Gospel Story Finder

“This same experience happened to a very close friend of mine this summer. The only difference was that both of his parents were members. Following sacrament meeting one day, his father offered to take him and his wife out to dinner.

“His father did not make the offer to be antagonistic. He just didn’t have a full understanding of the Sabbath day. Without making excuses and in a loving manner, my friend and his wife declined the invitation. For awhile they had to endure an atmosphere of ‘harsh silence.’

“But within two weeks’ time I went home teaching with this young man’s father and I heard him give one of the most concerned, spiritual, and uplifting lessons that it has ever been my privilege to witness. And not only that, but when the summer was over and the time to return to college had arrived, my friend’s mother’s testimony and her awareness of his priesthood responsibilities had noticeably increased.

“There is power in obedience to God. One cannot help but be impressed by another’s steadfast convictions.”

President Joseph F. Smith was five years old when his father, Hyrum, was killed in Carthage Jail. Later, Joseph crossed the plains with his widowed mother.
At age 15 he was called on a mission to Hawaii. He felt lost and alone and said: “I was very much oppressed. … I felt as if I was so debased in my condition of poverty, lack of intelligence and knowledge, just a boy, that I hardly dared look [anyone] in the face.”
While pondering his plight one night, young Joseph dreamed he was on a journey, rushing as fast as he possibly could. He carried with him a small bundle. Finally, he came to a wonderful mansion, which was his destination. As he approached, he saw a sign which read, “Bath.” He quickly went in and washed himself. He opened his little bundle and found clean white clothing—“a thing,” he said, “I had not seen for a long time.” He put them on and rushed to the door of the mansion.
“I knocked,” he said, “and the door opened, and the man who stood there was the Prophet Joseph Smith. He looked at me a little reprovingly, and the first words he said [were]: ‘Joseph, you are late.’ Yet I took confidence and said:
“‘Yes, but I am clean—I am clean!’”8

My dad is magic! When he comes home from work, he turns into a gorilla. He jumps around, snorts, and tries to act real tough. But he doesn’t scare me. I just grab onto his leg and push and shove until he falls over in a big crash. Then I fight and tickle with that old gorilla until he turns into a little puppy.
I like puppies, so I pet him and scratch behind his ears and give him lots of hugs. Pretty soon my dad stops being a puppy and turns into a horse.
I like my horse a lot. I hop on his back and we gallop around the room until he starts to buck. He bucks me off onto the sofa. I laugh so hard when my horse bucks me onto the sofa that we do it over and over again until my dad says, “Spread out!” I run and flop on the floor with my arms and legs stretched out. Then my dad spreads out just like me. We lie there side by side, looking up at the ceiling, until he gets all rested and rolls over to get up.
I hurry to hop on my dad’s back again but my big brother usually comes flying into the room about then and takes over my horse. I don’t really mind though because it’s so funny to see my dad trying to buck off my big brother. Suddenly Dad turns into a gorilla again and they tussle and tickle all over the place.
I sure like my dad the gorilla!

A motorcycle accident left Wilson paralyzed. A year later his wife passed away. As a widower with two little girls, Wilson did not know what to do. He didn’t know if there was a purpose in life. Wilson could have become bitter. Instead, he began searching for truth.
Cody Bell, photographer
After my motorcycle accident and the loss of my wife, I was left with two little girls to raise. I really didn’t know how I was going to raise my daughters in a wheelchair. This accident completely changed my life.
I had many questions. Why do bad things happen? I was going along trying to do the right things, and my wife was taken from me and I was left in a wheelchair. Then doctors had to operate on my daughter’s head to remove a tumor. I began to think that there was no purpose in life.
I realized that I needed to find the truth. I investigated various religions and found The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I felt that it was the truth.
I learned that there is a life after this one, and when we die, it is possible to be with the ones we love. This brought me joy because of the 10 beautiful years that I had had with my wife.
Finding the gospel changed my life in every sense. I began to have peace of mind and peace of conscience. Happiness entered my family as we went to church every Sunday. We came home strengthened. We were baptized and eventually sealed for all eternity in the temple in Argentina.
Now I keep moving forward in the Church. I’ve served as a counselor in the bishopric, and I try to learn from all of my experiences, from all of life’s tests. This gives me strength. As I’ve been sitting in a wheelchair for more than 20 years, I’ve learned that happiness comes from inside. One learns more every day. For that I feel grateful.
I now know that there is a purpose for being on earth. We are here as part of Heavenly Father’s eternal plan. We have a Savior who overcame death and was resurrected. Knowing this gives me strength. Now, I strive to persevere and continue forward. I have a purpose and I know that as I try to live a worthy life, I can have an eternal family.
Despite the challenges Wilson and his daughter Sofia face, the gospel brings them peace, happiness, and strength. Sofia has lived with her father since her surgery. Wilson finds joy serving in the Church.
Cooking as he maneuvers a wheelchair around the kitchen is one of many skills Wilson has developed since an accident left him paraplegic.
Wilson finds hope and strength from the Savior as he studies the scriptures.
Missionaries join the Di Paula family for dinner. Wilson’s love of the gospel is a strength in his family and to the Church.
After a serious accident and the death of his wife, Wilson questioned the purpose of life. He found purpose when found the gospel of Jesus Christ.
Wilson and Sofia find hope in the gospel. Spending more than 20 years in a wheelchair hasn’t stopped Wilson from serving in meaningful ways.
Wilson’s smile gives evidence of the spiritual abundance in his life. “Happiness comes from inside,” Wilson says. “One learns more every day.”
As they eat together, the Di Paula family shares more than food with the missionaries, they also share their love and gratitude for the gospel.

For many years, my husband and I lived with our family in Hong Kong. At one point I applied for a job as a teacher at the American international school. I believed that I was well qualified for the job, but I didn’t get it. Instead, one of my friends was offered the position. I tried to be happy for my friend, but I was deeply disappointed. Many months later, the vice principal told me that the main reason I wasn’t hired was because I was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

I fumed about this disappointment for months. Then I heard about a new international school that was opening in Hong Kong. It was an orthodox Jewish school that taught students in English, Hebrew, and Chinese—and they had no problem hiring me. I loved working at this school, and I learned a lot about Jewish customs and rituals.

One day I unexpectedly met a well-known visiting professor from the University of British Columbia. She was Jewish, and she took an interest in working with the teachers at this small school each time she visited Hong Kong. I learned that she had formed a partnership with many language educators in China and was working with them to implement the well-accepted Canadian immersion model in English immersion programs in several Chinese cities. Basically, the elementary students had about half their day in English and the other half in Chinese. This was a new concept in language teaching in China.

I had recently enrolled as a graduate student at Hong Kong University and was looking for a research topic; this professor was looking for someone who spoke Chinese who could collect data about the fledgling English immersion programs. Meeting this professor ultimately changed my life. I began working in immersion language education, and when my family relocated to Utah, I started working with Chinese immersion programs here. Research has shown that dual language immersion (DLI) is the most successful way to teach students a second language. Now I have the privilege of training wonderful BYU students who want to become DLI teachers, and it has become a major focus of research for me and my graduate students.

I think back to how angry and upset I was about not getting the teaching job at the American school in Hong Kong, but I am so grateful that they didn’t hire me—even if it was because I am a member of the Church. My life took an amazing turn as a result. We don’t always know where our experiences—the small learning—will take us. Over time we will detect a pattern, and we will see God’s hand in our lives.

A short time later a chapel was built for our branch. At that time Church members could help build the meetinghouses. My job was to pick up nails and screws that had fallen on the ground so they could be used again. It was a simple job, but it was very important to me. It taught me how to serve, and it helped prepare me for future Church service. Remember that even though you are young, the things you do now matter.

“My father was a big man, six feet four inches tall. He was probably as fine an athlete as any in the state. He could run, pole-vault, and throw the discus. He played on the team that won the first Church M-Men basketball championship. He was also on the all-state basketball team. He might have had a promising athletic career, but his dad died, and as the oldest of eleven children, he had to leave school to help raise his brothers and sisters. Dad was a great soul, very generous, and he worked in the Scouting program for forty years.
“My mother was only five feet two inches tall. A very capable individual, she had been a schoolteacher before I was born, and she was an elocutionist (one who excels in public speaking). Before I started school, she taught me all the things that are taught in the first, second, and third grades. When my two brothers and two sisters came along, she didn’t have as much time to spend teaching me, and then I was just ordinary in school.
“During the Depression, my grandfather came to live with us. He had crossed the plains eighteen times, bringing people to Utah from Missouri. He would get an assignment to do this just as you might be assigned to work on the welfare farm. I sat at his feet and listened to his stories about hauling rocks for the temple, crossing the plains, and hunting bears. He was a good hunter—he had to be to survive.
“This grandfather was a stake clerk, and he would go around the stake to audit the books. He would travel in a horse and buggy maybe forty miles to a town where a ward was, audit the books, stay overnight, then go twenty-five miles to another town. One time when he was in Oak City, he had a feeling that he should return home that night. He hitched up his horse and buggy and drove twenty-six miles to his home, getting there just as the sun was coming up. He hurried into the house and asked his wife what was wrong. She told him that their youngest daughter was near death. He blessed the little girl, and she was made well.
“My mother’s mother really made an impression on me. When I was nine, she had a stroke and could no longer speak. I remember her lying on a bed in my aunt’s home. The doctor thought that she should have a stimulant, so he had some coffee prepared to give to her. She had never drunk coffee, and I can still see the fire in her eyes as she let the doctor know that she wasn’t going to drink any then, either! He got the message, and she didn’t get the coffee.
“My other grandmother, my dad’s mother, was a visiting teacher to a family during a flu epidemic after World War I. The whole family was sick with the flu; three of them had already died. My grandmother went into their home and took care of them and even dressed the bodies of the dead members in preparation for their funeral. I have always been impressed with what a faithful visiting teacher she was.
“I myself came down with smallpox, a deadly disease in those days. I was isolated in the granary, which had a stove. Pillows were tied on my hands so that I couldn’t scratch the big pox that covered my body. The Lord blessed me so that today I don’t have any pockmarks. I also had diphtheria, another deadly disease, and the Lord spared my life then too.
“I loved school and had some wonderful teachers. One of them was ElRay L. Christiansen, who later became a General Authority. He would tell us about different pieces of music and make them live for us. I still have a great love for opera and classical music.”
Elder Reeve believes that children must be acquainted with Heavenly Father. If He is the center of their lives and they love Him and talk with Him, then He can take them through any trial or problem. It might not all be pleasant, but they can survive.
“God is real. He lives, and He loves you. He loves every child; He doesn’t have favorites. He is as close to you as you will let Him be by how you live, how you mind your parents, and how you keep His commandments.”

We can illustrate the importance of harmony to the presence of the Spirit with a story from the life of Joseph and Emma Smith. David Whitmer recorded the following:

One morning when he [Joseph Smith] was getting ready to continue the translation, something went wrong about the house and he [Joseph] was put out about it. Something that Emma, his wife, had done. Oliver and I went upstairs and Joseph came up soon after to continue the translation but he could not do anything. He could not translate a single syllable. He went downstairs, out into the orchard, and made supplication to the Lord; was gone about an hour—came back to the house, and asked Emma’s forgiveness and then came upstairs where we were and then the translation went on all right. [In B. H. Roberts, A Comprehensive History of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, Century One (Salt Lake City: The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, 1930), 1:131]

Joseph Smith lost his spiritual vision because of contention. He was told to resolve the conflict, and then his “vision” was restored. Thus we see the spiritual impact of contention and how its resolution leads to a restoration of our spiritual sight.

One day when I was seventeen years of age, I came across a former neighbor of mine. He invited me to attend his church the next Sunday because he was to be a speaker in the meeting. It was there he gave his two-and-one-half minute talk, and I met the missionaries for the first time. One year later, I was baptized in the swimming pool of the Hong Kong mission home and became a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

While my role of service in capacity as a priesthood holder provided my son with much needed relief, and we all experienced the power of the God that day, Nancy lived at Walter Reed with my son for the next five months, and had the opportunity to serve him nearly every moment of every day that she was with him. He couldn't walk or do many of the things he'd grown accustomed to doing for himself. She was his legs and, in many cases, his brains, advocate, paper filler outer, food getter, and a host of other things. It was hard for her. She was away from her other family members, her home, and friends. She had to witness on a daily basis the most terrible consequences war could inflict on the human body and mind with not only our son but many many men and woman. There were times she put our son to bed and go eat in the cafeteria by herself, but she was not alone—the Lord knew her personally, He loved her perfectly, and He supped with her and blessed her. She supped with the Lord by serving Him a meal, because His meal is served when we serve others.[12] "When ye are in the service of your fellow beings ye are only in the service of your God."[13] The gospel challenges us to grow beyond a testimony of what we know, by doing His work so that we become even as He is.[14] Nancy grew and was strengthened with a gift of Christ-like love, even for the enemies that tried to kill our son - she came to understand that all are children of God.
Nancy and my son experienced God's love through service. She changed and became more God-like because God-like love dwelled in her, and because that love dwelled in her, God dwelled in her. "God is love; and he that dwelleth in love dwelleth in God, and God in him."[15] God comes in and sups with those who serve others and he fills them with His love.

While serving as a mission president in New York City, I was with some of our missionaries in a restaurant in the Bronx. A young family came in and sat near us. They appeared golden for the gospel. I watched our missionaries as they continued to visit with me, then noticed as the family concluded their meal and slipped out the door. Then I said, “Elders, there’s a lesson here today. You saw a lovely family come into this restaurant. What should we have done?”

One of the elders spoke up quickly: “I thought about getting up and going over to talk to them. I felt the nudge, but I didn’t respond.”

“Elders,” I said, “we must always act on our first prompting. That nudge you felt was the Holy Ghost!”

It was shortly after noon on Sunday, 6 April 1952. The morning session of the 122nd Annual General Conference had just concluded. With no premonition or forewarning, Bishop Richards received word from President Henry D. Moyle, Counselor to President David O. McKay, that the President wished to see him at his office. When Bishop Richards arrived there, President McKay told him he had been chosen to fill the vacancy in the Quorum of the Twelve occasioned by the death of Elder Joseph F. Merrill on February 3. Recounting the experience, Elder Richards said, “I wept and the President wept, and we hugged each other, and then we went over to the afternoon meeting.”

During December, my seminary teacher invited our class to bring food and presents for a family in need. We didn’t know the circumstances—only that there was a husband and wife with three little girls, ages 5 to 10 years old.
A few days before Christmas, I met my classmates in the seminary building with a Barbie doll and some boxes of macaroni and cheese in my hands. I was surprised to see that our class had filled not one box but several boxes with canned food, a large cooked turkey, baked goods, and toys.
We wrapped all the presents and carpooled to the family’s home. Most of us hid behind bushes and watched as a few boys quietly carried the boxes to the doorstep of the small, run-down home. Wanting our contributions to be anonymous, the boys rang the doorbell and ran.
From our hiding places, we watched a small girl in her pajamas open the door and squeal. One by one her sisters joined her, each screaming with delight as they saw the many boxes overflowing with presents.
The door widened and, as the mother stepped out, we could see a small Christmas tree with no presents beneath it in the center of their living room.
I saw the mother look around, bewildered. She then fell to her knees and began to cry. We saw her look up and heard her pray: “Thank Thee, God. Oh, thank Thee for sending Thine angels to give my children Christmas.”
We drove back to the seminary building in silence. No one thought of the doughnuts or hot chocolate waiting for us. Instead, there was a tangible feeling of love, peace, and gratitude.
When I got home that night, I sat on my bed and prayed to Heavenly Father, thanking Him for letting me act as His angel for a night. I realized that “I have been given much” and that part of that blessing requires that “I too must give” (“Because I Have Been Given Much,” Hymns, no. 219), which was the greatest blessing of all.

We called him Grandpa, but everyone else in town knew him as P. A. My earliest recollection is watching Grandpa, dressed in blue and white pin-striped coveralls and a neatly pressed white shirt, hoeing and pruning in his garden.
Grandpa was blessed with an appreciation of beauty, and was a talented sculptor. When he was a young man, Cyrus E. Dallin, a famous sculptor, invited Grandpa to come to Boston and study under him. Grandpa planned to accept Mr. Dallin’s offer, but in the meantime he worked as a fireman on a train to provide for his growing family.
One foggy day, there was a mix-up in schedules and two trains collided head-on. Grandpa was caught beneath the engines of both trains. Escaping steam scalded his face and arms. Seeing that his left leg was pinned in the wreckage and partially amputated, he free himself by completing the amputation with his pocketknife. Blood poured from the wound, and the faithful priesthood holder, in the name of Jesus Christ, commanded the bleeding to stop. It did. The stump of his leg turned white and did not bleed again.
Later, in the hospital, doctors amputated his other leg below the knee. During his long period of recuperation, Grandpa spent much of his time visiting and encouraging other patients.
After the accident, Grandpa traveled in several neighboring states representing a coal distribution company, taking orders and collecting money. Many a hitchhiker found himself riding in Grandpa’s car, sharing his lunch and his philosophy of life.
Sometimes Grandpa’s generosity got him in trouble. A hitchhiker once pulled out a gun and tried to rob him. Grandpa said, “I have only the money in my wallet. Take that and go.”
Apparently the man knew that Grandpa collected money from the coal company’s customers and was expecting to find a few thousand dollars. But after a thorough search of every possible hiding place in the car, all he got was a five-dollar bill from Grandpa’s wallet. After letting out the frustrated thief at the edge of town, Grandpa chuckled and drove away—with ten thousand dollars in collection money tucked safely inside his artificial legs!
Later, Grandpa became the owner of a roadside cafe. At Christmas time he gave the widows in our town a supply of coal and groceries. Grandpa took very seriously the admonition of Christ to visit the widows and fatherless in their affliction. In fact, no one who came to him for help was ever turned away. One cold winter’s day, a couple with five young children came to the cafe. Despite the freezing weather, they wore only lightweight summer clothing.
The family was travelling through to another state where a job had been promised. Their car had broken down, and they had walked many kilometers into town through the snow. Grandma fixed them a hot meal in the cafe while Grandpa drove the father to town and bought winter clothing for all of them. Then he paid for a mechanic to tow in the car and repair it. The next morning, as the family prepared to leave, Grandpa pressed a helpful amount of money into the father’s hand. The man cried and embraced Grandpa, asking God to bless him.
Heavenly Father truly did bless Grandpa. Losing both legs at a young age could have turned him into a self-pitying, embittered man. But he turned his feelings outward and lost himself in the service of others.

I am reminded of the year our high school basketball team took the state championship. During the practice period before the final game, to avoid even the slightest adjustment, there was an attempt to make every detail, as nearly as possible, like the situation the team would face. The playing floor would be different, but every other possible detail that could be controlled was considered—diet, uniforms, position on the floor, rest, etc. As I recall now, even the coach was encouraged to wear his familiar green argyle socks because everyone was used to them, and the team wanted every imaginable advantage with minimal adjustment or difference when it really counted. They wanted the coveted award, and no detail was too minor to consider during the preparation time.

Wellington held a box in his lap as his dad drove through Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. They passed bright blue, green, and yellow houses. Dad parked the car outside of a big brown building. Wellington got out and grabbed some more boxes. They were full of soap, tissues, and other supplies.
He and his dad were visiting a care home to give supplies to the elderly people who lived there. At first, Wellington had been excited. But now he felt a little nervous. What would the people there be like? Would they be grouchy? What would he say to them?
Wellington walked into the building behind his dad. There were lots of people in the rest home. Some were moving around with walkers. Some sat in wheelchairs, playing chess. Others just sat alone.
Wellington tugged on Dad’s arm. “Dad, I don’t know what to do,” he whispered. “Everyone here is so much older than I am! How do I talk to them?”
Dad smiled and knelt down next to Wellington. “I know the people here are older, and they might look a little different. But everyone here is a child of God, just like you! They probably have some interesting stories to tell.”
Wellington thought about that. He liked making new friends with other kids at school and at Primary. Maybe he could make friends here too!
While Dad handed out boxes, Wellington went around and talked to the people sitting in the room. He sang some of his favorite Primary songs to them. Soon lots of people were laughing and singing together. This was so much fun!
Wellington looked around. He noticed a lady sitting alone on a couch. She had gray hair and lots of wrinkles.
He walked over to her and sat down on the couch. “Hi!” he said. “My name’s Wellington. What’s yours?”
She looked at him and smiled. “I’m Mariana,” she said.
Wellington was nervous, so he asked the first question he could think of. “What’s your favorite food?”
She thought for a second. “I’ve always loved pão de queijo,” she said.
“That’s my favorite too!” said Wellington. He loved the small cheesy rolls.
They started to talk about their favorite songs, sports, and memories. Mariana told him about the fun things she used to do when she was a kid.
“Thank you for coming here today,” she said. “I don’t have any family who can come and visit me, and it can be hard to make new friends.” Mariana’s eyes got sad. “Sometimes I feel all alone.”
Wellington wasn’t sure what to say. He thought about how sad he would be if he didn’t have friends or family to talk to. Then he thought about what his dad said about everyone here being a child of God.
He smiled and looked at Mariana. “When I’m lonely, I like to pray to Heavenly Father. He helps me feel better. I know that I’m never alone because I can always talk to Him. Maybe you could try praying too.”
Mariana smiled and hugged Wellington. “Thank you. I think that’s a great idea.”
Soon Dad came up to Wellington and tapped him on the arm. “Time to go,” he said.
“Already?” said Wellington.
Dad laughed. “Don’t worry. We can come back next week.”
That made Wellington happy. He hopped off the couch. “See you next time!” he told Mariana.
He smiled as he waved goodbye to his new friend. He couldn’t wait to come back!

Many years ago, our 15-year-old son Eric suffered a serious head injury. Seeing him in a coma for over a week broke our hearts. The doctors told us they were uncertain about what would happen next. Obviously, we were thrilled when he began to regain consciousness. We thought now everything was going to be fine, but we were mistaken.

When he awoke, he could not walk or talk or feed himself. Worst of all, he had no short-term memory. He could remember most everything before the accident, but he had no ability to remember events after, even things which had happened only minutes earlier.

For a time, we worried we would have a son locked in the mind of a 15-year-old. Things had come very easily to our son before the accident. He was athletic, popular, and did very well in school. Before, his future seemed bright; now we worried he may not have much of a future, at least one he could remember. He now struggled to relearn very, very basic skills. This was a very humbling time for him. It was also a very humbling time for his parents.

Honestly, we wondered how such a thing could happen. We had always strived to do the right things. Living the gospel had been a high priority for our family. We couldn’t understand how something so painful could happen to us. We were driven to our knees as it soon became apparent his rehabilitation would take months, even years. More difficult still was the gradual realization he would not be as he was before.

During this time, many tears were shed and our prayers became even more heartfelt and sincere. Through the eyes of humility, we gradually began to see the small miracles which our son experienced during this painful time. He began making gradual improvement. His attitude and outlook were very positive.

Today, our son Eric is married to a wonderful companion, and they have five beautiful children. He is a passionate educator and contributor to his community, as well as the Church. Most important, he continues to live in the same spirit of humility he gained long ago.

My story begins with a loss that shaped my destiny. My father, Mr. Kofi Donkor Adane, died just a week before I was born. My mother, deep in her grief, held me for the first time with tears streaming down her cheeks. In my culture, there is a belief that a mother’s profound sorrow can cause a newborn’s spirit to “go back”—to return to the spirit world. Fearful of this, my aunt, Mrs. Faustina Boahin, came for me. She persuaded my mother that it would be safer if I stayed with her. And so, as a tiny baby, I left my mother’s arms and went to live with my aunt and uncle, growing up believing they were my true parents and that my cousins were my siblings.
My aunt was a strict disciplinarian. While my uncle was kind, my aunt believed in corporal punishment to “put me in line.” I was kept indoors, often watching the neighborhood children play football from behind the louvers of our window, shouting instructions as if I were their coach but never allowed to join. This isolation made school my sanctuary, a place where I could finally engage with friends, join clubs for acrobatics and drama, and feel a sense of belonging. Coming home late from these precious hours of play always meant a beating, but to me the fleeting freedom was worth the price.
The foundation of my life was shattered when my cousin, Kwesi, revealed the truth. “Is Faustina really your mom?” he’d tease, until one day he stated plainly, “No, she’s not. Auntie Mina is your mother.” I was stunned. Auntie Mina was the woman who visited often, always bringing a special gift just for me—a donut, an orange, a sweet—a fact for which my aunt had often scolded her. The pieces began to fall into place. I noticed the differences in treatment: I had more chores, I was denied meat at meals, and the punishments were more severe. The truth, once seen, could not be unseen.
I eventually moved in with my biological mother, Fatima Wilhelmina, and entered a new world: a Muslim household. My mother had been raised Muslim by her father, and she had remarried a Muslim man. I embraced this new identity with the fervor of a child seeking belonging. I learned to pray in Arabic, fasted during Ramadan, and perfected the ablutions. I even joined a wazi team, Muslim evangelists who would set up in town. My role was to read from the Bible, drawing parallels to the Qur’an, while others demonstrated Islamic prayer. I didn’t see it as outreach then; it was simply the faith I was living. For a time, it was my entire world.

I sat in the living room one Saturday with my scriptures opened to section 20 in the Doctrine and Covenants. As I read slowly through the sacrament prayers in verses 77 and 79, I underlined words that could be difficult to pronounce—sanctify, remembrance, commandments.
I was one of the older priests in the ward, and giving these prayers had become almost second nature for me. I always tried to read the words slowly and clearly to help maintain a reverent spirit during the sacrament. But when our priests quorum adviser asked me to help Matt, our newest quorum member, prepare to bless the sacrament for the first time, I wondered if he would be able to make it through the prayer.
I had known Matt ever since my family moved next door to him when I was nine years old. Matt, who has Down syndrome, was about my age, and we became friends. Through the years, as we got older, I was excited to see Matt receive the Aaronic Priesthood, play on Church basketball teams, and participate in Scouting and other activities. But because Matt had difficulty pronouncing words, I wondered if he would be able to perform this priesthood responsibility.
When Matt arrived at my house to practice the prayers with me, he had a wide smile on his face.
“Peter, guess what,” he said enthusiastically. “My brother is coming home next week. I’m excited.”
“That’s great, Matt,” I said, realizing that his first experience blessing the sacrament would be in the same meeting as his brother’s mission report. All of his relatives would be there. I knew this would be an important day for Matt and his family, and I wanted everything to go well.
As we struggled through the words of the prayers, I was impressed with Matt’s determination to learn how to perform this priesthood duty. We read the prayers several times, concentrating on the words I had underlined. When we finished, Matt had made considerable improvement and was able to read through both prayers. Still, I wondered if those who did not know him well would be able to understand the words.
A week later, as we sat together at the sacrament table, I had an uneasy feeling in my stomach. Members of Matt’s immediate and extended family looked up at him from their seats near the front of the chapel. Their eyes were excited, encouraging. Matt beamed back at them and didn’t seem nearly as nervous as I felt. We had practiced the prayers again the day before, and I had explained the process of breaking the bread and handing the trays to the deacons. He had seemed to understand everything, but I was concerned I might have left something out or he might not remember all the details.
When it came time for the sacrament hymn, we stood to break the bread. Matt solemnly broke it into even pieces and spread them across the tray. He kept an eye on me to know when to sit.
“It’s time to kneel now,” I whispered to Matt when the hymn was finished. We knelt, and then Matt carefully and deliberately read each word of the blessing on the bread. Despite our best efforts, I realized as he spoke that most in the congregation would not understand his words. And yet, as Matt read the prayer, I felt the Spirit come over me, witnessing of the importance of this sacred ordinance. When Matt finished, we stood and handed the trays to the deacons to pass to the congregation.
After we sat down, I looked out over the audience—full of Matt’s family and ward friends. I saw tears in the eyes of many as they partook of the sacrament that Sunday. I realized that although the words may not have been clear to everyone, all had felt the Spirit and had been moved by Matt’s desire to serve.
Matt, now an elder, continues to find ways to serve others. He directs the music and chooses someone to offer the prayer in priesthood meeting opening exercises, he has served as an assistant Scoutmaster and a stake missionary, and he attends the temple regularly.
Whenever I open my scriptures to Doctrine and Covenants 20, I am reminded of Matt’s determination to serve, despite his disability. Matt’s example of service to the Savior has helped me and many others to do as the sacrament prayers remind us—and “always remember him” (D&C 20:77).

A few weeks ago there appeared in our local newspaper the account of a woman who while reading a magazine in her doctor's office waiting room read of an "Exemplary Husband " contest being sponsored by the magazine and inviting entries to be submitted for the contest. The woman returned home, wrote a description of the admirable traits of her thoughtful husband and without informing him she mailed it and immediately forgot about her entry.

Several weeks later she was notified that her entry had been selected as a finalist in the contest. Her husband was embarrassed and she was justifiably pleased and proud. Listen to her description of her husband written in her entry.

As I read the account of this wonderful couple I was thrilled as I'm certain others were also. I don't know that they are members of the Church, but the power of their example is so desperately needed and appreciated regardless of religious affiliation. O how this world that lacks so much kindness and civility in marriage is blessed by the example of that couple and so many others like them.