood holder there,” he says. “The Lord had given me a responsibility, and I wasn’t doing enough.” He knew he had to make his membership in the Church known.
He decided to tell his friends about his standards and beliefs. He says it was harder to live his standards when he didn’t tell anyone about them, but when he made them known, it was easier to live them, and he even received support from his friends.

I recently lost my leg in a train accident.
I was sitting in the train when I felt my phone leave my hands—someone robbed me. Without thinking, I ran after the man through a train car that didn’t have doors. I’m not sure exactly what happened, but suddenly I was below the train, yelling for help.
I woke up in the hospital a few days later. I learned that I had lost my right leg. During my stay in the hospital, I cried many times. But my family, friends, and Church family were always with me, helping me.
I know that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ also helped me. Before each surgery, I always said a personal prayer that everything would be alright and that I wouldn’t be afraid. Every time I felt hopeless, the Lord was there.
I continue to get better and am striving to press forward with the Savior’s help.
Every time I felt hopeless, the Lord was there.

Illustrations by Priscilla Lamont
“Mom,” Enzo asked, “can I have a cake shaped like a turtle for my birthday party?”
Mom smiled. “Probably. But your birthday isn’t for five months!”
“I know. Can we have a water fight at my birthday party too?”
“Sure,” Mom said.
“It will be fun! We can wear swimsuits!” Enzo said.
“That does sound fun.”
“Can I invite Matt and David and Arlo?” Enzo asked.
Mom paused. “Well, we can send them invitations. But we’re moving to Texas soon, remember? And your friends will stay in Arizona.”
Enzo frowned. He didn’t want his friends to miss his birthday! “Then who will come to my party?”
Mom gave him a big hug. “You will make friends in Texas too. When it’s your birthday, we’ll invite them. We will have a fun party with your new friends.”
“And have a turtle cake?”
Mom laughed. “And have a turtle cake.”
Enzo felt a little better. But he was still worried.
That night Enzo prayed with Mom. He asked Heavenly Father to help him find friends in Texas. Then Enzo thought about Uncle Carlos. Uncle Carlos lived in Texas! He was lots of fun to play with. Enzo had an idea.
“Mom, can I invite Uncle Carlos to my party?”
“That’s a great idea!” Mom said.
“Can I call him right now?”
Mom laughed. She pulled out her phone and called Uncle Carlos.
Enzo heard the phone ring, and ring, and—
“Hello?” It was Uncle Carlos!
“Hi, Uncle Carlos,” said Enzo. “Can you come to my birthday party? It’s in September.”
“That sounds great!” said Uncle Carlos. “I will put it on my calendar. I’m excited to see you in Texas!”
Enzo was so happy. He could hardly wait for his birthday. He already had a great friend in Texas.

Not long after he came back from Asia in 1927, Howard went to see Ned Redding, a friend who lived in Southern California. After serious deliberation he decided to stay there and look for a career. He got a job with the Bank of Italy (later Bank of America) in 1928 and enrolled in evening classes for college credit. This same friend, Ned Redding, introduced Howard to a young lady friend of his at an M-Men and Gleaner dance at the Wilshire Ward on 8 June 1928. Her name was Clara (Claire) May Jeffs. Attracted to her at once, Howard said to Claire: “Why don’t you ever go out with me?” She said, “Why don’t you ask me?” Soon she and Howard began dating. They became engaged early in 1931 and were married on June 10 that year.

After their engagement, Howard decided to give up professional music and set new goals of marriage and a family. Since that time he has played his musical instruments only at family gatherings.

It was a hot summer day in southern California, and I was a typical teen enjoying my summer by sleeping late. I was getting out of bed when the doorbell rang. I raced my mom to the door. We were both surprised by a group of 10 to 15 teens my age.
They greeted us with a smile and explained that as part of a youth conference they were on a service scavenger hunt for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. They showed us a list of services and asked my mom to check off the items on the list they could do. My mom did, and they were soon busy pulling weeds, washing windows, and mowing our lawn. It was fun watching them all work together.
When the chores were complete, you could tell they had worked hard by the sweat on their faces and the dirt on their hands, but they looked pleased with the work they had done and thanked us for the opportunity to serve.
My mom offered them a big tip, but they refused. Feeling like they should not leave without us giving them something, I quickly ran into the house and returned with cold glasses of water.
After refreshing themselves, they asked if they could leave us with a song. As they sang “I Am a Child of God,” I felt a respect and love as you would for old friends, even though I had just met them.
I joined them for the next few houses, working side by side, feeling a sense of peace and acceptance. As I walked home, I was consumed in my own thoughts. I was in awe at how the youth were spending their day serving others.
I went straight to my room and wrote a thank-you letter for their service and how they had touched me. Without signing it, I put the letter and all the money I had, about $39, inside the envelope and drove to the church to tape it to the door.
From that day on, my life would never be the same. Not long after, I started spending time with youth in the Church and was touched spiritually by so many members helping me on my journey. Part of that journey was hearing the missionary discussions that led to my baptism a year later. Since that time, I have been married to a worthy man in the San Diego California Temple, and we have two beautiful daughters.

Yupha Thubthimthong stood transfixed at the scene before her. Fear, revulsion, and horror overwhelmed her; she longed to turn away, not wanting to be part of it, even to help. Before her lay the carnage of a train wreck—a passenger train from Ban Pong and a cargo train headed for southern Thailand had collided head-on near the station, derailing the passenger train. Many people had been killed, and many more were severely injured, trapped in the smoldering wreckage.
Yupha, a member of the Woman’s Welfare Services Society of Thailand, had been summoned to help. She had stopped only long enough to put on the blue uniform of the Society and then had rushed to the scene of the accident. But she had not been prepared for the terrible sight that confronted her. As she hesitated a “light whisper” seemed to say to her: “You are a Latter-day Saint. You must let your light shine for the world to see. You must be strong enough, patient enough, and brave enough to go and help.” Strengthened and fortified by the voice, she took a deep breath and began the gruesome task of pulling bodies from the wreckage and preparing the injured for transportation to the hospital.
Though the entire area seem covered with blood and a foul odor hung in the air, Yupha worked on determinedly and soon came upon a woman nearly crushed under a heavy gas storage tank. Yupha rushed to help her, realizing as she drew closer that the woman was pregnant and quite near her delivery time. As the tank was lifted, the infant was born. Overwhelmed, Yupha excused herself. She needed time to regain her courage once again.
Groping blindly for a place to calm herself, she was confronted suddenly by a woman waving a stick who raged at her, “My children are dead because of you! Look at the destruction your carelessness and negligence have caused!” Yupha staggered back from the threatened assault, confused at first at the woman’s accusations. The woman was overcome with grief, because she had lost two children in the train wreck and had found only one of the bodies. The poor mother had seen Yupha’s uniform and mistaken her for a railroad employee.
As calmly as she could, Yupha explained that she was not working for the railroad, that she had come only to help. Three police officers noticed the conflict and warned the raging mother that she would be arrested should she harm Yupha.
“What if that mother were me?” Yupha thought to herself. “Wouldn’t I be crazy with grief, too?” She turned to the policemen and said, “No, please don’t harm her. She is only reacting out of grief.” Surprised, the police protested that the woman had tried to hit Yupha and might try to do so again.
“I am not afraid,” she replied. “Heavenly Father teaches that we are all brothers and sisters; we must love one another. She will not harm me.”
Doubtfully the police released the woman, and Yupha returned to her grisly tasks. The difficult and heart-rending work took several more hours.
At length a search was started among the workers for someone with blood type “O”. A small girl was about to undergo surgery, and the hospital had exhausted its blood supply. Without the blood and surgery the child would die. Yupha volunteered and rode to the hospital to donate the needed blood. She had never before given blood, and because it was so badly needed more than the usual amount (4.7 deciliters) was drawn out of Yupha’s veins. A feeling of urgency hung over the hospital and the workers. Not realizing she should rest after blood is drown, Yupha left the hospital and returned once again to the accident scene.
By late in the afternoon the worst tasks had been accomplished, and Yupha’s thoughts returned to her own children and their needs. She got ready to go home. But before she could go, a railroad official requested that the volunteer workers meet at the hospital where Yupha had donated blood. The director wanted to meet them and express his appreciation.
The Minister of Public Health thanked the workers also, and while they were talking the grief-stricken mother from the station entered the room, searching about for someone. A doctor with her called out, “Is there a Mrs. Yupha here?” (It is the custom in Thailand to address people by their title and first name rather than the last name as in English-speaking countries.) Knowing she must acknowledge who she was, Yupha nodded rather reluctantly. By this time the woman had seen Yupha, ran to her, embraced her, then began to cry.
Yupha stared at the doctor, bewildered. “Your donation of blood saved this woman’s daughter,” he explained. “She has come to thank you.”
Yupha’s face showed her relief as the woman tearfully expressed her gratitude, then commented, “How can you stay so calm? When I have been so angry with you, you remain serene. What makes you like that?”
Yupha’s answer was much the same as she had given the police officers earlier: “My church teaches that we are all brothers and sisters and should love one another no matter who it is or what they do.”
While this scene took place, Dr. Martin, the Minister of Public Health looked on. He was greatly impressed with Yupha and her response to the once grief-stricken but now joyous mother.
Dr. Martin was in an unusual position. He had previously been head of the Department of Education, which supervised the Department of Religion, and this latter department had imposed visa restrictions on the LDS missionaries. Dr. Martin’s response was therefore a welcome one. Noting the beautiful way in which Yupha reacted to a difficult situation, he recognized the fruits of LDS missionary work and promised that in the future he would work toward easing visa restrictions.
Meanwhile, the grateful mother pressed Yupha for more information on the Church and its teachings.
“May I come to your church when I have been to the funeral of my child?”
“You are always welcome,” Yupha assured her.
At last the long, eventful day was over. Yupha returned home to her own children, exhausted, but warm with the knowledge that she had listened to the “light whisper” of the Spirit and put her faith into action.

Let me begin with a legend. There is a story of a grandfather, a holy man, who, caring for his grandson, sent him out to play. Shortly the boy returned sobbing as if his heart would break. He explained, “I was playing hide-and-seek with my friends. I went and hid and waited but no one came for me. They all ran away.” The grandfather embraced him and said, “Now you know how God feels. He hides and no one comes for him.”

May brings Teacher Appreciation Week, and youth of the Jurupa California Stake did not let their teachers be forgotten. Each student invited the best teacher he or she had ever had to a teacher appreciation dinner held at the stake center.
During the dinner, the young men and young women provided musical entertainment, and Bishop David Hanson of the Jurupa Fourth Ward spoke about Christ as the Master Teacher. Many of the 50 teachers who attended the dinner wrote thank-you notes commenting on how impressed they are with the youth of the Church and with the Church’s emphasis on education.

Photographs by Leslie Nilsson
Marta is an 11-year-old from Portugal, and like many girls her age, she likes to spend time with her friends, eat food, and play with her dolls. She also enjoys spending time with her mom. But living with her mom means that Marta lives a bit differently than other kids.
Marta’s mom, Sonia, was born with a motor deficiency that makes it difficult for her to walk. She isn’t completely paralyzed, but she does need a walker to get around. She isn’t able to dress herself, bathe herself, or get herself into bed. This makes it hard for her to live alone. Marta has been able to serve Sonia for the last few years by helping her with things that she can’t do by herself.
“I keep my spaces clean so my mom can get around easier,” says Marta. “I also take breaks from playing so I have time to check on my mom and see if she needs help. If I’m playing and she calls, I’ll go quickly because it could be something urgent.”
But Sonia tries to let Marta live as normally as she can. If Sonia doesn’t need any help, she makes sure that Marta gets time to play with her friends.
Marta has the opportunity to live the gospel each day by serving her mom. She takes on a lot of responsibilities that other kids don’t usually have. For instance, she wakes up early to help her mom get ready for work before school. Without Marta’s help, Sonia wouldn’t be able to get around or go to work every day.
Marta and Sonia also attend church together. Sonia was baptized when she was eight years old, so Marta has grown up in the Church. Sonia teaches Marta about the importance of the gospel every day. One way she does this is by having many pictures of Jesus Christ in their home.
“I know that God lives and that Jesus Christ is real,” Sonia says. “And I want everyone who comes to my house to know that faith is very important to me. It’s also important for me to teach this to Marta so that she grows up with this knowledge of Jesus Christ.”
Marta has taken what her mom has taught her and continues to learn more about the gospel on her own. One way she likes to learn is by reading the scriptures, which helps her establish a stronger relationship with Heavenly Father and the Savior. “As I read the scriptures, I feel that Christ is at my side,” she says.
While it can be difficult to have so much responsibility, going to church each week helps Marta find the comfort she needs to keep helping her mom. “When they say the prayers at the start and end of sacrament meeting, it’s so peaceful” she says. “When I’m there, sometimes I feel like Heavenly Father is telling me that I’m a good person and that I have to continue to be a good person to help my mom.”
Whenever she feels this way, she is reminded how grateful she is for her mom. She feels that Heavenly Father has sent angels to support her. “I think that He strengthens me to wake up and be happy and proud of the mom I have,” Marta says.
One of the lessons that Sonia and Marta have learned together is that life isn’t easy or perfect—for anyone. Sonia says, “None of my difficulties make me sad. I know that God gave me this flesh and blood and bones this way because I am special, and God told me I could do it. I do my best. I can do more, but today I’m feeling OK with myself. I am proud of what I do, what I have, and what I will do tomorrow.”
Marta also realizes that things will work out all right, even though life can be difficult at times as she takes care of her mom. She sees that everyone has different challenges. “No one’s life is perfect,” she says. But even with her own personal challenges, Marta still finds good things in every situation—the relationship she has with her mom is one example. “My mom has a physical limitation, but mentally and emotionally she is very intelligent. We’re really good friends.”
So what’s in the future for Marta and Sonia? Marta says, “I want to stay close to my mom, and of course I want to get married, have kids, and have a family. But in the future, if I can, I want to buy a house for both my family and my mom because I wouldn’t want to be far from her for even a day!”
Sonia feels optimistic about the future as well and will always be grateful for Marta’s companionship and love. “It’s amazing having a beautiful daughter. It’s very nice to have Marta in my life. She is a gift from God. He prepared Marta to stay here with me.”

Xander always wished he had a big brother. And now he had one!
Well, not really, but Xander liked to pretend that Sevàk was his brother. Sevàk was staying with Xander’s family while he visited the United States to go to school.
For family home evening tonight, Sevàk was teaching them about his home country. He pulled a little flag out of his pocket. It had three stripes—red, blue, and orange. “This is the Armenian flag. Armenia is in Eastern Europe,” he said. He told them more cool stuff about his country—like how it was so small that it could fit inside Xander’s state eight times!
While Xander listened, he thought about how Sevàk was different. He talked kind of funny. He looked different too—his hair and eyes were darker than Xander’s. And Sevàk’s family went to a different church than Xander’s family.
But he’s not that different, Xander thought. We both like to play games. They had even made up their own game together with Xander’s trading cards. They also both liked watching Saturday morning cartoons.
After Sevàk finished telling about his country, they sang a Primary song and read a scripture. “Thank you for sharing with us, Sevàk,” Dad said. “Nathan, will you say the closing prayer?”
“Yup!” said Nathan. Xander glanced at Sevàk, who bowed his head and clasped his hands reverently.
Even though he’s different, Xander thought, he’s Heavenly Father’s son—just like me. That makes us pretty much brothers!
The next afternoon Xander and Nathan were playing basketball on the driveway.
“Hey, guys,” Sevàk said when he got home from school. “Can I play?”
“Sure!” Xander said. “We’re playing Horse.”
Sevàk didn’t know how to play, so Xander explained the rules while Nathan went into the garage to get another ball.
“So when it’s your turn, just make sure you don’t miss the basket,” Xander finished.
“OK, let’s play,” Sevàk said.
They all took turns shooting baskets. Sevàk was pretty good. But after a couple of rounds, he missed a shot, and the ball bounced off the backboard.
Sevàk laughed. “I can’t believe I missed that!” Then he said some words that made Xander’s stomach squirm.
Sevàk wasn’t a bad person, so why did he say those bad words? Maybe he doesn’t know that’s wrong, Xander thought. Sometimes he forgot that Sevàk didn’t know the same things about Heavenly Father and Jesus.
“Umm, we don’t say those words at our house because it makes Heavenly Father sad,” Xander said as kindly as he could. “If you want to say that, you can always just say ‘bummer’ instead.”
“Oh, OK,” Sevàk said, picking up the ball. “Thanks for telling me.”
They kept playing. Sevàk missed again, but this time he said, “Bummer!” and smiled at Xander.
The month went by quickly, and soon it was time for Sevàk to leave. Before he left, he hugged Xander goodbye. “Thank you for teaching me about God. I learned a lot from you,” Sevàk said. “I had such a cool feeling during family home evening and prayers with your family. I want to have a feeling like that in my home someday.”
Xander hugged him back. “Bye, Sevàk. I’ll really miss you!”
Sevàk got baptized later! And he’s still like a brother to Xander.
Xander felt warm inside. He knew that Heavenly Father was happy that he had helped Sevàk feel the Holy Ghost and learn about how Jesus wanted him to live.

I normally would have avoided him—a worn-down man playing a game of cards at a table in the play area of a local fast-food restaurant. He had a soft smile on his sad countenance as he watched the children play. “He must be warming himself from the cold,” I thought as I passed his table to throw away my daughter’s half-eaten meal. As I noticed his table, bare of any food wrappers or paper cups, the still, small voice whispered to me, “Buy him some food.”
I returned to my table with some cash still in my pocket. “I’ll embarrass him,” I told myself. Then a feeling of peace came, and the Spirit’s sweet whispering stilled me: “Buy him some food.”
I didn’t tell my children what I was doing; I just picked up some trash and went to throw it away so I could get near the man’s table without letting my friend who I was eating with know.
I leaned in and asked, “Can I buy you some lunch?”
He looked startled and softly replied, “If you want to.”
I pulled out the small amount of cash I had left—just enough for a meal and a drink—and gave it to the man. I returned to my seat, undiscovered by the busy moms around me, and watched the man get up to buy his meal.
As I loaded my children into the car to go home, I looked through the window and saw the man carrying a tray of food back to his empty table. On his once-solemn face was a smile.
The winter breeze blowing against my face didn’t feel quite so cold. I basked in the warm, joyful Spirit that filled me from my boots to my frozen ponytail. I remembered the teaching of the Savior:
“For I was an hungered, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink …
“Then shall the righteous answer him, saying, Lord, when saw we thee an hungered, and fed thee? or thirsty, and gave thee drink? …
“And the King shall answer and say unto them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me” (Matthew 25:35, 37, 40).
I am thankful for the smile of a stranger that helped me find the courage to do what is right.

Like most boys from Whitney, “T” had a desire to share the gospel himself. As a child, he had sat in Sunday School listening to returned missionaries tell about the “happiest two years” of their lives. Even when they reported persecutions it only fed the missionary flame within his young heart. Later, he went to the stake patriarch for a blessing. “Brother Dalley very slowly pronounced a blessing upon my head, which included an answer to a boy’s prayer. I was promised, if faithful of course, that I would go on a mission to the nations of the earth and would raise my voice in testimony and that many would rise up and bless my name because of my influence in helping to bring them into the Church.

“I went home walking on air, I was so happy.” When the time came, “T” accepted a call to the British Mission. He attended his farewell party, as so many boys from Whitney before him, on the old tennis court.

The beginning of Elder Benson’s fruitful mission is the beginning of the end of this story of a boy from Whitney. The boy would come back two and a half years later, a boy no longer but a tried and seasoned man. He spent several more years in the Whitney area, served as an outstanding Scoutmaster, married a beautiful and righteous wife, grew and learned, but that is another story.

This much can be said, however—that Brother Benson and Elder Benson and President Benson never stopped loving his hometown, never stopped visiting his old ward, never stopped dropping in on his old friends, because a boy from Whitney does not forget.

Come with me to view the humility before God demonstrated by one young, very dear friend of mine.
On January 5, 2025—91 days ago—Easton Darrin Jolley had the Aaronic Priesthood conferred upon him and was ordained a deacon in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Easton had longed to pass the sacrament of the Lord’s Supper for as long as he could remember. But this sacred opportunity was accompanied by the stomach-wrenching fear that he would fail, that he would fall, that he would be teased or embarrass himself and his family.
You see, Easton has a rare and very destructive illness, Ullrich congenital muscular dystrophy. It has progressively filled his young life with formidable challenges while shattering his hopes and dreams for the future. He will soon be in a wheelchair permanently. His family does not talk about what awaits him after that.
The Sunday after his ordination, Easton would pass the sacrament for the first time. And his privately held motivation was that he could present himself and these sacred emblems to his father, who was the bishop of the ward. In anticipating that task, he had begged and pled and wept and begged, extracting a guarantee that no one, no one, would try to help him. For many reasons, private to himself, he needed to do this alone and unaided.
After the priest had broken the bread and blessed it—an emblem representing the broken body of Christ—Easton, with his broken body, limped up to receive his tray. However, there were three sizable steps from the meetinghouse floor to the elevated stand. So, after receiving his tray, he stretched up as high as he could and placed his tray on the surface above the handrail. Then, sitting down on one of the higher steps, with both hands he pulled his right leg up onto the first step. Then he pulled his left leg onto the same step, and so on up until, arduously, he was at the summit of his personal three-step Mount Everest.
He then maneuvered himself to a structural post by which he could climb to a standing position. He made his way back to the tray. A few more steps and he stood in front of the bishop, his father, who, with tears drenching his eyes and flooding down his face, had to restrain himself from embracing this perfectly courageous and faithful son. And Easton, with relief and a broad smile consuming his face, might well have said, “I have glorified [my father and] have finished the work [he gave] me to do.”
Faith, loyalty, purity, trust, honor, and, in the end, love for that father he so wished to please. These and a dozen other qualities make us also say, “Whosoever … shall humble himself as this little child, the same is greatest in the kingdom of heaven.”

Some months ago I visited a sacrament meeting in another ward. It was a missionary farewell for a friend of mine. After a few words of greeting and the opening song and prayer, the bishop attended to some ward business. Then, looking out across the audience as though there was only one of his flock he cared for at that moment, he asked, “Chad, are you here?”
Immediately the sound of a folding chair knocking noisily against another could be heard. A young boy a few rows ahead of me made his way awkwardly into the aisle. As he turned to maneuver past the chairs, I observed that his facial features showed some abnormality. It appeared that he may not have the same mental abilities as other young people his age. He was facing life with obvious handicaps, or so it seemed.
I watched with others as this young man, with great enthusiasm, literally ran in his awkward way, making his short legs move as fast as possible from the back where he was sitting, up the full length of the chapel.
As the bishop put his protective arm around Chad and drew him close for only a moment, the two looked at each other as though it were a private exchange only they understood. With Chad nestled securely in the fold of his arm, the bishop announced with pride to the audience, “Chad has earned his Duty to God Award. He has qualified in every way.” Then, glancing down at the young man, he said with deep feeling, “We’re all proud of you, Chad.”
Following the presentation there was the usual handshake and an additional warm and sustained embrace. As Chad turned to leave, he broke with tradition and raised his hand high in the air. The bishop understood the signal and responded to Chad’s invitation by raising his hand to meet Chad’s, giving a resounding clap in the air. Outside the meeting he would likely have added the words, “Give ’em five.”
Chad then turned from the bishop, but before leaving the stand moved enthusiastically toward the chorister, who stood and wrapped him in his arms. I learned later that the man was his father.
The young boy then left the podium, making his way down the aisle wearing a broad smile with his arm raised high in the air as if to “give “’em five” to every ward member who had helped him along and now shared in his victory.
It has been months since that memorable Sunday, but in my mind I keep replaying that scene over and over again. What struggles and challenges preceded that day for Chad? Were there times when he might have wanted to give up? Certainly some of the requirements must have been harder for him than they were for others his age. Were there times of discouragement and maybe disappointment? He was smiling when the bishop called him forward to receive his Duty to God Award, but there must have been many times when even duty to God was difficult. I wonder if there were times when Chad, in the privacy of his own heart, asked the Father why—why does it have to be so hard; it doesn’t seem fair. And while he waited for the answer, he kept going.

When Walnetta’s family migrated from Fiji to Devonport on Auckland’s North Shore a few years after the Second World War, her father, Oscar P. Broederlow, and his family, were the only known members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in that area. But the missionaries set to work and soon there were enough new converts to hold meetings in the Devonport Labour Hall, arranged by Walnetta’s mother, Hilda E. Lobendahn Broederlow.

Years ago, while on business in Brazil, I sat next to a man on a flight who had recently lost his only daughter in a car accident. He was heartbroken and without hope. When the moment was right, we spoke of sacred things that can bind families together for eternity. I shared my testimony that through Christ, he and his daughter could be reunited forever. His despair turned to hope, and he wept with this newfound knowledge.
I do not know if this man ever joined the Church, but in that moment, I know he found hope available only through the sacrifice and blessings of Jesus Christ.