Gospel Story Finder

Since my call to the Quorum of the Twelve, my assignments and travels have enabled me to become acquainted with faithful, courageous, and valiant Latter-day Saints all over the world. I want to tell you about one young man and one young woman who have blessed my life and with whom I have learned spiritually vital lessons about not shrinking and about allowing our individual will to be “swallowed up in the will of the Father” (Mosiah 15:7).

The account is true and the characters are real. I will not, however, use the actual names of the individuals who are involved. I use with permission selected statements from their personal journals.

John is a worthy priesthood holder and served faithfully as a full-time missionary. After returning home from his mission, he dated and married a righteous and wonderful young woman, Heather. John was 23 and Heather was 20 on the day they were sealed together for time and for all eternity in the house of the Lord.

Approximately three weeks after their temple marriage, John was diagnosed with bone cancer. Because cancer nodules also were discovered in his lungs, the prognosis was not good.

John recorded in his journal: “This was the scariest day of my life. Not only because I was told I had cancer, but also because I was newly married and somehow felt that I had failed as a husband. I was the provider and protector of our new family, and now—three weeks into that role—I felt like I had failed.”

Heather noted: “This was devastating news, and I remember how greatly it changed our perspectives. I was in a hospital waiting room writing wedding thank-you notes as we anticipated the results of John’s tests. But after learning about John’s cancer, Crock-Pots and cookware did not seem so important anymore. This was the worst day of my life, but I remember going to bed that night with gratitude for our temple sealing. Though the doctors had given John only a 30 percent chance of survival, I knew that if we remained faithful I had a 100 percent chance to be with him forever.”

Approximately one month later John began chemotherapy. He described his experience: “The treatments caused me to be sicker than I had ever been in my life. I lost my hair, dropped 41 pounds, and my body felt like it was falling apart. The chemotherapy also affected me emotionally, mentally, and spiritually. Life was a roller coaster during the months of chemo with highs, lows, and everything in between. But through it all, Heather and I maintained the faith that God would heal me. We just knew it.”

Heather chronicled her thoughts and feelings: “I could not stand to let John spend the night alone in the hospital, so I would sleep every night on the small couch in his room. We had lots of friends and family visit during the day, but the nights were the hardest. I would stare at the ceiling and wonder what Heavenly Father had planned for us. Sometimes my mind would wander into dark places, and my fear of losing John would almost overtake me. But I knew these thoughts were not from Heavenly Father. My prayers for comfort became more frequent, and the Lord gave me the strength to keep going.”

Three months later, John underwent a surgical procedure to remove a large tumor in his leg. Two days following the operation, I visited John and Heather in the hospital. We talked about the first time I met John in the mission field, about their marriage, about the cancer, and about the eternally important lessons we learn through the trials of mortality. As we concluded our time together, John asked if I would give him a priesthood blessing. I responded that I gladly would give such a blessing, but I first needed to ask some questions.

I then posed questions I had not planned to ask and had never previously considered: “John, do you have the faith not to be healed? If it is the will of our Heavenly Father that you are transferred by death in your youth to the spirit world to continue your ministry, do you have the faith to submit to His will and not be healed?”

Frequently in the scriptures, the Savior or His servants exercised the spiritual gift of healing (see 1 Corinthians 12:9; D&C 35:9; 46:20) and perceived that an individual had the faith to be healed (see Acts 14:9; 3 Nephi 17:8; D&C 46:19). But as John and Heather and I counseled together and wrestled with these questions, we increasingly understood that if God’s will were for this good young man to be healed, then that blessing could be received only if this valiant couple first had the faith not to be healed. In other words, John and Heather needed to overcome, through the Atonement of the Lord Jesus Christ, the “natural man” (Mosiah 3:19) tendency in all of us to demand impatiently and insist incessantly on the blessings we want and believe we deserve.

We recognized a principle that applies to every devoted disciple: strong faith in the Savior is submissively accepting of His will and timing in our lives—even if the outcome is not what we hoped for or wanted. Certainly, John and Heather would desire, yearn, and plead for healing with all of their might, mind, and strength. But more important, they would be “willing to submit to all things which the Lord seeth fit to inflict upon [them], even as a child doth submit to his father” (Mosiah 3:19). Indeed, they would be willing to “offer [their] whole souls as an offering unto him” (Omni 1:26) and humbly pray, “Father, if thou be willing, remove this cup from me: nevertheless not my will, but thine, be done” (Luke 22:42).

What initially seemed to John, Heather, and me to be perplexing questions became part of a pervasive pattern of gospel paradoxes. Consider the admonition of the Savior: “He that findeth his life shall lose it: and he that loseth his life for my sake shall find it” (Matthew 10:39). He also declared, “But many that are first shall be last; and the last shall be first” (Matthew 19:30). And the Lord counseled His latter-day disciples, “By thy word many high ones shall be brought low, and by thy word many low ones shall be exalted” (D&C 112:8). Thus, having the faith not to be healed seemed to fit appropriately into a powerful pattern of penetrating paradoxes that require us to ask, to seek, and to knock that we might receive knowledge and understanding (see 3 Nephi 14:7).

After taking the necessary time to ponder my inquiries and to talk with his wife, John said to me: “Elder Bednar, I do not want to die. I do not want to leave Heather. But if the will of the Lord is to transfer me to the spirit world, then I guess I am good with that.”

My heart swelled with appreciation and admiration as I witnessed this young couple confront the most demanding of all spiritual struggles—the submissive surrender of their wills to God’s will. My faith was strengthened as I witnessed this couple allowing their strong and understandable desires for healing to be “swallowed up in the will of the Father” (Mosiah 15:7).

John described his reaction to our conversation and the blessing he received: “Elder Bednar shared with us the thought from Elder Maxwell that it is better to not shrink than to survive. Elder Bednar then asked us, ‘I know you have the faith to be healed, but do you have the faith not to be healed?’ This was a foreign concept to me. Essentially he was asking if I had the faith to accept God’s will if His will were that I not be healed? If the time were approaching for me to enter the spirit world through death, was I prepared to submit and accept?”

John continued: “Having the faith not to be healed seemed counterintuitive; but that perspective changed the way my wife and I thought and allowed us to put our trust fully in the Father’s plan for us. We learned we needed to gain the faith that the Lord is in charge whatever the outcome may be, and He will guide us from where we are to where we need to be. As we prayed, our petitions changed from ‘Please make me whole’ to ‘Please give me the faith to accept whatever outcome Thou hast planned for me.’

“I was sure that since Elder Bednar was an Apostle, he would bless the elements of my body to realign, and I would jump out of the bed and start to dance or do something dramatic like that! But as he blessed me that day, I was amazed that the words he spoke were almost identical to those of my father, my father-in-law, and my mission president. I realized that ultimately it does not matter whose hands are on my head. God’s power does not change, and His will is made known to us individually and through His authorized servants.”

Heather wrote: “This day was filled with mixed emotions for me. I was convinced that Elder Bednar would place his hands on John’s head and completely heal him of the cancer. I knew that through the power of the priesthood he could be healed, and I wanted so bad for that to happen. After he taught us about the faith to not be healed, I was terrified. Up to that point, I had never had to come to grips with the fact that the Lord’s plan might include losing my new husband. My faith was dependent upon the outcomes I wanted. In a manner of speaking, it was one-dimensional. Though terrifying at first, the thought of having the faith not to be healed ultimately freed me from worry. It allowed me to have complete trust that my Heavenly Father knew me better than I knew myself, and He would do what was best for me and John.”

A blessing was given, and weeks, months, and years passed by. John’s cancer miraculously went into remission. He was able to complete his university studies and obtained gainful employment. John and Heather continued to strengthen their relationship and enjoy life together.

Sometime later I received a letter from John and Heather informing me that the cancer had returned. Chemotherapy was resumed and surgery scheduled. John explained: “Not only did this news come as a disappointment to Heather and me, but we were puzzled by it. Was there something we did not learn the first time? Did the Lord expect something more from us?

“So I began to pray for clarity and for the Lord to help me understand why this recurrence of the cancer was happening. One day as I was reading in the New Testament I received my answer. I read the account of Christ and His Apostles on the sea when a tempest arose. Fearing the boat would capsize, the disciples went to the Savior and asked, ‘Master, carest thou not that we perish?’ This is exactly how I felt! Carest thou not that I have cancer? Carest thou not that we want to start a family? But as I read on in the story, I found my answer. The Lord looked at them and said, ‘O ye of little faith,’ and He stretched forth His hand and calmed the waters.

“In that moment I had to ask myself, ‘Do I really believe this? Do I really believe He calmed the waters that day? Or is it just a nice story to read about?’ The answer is: I do believe, and because I know He calmed the waters, I instantly knew He could heal me. Up until this point, I had a hard time reconciling the need for my faith in Christ with the inevitability of His will. I saw them as two separate things, and sometimes I felt that one contradicted the other. ‘Why should I have faith if His will ultimately is what will prevail,’ I asked? After this experience, I knew that having faith—at least in my circumstance—was not necessarily knowing that he would heal me, but that He could heal me. I had to believe that He could, and then whether it happened was up to Him.

“As I allowed those two ideas to coexist in my life, focused faith in Jesus Christ and complete submission to His will, I found greater comfort and peace. It has been so remarkable to see the Lord’s hand in our lives. Things have fallen into place, miracles have happened, and we continually are humbled to see God’s plan for us unfold.”

This story about John and Heather is both ordinary and extraordinary. This young couple is representative of millions of faithful, covenant-keeping Latter-day Saints all over the world who are pressing forward along the strait and narrow path with steadfast faith in Christ and a perfect brightness of hope (see 2 Nephi 31:19–20). John and Heather were not serving in highly visible leadership positions in the Church, they were not related to General Authorities, and sometimes they had doubts and fears. In many of these aspects, their story is quite ordinary.

But this young man and young woman were blessed in extraordinary ways to learn essential lessons for eternity through affliction and hardship. I have shared this episode with you because John and Heather, who are just like so many of you, came to understand that not shrinking is more important than surviving. Thus, their experience was not primarily about living and dying; rather, it was about learning, living, and becoming.

The next year I had a cast of students who were by no means religious. We had our problems, and I had the feeling it might be inappropriate to ask that group of students to calm down enough for prayer. I never suggested prayer before their first opening night.

It was a terrible performance. I’m not blaming anyone. We just did a poor job.

I had the cast stay after for a line rehearsal, but it took me more than an hour to go over my notes and point out what needed to be corrected by the next night. There was no mistaking that I was upset.

As we were leaving the theater, a few of the cast members were walking to the parking lot with me. One of the least religious of the group said, “Last year I heard you had prayer before performances.”

I was stunned. “Yes,” I said, “we did.”

“How come we didn’t have it this year?”

“I didn’t think any of you would want to have prayer,” I answered.

“I would,” he said without hesitation.

“So would I,” another added.

The next night we had prayer and our performance went off without a flaw. I’m not saying prayer can overcome poor rehearsals, failure to learn lines, or lack of preparation. But it can focus what a cast has going for it. It can bring them together in a unity of purpose.

I was released from active duty in the navy in 1947 and returned to my home in Missouri. There I married the beautiful little dark-haired girl I had met and briefly courted four years previously. I well remember the first time I saw her. She was walking down the street. I was eighteen and she was fourteen—and I knew immediately she was for me. I spoke to her that day and we got acquainted, and I later told her she had four years in which to grow up because I was going into the navy but would come back and marry her.
So, four years later I kept my promise, and came back home to court my sweetheart, and we were married five months later. When we were married, we read and discussed the Bible together. After the births of our first two children I was recalled with other naval aviators to participate in the Korean conflict. I was assigned to a squadron based in San Diego, California, and then ordered to Hawaii for thirteen weeks of special training. I left my little family in San Diego.
No sooner had I departed and my wife had moved our possessions into our rented home than the Mormon missionaries came by and knocked on her door. They were tracting, and many of the questions that they discussed with her were the very questions we had pondered together, so she was very interested.
In one of her letters to me she mentioned that two young men had called on her and asked a lot of questions about religion, to which they seemed to have all the answers. Well, that made me a bit angry. What were young men doing calling on my wife, even in the name of a church, while I was away? I didn’t like it, especially since they were answering questions that I had been pondering all my life.
When I returned home from Hawaii, the first evening Connie, my wife, told me the Joseph Smith story. When she said that he had seen visions and had revelations, it seemed so ridiculous that I laughed in her face, and this made her cry. I then saw how much this story really meant to her, and I relented and said, “Well, the least I can do is read some of the material they left for you to study.”
No sooner did I start to read the Book of Mormon than I knew at last I had found that for which had been searching.
While reading First Nephi, I remember saying to myself, “Dear God, let this be true; please let this be the truth—for if it is, it answers all the questions I have been trying to answer all my life.” I hadn’t finished Second Nephi when I knew it was true.
I had prayed one simple prayer to the Lord for many years: “Dear God, please show me the truth. Please lead me to the truth.” I had sought truth in many places. Now here were two young men, bringing the truth right into my living room. And although they were very young, they had great powers with them—truth and God. I could not argue against what they offered, neither did I wish to.
I attended church for only a few Sundays before it became time for me to leave for Korea. When I went aboard ship on the last day of 1951, I took with me a triple combination and the Articles of Faith by James E. Talmage. I read the Articles of Faith during the first month at sea. One evening in February I heard it announced over the public address system aboard ship that Latter-day Saint services would be held in the crew library at 7:30 P.M. At the appointed hour I went to the library where I found four young men who looked very much like the two young missionaries who had knocked on my door in San Diego. I told them I was not a member of the Church but was interested in studying about it. They welcomed me with much enthusiasm.
When we arrived in Japan in the latter part of February 1952, the group decided that I was ready for baptism. So they accompanied me to the Japan Mission home where I was interviewed and received a recommend. On February 25, 1952, in the garden behind the Japan Mission home in 30-degree weather, seven thousand miles from my home in Missouri, I was baptized. Later I was confirmed a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. My wife was baptized four days later in San Diego, California. Our search had come to an end.
Once again the Lord had stood by his word: “Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you: For every one that asketh receiveth; and he that seeketh findeth; and to him that knocketh it shall be opened.” (Matt. 7:7–8.)

“I can’t go to church on Sunday!”
Jene looked up in surprise when she heard those words coming from her older brother, Rolf. On Rolf’s feet were shoes that were too worn out to wear anymore. His toes stuck out from under torn leather. Ragged ends of broken shoelaces dangled uselessly. These were the only shoes Rolf had.
“I can’t walk around in these anymore,” he said. “And I can’t go to church or to town without shoes.” He flopped down on the floor and rested his chin in his hands.
Mother walked over to the kitchen cupboard and pulled out a jar. The children knew what was in that jar—tithing money.
Holding out a few dollar bills, Mother said: “This is all the money I have. It’s enough to pay tithing on what your father was paid the last time he found work.” They all stared at it for a minute, and then she added, “It would be enough to buy shoes, but I can’t do both.”
She put the money back in the jar and sat down at the kitchen table. “I need to think about this for a while,” she said.
For a long time the children played quietly, trying not to disturb their mother while she sat at the table. Finally, she stood up and walked toward the door. “I don’t know what Rolf will do for shoes,” she said quietly. “But I’ll feel better if our tithing is paid. I’ll go take the money down to the bishop’s house right now,” she said.
Jene ran out the door behind her. “Can I go too?” she asked.
“Yes, come along if you want,” Mother said.
Jene and her mother silently walked the six blocks to the bishop’s house. As they reached the door, her mother took the money out of her pocket and looked at it one more time. Jene saw the worried look on her mother’s face.
“Come in, come in,” Bishop Johnson said, smiling at them. He shook Jene’s hand and thanked her mother when she handed him the money. Then he said, “I know it’s not easy sometimes to pay tithing, but the Lord blesses us when we do.”
On their way home, Jene and her mother saw their neighbor Mrs. Colgrove coming out her front door. She waved for them to come over to her front gate. As they got closer, Mrs. Colgrove held out a pair of leather shoes to Jene’s mother.
“I’ve been meaning to bring these over to you,” she said. “I thought maybe one of your children could use them.”
Mother looked at the shoes with amazement. Jene clapped her hands happily as she realized they looked very close to the size Rolf needed.
Finally Mother was able to speak. “Thank you … thank you so much,” she said, rubbing the soft leather.
Jene took off running toward home. Bursting through the kitchen door she shouted: “Rolf, Rolf! You have new shoes!”
Rolf jumped up, looking puzzled. Jene pointed outside to their mother who was walking into the yard holding the shoes. Soon Mother was explaining to Rolf where the shoes had come from.
Rolf quickly put them on and marched around the room to show how well they fit. Picking up the old pair of raggedy shoes from the floor, he said, “Now we can dump these in the garbage where they belong!”
“Oh no,” Mother said, taking the shoes out of his hands. “These are very special shoes,” she said. “They need to be kept in a special place.”
Jene and Rolf followed her to her bedroom and watched as she opened a big wooden chest.
“Why would you want to put those old shoes in there?” Jene asked.
With a tear in her eye, Mother answered: “These shoes need to be kept forever. Whenever we look at them we’ll remember that the Lord blesses us when we pay our tithing.”
Jene and Rolf grew up and had children and homes of their own. When their mother died, Jene was given the wooden trunk full of special things. The shoes are still in there and are taken out from time to time so that children and grandchildren can hear the story about the lesson learned long ago from a pair of old, worn-out shoes.

I woke up one morning during my junior year in high school in a rotten mood. It was 5:30 a.m., it was cold, and it was a Tuesday—a day with a heavy class load. I’d already decided it was going to be a miserable day.
I bumbled around the kitchen and got my lunch ready. Then I plopped down at the table for some plain cereal and milk. Grumpy, I dug my spoon into the bowl and took a huge bite of breakfast. I scowled at the wall.
A small plaque caught my attention. My mother had received it from her visiting teachers. In cheerful letters it said, “Blessings brighten when you count them.”
“No,” I thought darkly. “I’m in a bad mood today and nothing is going to change it.”
In my head, I started an argument with the plaque.
“Absolutely nothing can brighten this day,” I thought. I took another bite of cereal and crunched it angrily. But my eyes were drawn back to the white writing: “Blessings brighten when you count them.”
“You won’t work,” I told the plaque. “You can’t work. I’m pretty sure even a box of puppies couldn’t make me happy today.”
“You don’t like puppies,” my brain argued.
“Exactly,” I said.
I like to be right all the time, and the plaque was challenging me. “Fine!” I said out loud, “I’ll prove you’re wrong.”
I looked around the kitchen, daring myself to find something I was grateful for. The obstinate part of me was still being unreasonable.
“It is 5:43 in the morning. I have nothing to be grateful for.”
I crunched another bite of cereal. Then suddenly I had a thought.
“It would be mighty hard to eat your cereal without a spoon.”
I stopped. I looked at my spoon. Then I looked at the cereal in my bowl.
“I guess you’re right,” I thought reluctantly. “It would be pretty hard to eat cereal without a spoon.”
“Now,” the thought came to mind, “imagine trying to eat your cereal without a bowl.” I actually smiled a little at the thought of a big puddle of milk and cereal on the table.
“What about without a chair to sit in?” I thought.
I felt the chair beneath me and gripped my spoon a little tighter, looking at the simple utensil with appreciation. My gaze drifted back to the plaque that still said, “Blessings brighten when you count them.”
This time, I gave a tiny smile. “I have a spoon. I have something to be grateful for. And a bowl. And a chair.”
I started to see dozens of things I was thankful for. Not only did I have food, but there was also food in the pantry and downstairs in the storage room. I would probably never have to go hungry. My parents worked hard to feed my siblings and me. They also worked hard to create a safe house for us to live in. And they loved me.
All of a sudden, many things gained new meaning: It was cold outside, but I lived in a warm house. It was early in the morning, but I had the opportunity to go to seminary and to school. I was eating breakfast alone, but Tuesdays were my dad’s temple days, so I could rejoice that he was in the house of the Lord. I could be grateful that I had parents who were devoted to the gospel. Many times they got up early to go and serve.
“So, plaque, I guess you were right. My blessings did brighten as I counted them.” The dark mood from minutes before had evaporated. It had been replaced with a spirit of peace.
“No hard feelings,” I thought. I realized that I’d only scratched the surface of understanding how blessed I am. In fact, I was so busy feeling blessed that I was nearly late for seminary. As I walked out of the house, I was full of gratitude—for my family, my Heavenly Father, a wooden plaque, and the women who had given it to my mother.
And, yes, I was grateful for something as small and easily overlooked as a spoon.

When I was a young boy, I took church attendance seriously and always said in my heart that I will go to a church that bears Christ’s name, so I was happy to attend a church that had “Christ” in its name. One day at school, one of my friends came to me and said: “Rich Boy, I want to invite you to my church on Sunday.” I asked him why he wanted me to go to his church and he said: “I want you to gain salvation!”
I was confused at the invitation to be saved because I attended church regularly and as far as I was concerned, we all worshipped one God.
On Sunday morning, my friend called to tell me to get ready for church because he was coming over to my house to pick me up. When I saw him approaching our compound, I quickly went to hide because I belonged to another church and didn’t know why I should visit my friend’s church.
After that, my friend would on occasion extend the invitation to come to his church again. One day, I decided that I would go with him to know the reason why he wanted me to accompany him. The first time I attended church with my friend, I felt the Spirit. I heard about the Atonement of Jesus Christ and I was so impressed. When we came back from church, I told him that I can’t go back to my church again. I wanted to attend The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
The next Sunday, i was contacted by some missionaries who asked me if they could visit me at home during the week. I agreed and set an appointment with them. I requested that they bring a copy of the Book of Mormon to me when they came to my house. The missionaries arrived and told me amongst other things “Brother Nimako, do you know that God loves you? The gospel we teach can bless you and your family.” I enjoyed their visit and scheduled another appointment.
I read my copy of the Book of Mormon and prayed. I pondered on the message the missionaries shared and what I was reading in the book of Mormon. I had a good feeling as I did this. I couldn’t wait to be baptised!
After my baptism on 30 January 2009, I was so active in Church, even more active than my friend who invited me, so I started to visit him with missionaries. I asked the missionaries to visit my mother also. I wanted her to be blessed by the gospel I had received.
On July 4, 2014, my mother was also baptised, to my greatest joy. I went on to serve a full-time mission in the Nigeria Benin City Mission. I stood as a witness of the truth. I testify that the gospel is true. I know that Joseph Smith saw God and Jesus Christ, and he was a true prophet. I know with all my heart that if we read the Book of Mormon daily and ponder and pray about it, we will know that Jesus Christ is our Savior and Redeemer.

Joseph often displayed courage, as one beneficiary later reported: “Sickness and fright had robbed me of strength. Joseph had to decide w[he]ther to leave me to be captured by the mob or endanger himself by rendering aid. Choosing the latter course, he lifted me upon his own broad shoulders and bore me with occasional rests through the swamp and darkness. Several hours later we emerged upon the lonely road and soon reached safety. Joseph’s … strength permitted him to [save] my life” (in Carl Arrington, “Brother Joseph,” New Era, Dec. 1973, p. 19).

“Things go fast when you work together, and when you work hard.” That’s the lesson Gail Morgan, 14, learned, when the Young Women of the Thetford Ward, Norwich England Stake, turned a port-a-cabin into a Young Women’s meeting room.
The cabin, located in the parking area adjacent to the meetinghouse, is a temporary solution to overcrowded facilities. “Before, we were meeting on the stage, with other classes all around, and it was very noisy,” said Tamaron Cary, 17. “Now, we’re separated from the noise.”
The Laurels made posters and used Mormonads to decorate the room, the Mia Maids made curtains, and the Beehives, who were busy on a Book of Mormon marking project of their own, joined the others as the curtains were hung and flowers placed in the room.

When Andrew Christofferson learned that Fia was living in Salt Lake City with the Grants, he wasted no time in calling to court her. Several months later, he asked Elder Grant for permission to marry Fia. Sophia and Andrew were married in the Salt Lake Temple on 14 June 1907 with Elder Grant performing the ceremony.
Andrew took his bride to Lehi to live in a very modest cottage. Circumstances were quite different from those to which she had been accustomed. The adjustments she had to make must have been difficult indeed. But Fia had never regretted giving up a life of ease for the sake of the gospel, nor did she regret giving up life in the comparative luxury of the Grant home for life on a small farm. She was cheerful and pleasant and made the best of her surroundings. She learned many new skills as a farmer’s wife and helped care for her mother-in-law as well.
In time their home was blessed with two sons and two daughters: Grant, Reed, Mia, and Ellen. The first boy was named after Heber J. Grant.
Because the light was very painful to her eyes, Fia seldom went out in public, but people were attracted to her home. She was known far and wide for her warm hospitality. All who came into her home felt her love. They were entertained and fed and, if downcast, were cheered and encouraged.

Being able to fast on the first Sunday of every month was the unspoken “rite of passage” in my family. The children in my home had to somehow convince my parents of their maturity before Mom and Dad would pass on the privilege and honor of partaking of the spiritual feast that fasting provides.
I’d been looking forward to this honor for months. I had finally convinced my parents that I was ready to make that sacrifice along with all the other mature members of my family. I didn’t know that going without food would teach me about the bread and milk of living.
When that long-anticipated fast day came, I watched my younger sisters hawklike while they gobbled up their toast, eggs, and milk. In my sanctimonious sanctuary on the couch, as I watched each one finish her last bite, I began to seriously wonder why I had begged for this privilege. That day, after long hours in church, I kept looking at the clock. Morning grew into afternoon, and I was still holding firm to my commitment. Then I remembered that I had half a roll of Life Savers in my coat pocket. I figured that I could sneak them out and carry them down to the bathroom, close the door, and lock it. If I flushed the toilet while I rattled the paper, nobody would be able to hear me eating the candy.
I grabbed the Life Savers from my coat pocket, hid them in my dress pocket, and walked downstairs to the bathroom. Then I closed the door, flushed the toilet, and ripped open the paper. Sitting down on the heat vent to eat them, I stared at the cherry Life Saver between my thumb and index finger, about three inches from my mouth. Then the guilt hit. I took the candies and flushed them down the toilet, then walked outside the house and waited.
When Mom called from the house, I slid into my place at the table. My mother and father smiled at me and patted me on the arm. I looked at the table, which held a loaf of sliced bread, a gallon pitcher of chilled milk, and slices of cheese stacked on a china plate. Every Sunday night our family had bread and milk for supper. We would take a slice of bread and break it into small pieces in a bowl. Then we would pour milk over the pieces and eat the mixture with a spoon.
As I took my slice of bread and slowly broke it into the bowl, I could feel the smooth, soft texture of the bread center and the hard, shiny, dark-brown crust. I noticed the moisture from the chilled milk running down the glass, and as I poured the milk into the bowl, it made a frothy top.
It was a simple meal, an ordinary meal, a meal that I had had every Sunday night for as long as I could remember. But it tasted different that night. I distinctly remember the yeasty smell of the bread and the way the cool milk felt inside my mouth. I’ve never had a meal quite like it since.
That meal started to teach me about the bread and milk of living. It started to teach me about the richness of ordinary things. I found that really enjoying life could be as simple as being able to savor an ordinary meal.
Now, every time I fast, I think about the true bread of life, and the lesson I learned during my “rite of passage.”

Matilda the Jungle Tracker carefully smeared mud over every inch of her face. Then she clung by her fingertips to the grass at the top of the bank by the creek. Of course, if I were a real jungle tracker, she admitted, there would be a hundred-foot drop here and alligators would be snapping at my heels. But then, she thought, scrabbling up onto the creek bank, in the jungle I would have a vine to swing on.
Matilda surveyed the area. The boys were just disappearing into the woods, and they hadn’t seen her.
“I think I’ll be Matilda the Spy,” she muttered, and she flitted from tree to tree, keeping the boys just within sight.
Suddenly the boys stopped, then turned around and listened. Matilda fell flat on her stomach and peered at them through the tall grass, while they scanned the terrain. A bug crawled over Matilda’s wrist, but she lay perfectly still and thought about something else so that her whereabouts wouldn’t be detected by the boys. When she looked up, the boys had disappeared again.
Matilda sprang softly to her feet like a panther. Her trained mind was alert and ready, and her reflexes were still sharp from her experiences as Matilda the Intrepid Explorer. As she darted across the clearing, she heard the boys shouting.
“Aha!” she whispered, shutting her eyes halfway as she did when she was Matilda the Super Sleuth. “They’re heading for the pond.”
Matilda knew a shortcut. When she had been Matilda the Mapmaker, she had mapped this entire section of country. She easily reached the pond before the boys did, then watched them through the cattails growing there. Just as I thought. They’re building a dam.
Matilda slipped behind a tree. She quietly aimed her camera at the boys and took a picture. She had bought the camera when she was Matilda the Newspaperwoman on her school newspaper.
Of course, she thought, if I were a real secret agent, I could blow up the dam. But they may be building it for the government as a special assignment. I’ll have to observe.
Matilda got down on her stomach again on the steamy jungle floor. Raucous cries of exotic jungle crows echoed in her ears. She narrowed her eyes to tiny slits—the boys were coming.
The boys sloshed into the water halfway up to their knees and started piling more mud onto the dam. They stuck a piece of cardboard into the mud for reinforcement, then built up both sides of it with more mud.
Matilda inched up onto her elbows and snapped another photo. Then she wriggled back until she was out of the boys’ sight and hearing. She hacked her way home through the jungle.
“Matilda!” her mother scolded. “What have you been doing? We’re going out to dinner, and you’re covered with mud. Get washed up now and put on a dress. Hurry up!”
Matilda didn’t argue because now she was Matilda the Diplomat. Besides, she liked bathing. It reminded her of when she had been Matilda the Long-distance Swimmer. She quickly bathed and put on a dress and combed her hair. Her hair looked quite nice because she had once been Matilda the Famous Hairdresser.
“That’s better,” her mother said. “You look nice and pretty, like a little lady. Come along now.”
Outside, the boys were passing by and they snickered at Matilda. She stared at them with her stern Matilda the Judge look. Then Matilda the Civil Engineer smiled at them and said, “You’re building your dam all wrong.”
They goggled at her unbelievingly.
“I have a piece of outdoor plywood,” she said, remembering the leftovers from when she was Matilda the Carpenter. “It’s much stronger than cardboard. I’ll give it to you.”
“But how … ?”
“Who told you … ?”
“Uh, thanks for the wood.”
But Matilda wasn’t listening. Her eyes were inscrutable, and her fingertips were pressed together. She was Matilda the Scientist, thinking about her next invention. It would be a quadruple-stage rocket that could orbit the earth, then reenter and leave the earth’s atmosphere at will at a billion miles an hour.

David Oman McKay’s parents taught him at a very young age that he was a child of God and that his Heavenly Father loved him. They also taught him that he could always talk to his Heavenly Father.
In addition to having his own daily prayers, David knelt in daily prayer with his family.
One dark night there was a terrible thunderstorm. David was in bed, and he became very frightened. He knew that if he prayed, he would feel better, but he was afraid to get out of bed and kneel in prayer.
Finally, he gathered enough courage to kneel on the cold floor and pray for protection for himself and his family. As he was praying, David heard a voice say, “Don’t be afraid; nothing will hurt you.”
When he had finished praying, he was able to sleep because he knew that Heavenly Father would protect him and his family.
Many years later David O. McKay became the ninth President of the Church, and his strong testimony of the power of prayer was a good example for all the world.

A young mother told me she would never forget the day her husband came home distraught over leaving his wallet in a telephone booth. Her first reaction was to criticize his irresponsibility at losing the family’s rent money. But as she glanced at his sad, pained face, she kept silent. The rent could be paid a few weeks late. The young mother said the look on her husband’s face—a look that clearly showed his relief at not being criticized—was well worth her silence. After all, she reasoned, what good would have been accomplished had she heaped criticism on her already upset husband?

American servicemen, their families, and others living in the Philippines loved the Filipinos and in 1960 pleaded with Elder Gordon B. Hinckley, then an Assistant to the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles assigned to supervise the Church in Asia, to open the Philippines to missionary work.2
On his first visit to the Philippines in 1960, Elder Hinckley realized the potential the Philippines offered as a mission field. Legal challenges slowed official recognition for the Church, but Elder Hinckley and Robert S. Taylor, president of the Southern Far East Mission, believed permission for missionary visas would soon be granted. With authorization from the First Presidency and the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, they scheduled a meeting at the American War Memorial Cemetery on 28 April 1961 to initiate missionary work.
At 6:30 on a quiet, peaceful morning, around 100 members of the Church—mostly servicemen and their families, but including David Lagman, a Filipino member—met near the small memorial chapel. At the conclusion of a brief meeting, Elder Hinckley offered a prayer in which he invoked blessings “upon the people of this land, that they shall be friendly and hospitable, and kind and gracious to those who shall come here, and that many, yea Lord, we pray that there shall be many thousands who shall receive this message and be blessed thereby. … We pray that there shall be many men, faithful, good, virtuous, true men who shall join the Church.”3
Since that time, his prayer has been answered many fold. Visas for full-time missionaries were soon approved, and on 5 June 1961 the first four missionaries were transferred from Hong Kong to Manila. Probably because the people were curious about them, the elders were invited into every home they visited that day.

I became a member of the Church in 1997 through my elder brother, Francis Marveh, who received the gospel in Freetown through his friend. Through the callings I have had, I was motivated to serve a full-time mission. Though I thought it was to be a place of laxity and comfort, I realized it was entirely the opposite. I had a lot to learn and to experience, and I clearly understood what it was. I served diligently as a senior companion, trainer, district leader, and a zone leader. I am grateful to be a returned missionary, still serving in the Church as a leader in my ward. I am married and sealed to my beautiful and supportive wife, Isatu Fatima Marveh, and we are truly blessed. I know that perseverance strengthens our weaknesses if only we rely on our Saviour and Redeemer of the world, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen. —Josephus Salia Marveh, Njagboima Ward, Bo-Sierra Leone West Stake

When the stranger with bloody feet asked to come in, Father questioned the “new” religion the stranger talked about. But Father read Brother Reed’s Book of Mormon and was willing to hear Brigham Young preach. It was Mary Ann’s best friend, Betsy, who called Brother Reed and Brigham Young fakes!
Just as Mary Ann returned to sit with her family at the meeting, Brigham Young was getting up to speak again. He told of the need to have faith in the Lord Jesus Christ. After testifying that the Savior lived and spoke to a prophet today, Brother Young told them to repent and to be baptized.
One old man from the back called, “I’ve been baptized. Why do I need to be baptized again?”
Brother Young told them about the authority brought to earth by John the Baptist to Joseph Smith. Joseph gave that authority to him and to Brother Reed. Brigham Young asked if any wanted to be baptized.
Mary Ann’s mother stood up. Then her father stood up, and Nathan and Mary Ann did too. No one else in the whole congregation did. Brother Reed beamed at them. They sat back down, and Brother Young closed the meeting. As Mary Ann walked by, Betsy turned her face away.
Mary Ann touched her arm. “I’m sorry I got mad at you. It’s just that I believe what these men are telling me. I know it’s true, and I want you to know it too.”

The young man’s name was John Andreas Widtsoe. He lived with his widowed mother and little brother in a small, poor cottage. They had come from Norway in 1884. On June 27, 1894, in Sanders Theater, in Harvard Yard, Cambridge, Massachusetts, President Charles W. Eliot of Harvard University conferred upon the young immigrant the degree, Bachelor of Science, summa cum laude (with highest honors). He completed the four-year curriculum in three years. He had undergone many hardships. His widowed mother and little brother had sent him small sums of money from their meager earnings. The rest of his education had been financed by unusual personal sacrifice and by loans from kind friends in Logan, with notes signed at 12 percent interest.

A New Dawn(Deseret Book $7.95)Jack Weyland

In his delightful way, Jack Weyland brings another unforgettable character to life in his new novel. Dawn a prize-winning, eccentric graduate student and physicist, finds answers to problems that even Einstein couldn’t solve. But the harassment of news-hungry reporters sends her fleeing for cover. She hides behind a new identity at Brigham Young University, where she falls in love, finds a new faith and learns to cook spaghetti.

“Rhoda, will you offer the blessing on the food?” Mama asked.
Rhoda looked at the small potato on her plate. “But there is still so much plate showing around my dinner,” she wanted to say but didn’t. “Yes, Mama,” she said.
Bowing her head, she began, “Heavenly Father, thank Thee for the food, and please bless it. Watch over Daddy in England that he will find those who are looking for the truth. And please provide food and safety for us while he is away. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
Rhoda opened her eyes and noticed her sister, Louisa, staring at Mama’s empty plate.
“Mama, where’s your food?” Louisa asked.
“Willard is out working in the fields,” Mama replied. “When he comes in, he’s going to want more than just water to drink.”
Rhoda could see worry lines around her sister’s eyes. “Are there no more potatoes?” Louisa asked.
Mama shook her head. “Those are the last ones. So eat up before they get cold.”
Rhoda stared at Mama. “But Mama, what will we do for breakfast in the morning?”
“Well, in your prayer you asked the Lord to provide for us while Daddy is away,” Mama replied. “I trust He will answer your prayer.”
“Mama!” Willard burst through the door. “Quick! The Judds have turned the canal water into their ditches!”
“Hurry, girls,” Mama said. “Buckets are outside!”
Rhoda jumped from the table, following Willard and Louisa outdoors. Each one grabbed a large, wooden bucket and raced down the dusty path to the canal.
Even though Rhoda was only eight years old, she understood about the canal. Like a man-made river, the canal was the source of water for all the homesteads in the area. The canal also provided water for irrigating crops. Farmers would turn some of the water from the canal into ditches lining their crops. Then the water would flow out of the ditches and flood the land. But once in a while, a farmer would turn all the canal water into his ditches, leaving the homesteads downstream without water until he finished irrigating his crops. And Rhoda knew that even one day without water in this scorching heat would be dangerous.
When the children arrived at the canal, the water flow had already stopped, leaving a still bed of water resting in the bottom. Rhoda filled her bucket with water, carried it back to the house, and poured it into the large rain barrel beside the front door. Back and forth the children ran, trying to fill the barrel before the water dried up.
“One more bucket each ought to do it,” Mama called.
Even though the sun hung low, almost touching the horizon, the dirt felt hot and gritty on the bottoms of Rhoda’s feet. Reaching the canal, they found that the stream was now dried up, leaving a muddy bed pocked with small, shallow pools. Rhoda jumped down into the damp streambed, mud spurting between her toes. Reaching the edge of one of the shallow pools, she leaned over to dip her bucket into the water. Suddenly she lost her balance and fell, splashing into the pool.
Willard and Louisa laughed as Rhoda stood up. Her dress clung to her back and belly, and warm water dripped down her arms and legs. When she reached down to grab her bucket, something slippery slithered past her ankles. “Snake!” Rhoda screeched, scrambling out of the pool.
Willard raced over, peering at the small pool.
“There!” Rhoda cried, pointing a finger at the water.
Willard’s eyes scanned the murky water. His hand circled the surface, then suddenly he thrust his arm into the water and grabbed at something.
“It’s a fish!” Willard shouted, holding a small, wriggling fish in his palm. “I caught a fish!”
“Look! There must be more in that pool over there!” Rhoda pointed.
“And over there,” Louisa shouted, pointing at another. All the small pools of water rippled with life.
“Let’s fill our buckets and take them to Mama,” Louisa suggested.
There was little water left in the pools and the fish swarmed in tight bunches, making it easy for the children to snatch them up. Soon their buckets were filled and the children carried them back to the cabin.
“Mama! Look what we found in the canal!” Rhoda called as they reached the cabin door.
“Fish? In the canal?” Mama looked confused. “There aren’t any fish in that canal.”
“There are tonight. The shallow pools are full of them,” Louisa said.
“But there have never been fish in that canal,” Mama said quietly, staring at the full buckets of fish. “Children, this is a miracle. Just as He sent manna to the hungry Israelites, the Lord has sent fish for us to eat.”
Reaching for Rhoda’s bucket, she continued, “And just like the children of Israel, we must gather all we can while there are fish to catch. Go and see if there are any more, and I will begin cleaning these and packing them in salt.”
The sun sank into the prairie grasses and a full moon lit the night as the children returned to search for more fish. As Rhoda knelt down in the mud, she closed her eyes and spoke softly. “Heavenly Father, thank Thee for answering my prayer and for taking care of us. Thank Thee for sending us the miracle of the fishes.”

Throughout my life I have learned that when we follow the teachings of our prophets, we receive promised blessings. In the April 1986 general conference, President Ezra Taft Benson (1899–1994) promised that if families would read the scriptures together regularly, the Spirit would fill their homes.1
My dear wife and I decided to follow that counsel. We set a goal to read a chapter a day from the Book of Mormon with our three children—Jorge, 10; Susi, 9; and Luis, 3. We read every day, each of us reading one verse at a time. Even though Luis could not yet read, he wanted to participate. He sat on my lap, facing me, with the Book of Mormon between us. When it was my turn to read, we both followed my finger as I pointed to each word, and Luis repeated out loud every word I read while he looked at those words upside down.
Just before he turned five years old, Luis asked, “When is it my turn to read?”
We explained that when he was older, he would go to school and learn to read.
He responded, “I already know how to read!”
Astonished, I handed him a Book of Mormon. He opened the book upside down and began to read perfectly. He had learned to read by following along in the Book of Mormon!
Luis is now finishing his university studies and working full-time. No matter how late he gets home from work, school, or a Church assignment, he still reads a chapter from the Book of Mormon before he goes to bed. The prophet’s promise has truly been fulfilled: as a result of our reading this sacred book, our family has been richly blessed and we are more united.