Gospel Story Finder

When I was about to enter ninth grade, my dad announced that our family was moving from Utah to Colorado. I was excited to make new friends and experience a different world, but my expectations changed after my first day at my new junior high school.
I felt lonely and miserable for a long time. Eventually, I shrugged it off and worked hard at school. For the first time since elementary school, I received straight A’s. I spent my nights at home reading. For the next four years, many of my Friday nights were spent with my parents.
Although I had a hard time making friends at school, I realized the love my parents had for me. My mom and my dad became my best friends.
My dad got up at 5:45 a.m. to take me to seminary. During those early-morning drives, I bonded with my dad. We talked about everything from the latest news to politics and money. Although my dad is not a talker, he would listen as I rattled on about my latest story for the school newspaper or a cute boy in one of my classes. Once in a while, he would get in a comment or two.
My mom wasn’t much different. I started spending time exercising and shopping with her. Every Saturday we would buy groceries and run errands together. I would talk endlessly while she grated cheese or prepared a roast for dinner.
In those early morning hours and on those Saturday trips, I found myself, and my testimony of the gospel grew. My parents’ love and support reminded me of my infinite worth. I didn’t have to go to dances or be student body president. I could be myself because I knew I was important, not only in my parents’ eyes, but in Heavenly Father’s eyes too. I still have hard times, but I have found that knowing the Lord loves me is miraculous and comforting.

When Elder Ballard was in his late 20s, he was called to be a bishop. “I faced great anxiety,” he recalls. “I’d never been a bishop before. Both of my counselors were old enough to be my father. I thought about all the bishops I’d ever had and tried to glean from their examples those things that I admired and thought were worthwhile. But ultimately doing the assignment, whatever it is, helps you overcome that fear.”

However, I warn you, a new name, new flexibility, and fewer reports won’t make an ounce of difference in our service unless we see this as an invitation to care for one another in a bold, new, holier way, as President Nelson has just said. As we lift our spiritual eyes toward living the law of love more universally, we pay tribute to the generations who have served that way for years. Let me note a recent example of such devotion in hopes that legions more will grasp the Lord’s commandment to “be with and strengthen”10 our brothers and sisters.
Last January 14, a Sunday, just a little after 5:00 p.m., my young friends Brett and Kristin Hamblin were chatting at their home in Tempe, Arizona, after Brett’s day serving in the bishopric and Kristin’s busy day caring for their five children.
Suddenly Kristin, a seemingly successful survivor of breast cancer the previous year, fell unresponsive. A call to 911 brought an emergency team trying desperately to revive her. As Brett prayed and pleaded, he quickly placed just two other telephone calls: one to his mother requesting her help with the children, the other to Edwin Potter, his home teacher. The latter conversation in its entirety went as follows:
Edwin, noting caller ID, said, “Hey, Brett, what’s up?”
Brett’s near-shouted response was “I need you here—now!”
In fewer minutes than Brett could count, his priesthood colleague was standing at his side, helping with the children and then driving Brother Hamblin to the hospital behind the ambulance carrying his wife. There, less than 40 minutes after she had first closed her eyes, the physicians pronounced Kristin dead.
As Brett sobbed, Edwin simply held him in his arms and cried with him—for a long, long time. Then, leaving Brett to grieve with other family members who had gathered, Edwin drove to the bishop’s home to tell him what had just transpired. A marvelous bishop started immediately for the hospital while Edwin drove on to the Hamblins’ home. There he and his wife, Charlotte, who had also come running, played with the five now-motherless Hamblin children, ages 12 down to 3. They fed them an evening meal, held an impromptu musical recital, and helped get them ready for bed.
Brett told me later, “The amazing part of this story isn’t that Edwin came when I called. In an emergency, there are always people willing to help. No, the amazing part of this story is that he was the one I thought of. There were other people around. Kristin has a brother and sister less than three miles away. We have a great bishop, the greatest. But the relationship between Edwin and me is such that I felt instinctively to call him when I needed help. The Church provides us a structured way to live the second commandment better—to love, serve, and develop relationships with our brothers and sisters that help us move closer to God.”11
Edwin said about the experience, “Elder Holland, the irony in all of this is that Brett has been our family’s home teacher for longer than I have been theirs. Over that time, he has visited us more as a friend than by assignment. He has been a great example, the epitome of what an active and involved priesthood bearer should be. My wife, our boys—we don’t see him as one obligated to bring us a message at the end of each month; we think of him as a friend who lives just down the street and around the corner, who would do anything in this world to bless us. I am glad I could repay just a little bit of the debt I owe him.”12

Last summer, the Olympic Games were held in Sydney, Australia. Certain rules and disciplines were attached to the various Olympic events: runners and swimmers had to stay in their lanes, shot-putters had to stay within the circle marked on the playing field, wrestlers had to stay on the mat—or the athletes would be disqualified. In addition, the use of performance-enhancing drugs was forbidden.
One young man from Denver, Colorado, who won an Olympic silver medal later was awarded the gold because the gold-medalist in his event was disqualified for using a banned steroid. In his response, he referred to his unfortunate competitor’s loss of the medal:
“I do feel sorry for him. But we all have choices. … He made his choice, and I made my choice. …
“I believe God was watching out for me. I believe he watches out for all of us. I’ve learned so many lessons from how this has taken place. I experienced the agony of defeat before the thrill of victory. That made me so much more of a stronger person, mentally and spiritually.”

“My attitude toward the law of tithing was set in place by the example and words of my mother, illustrated in a conversation I remember from my youth.

“During World War II, my widowed mother supported her three young children on a schoolteacher’s salary that was meager. When I became conscious that we went without some desirable things because we didn’t have enough money, I asked my mother why she paid so much of her salary as tithing. I have never forgotten her explanation: ‘Dallin, there might be some people who can get along without paying tithing, but we can’t. The Lord has chosen to take your father and leave me to raise you children. I cannot do that without the blessings of the Lord, and I obtain those blessings by paying an honest tithing. When I pay my tithing, I have the Lord’s promise that he will bless us, and we must have those blessings if we are to get along.’”2

Fino all’annuncio del lock-down per Coronavirus a fine Febbraio credevo di essere una mamma organizzata. Con 3 figli a scuola tutte le mattine e il piccolino a casa, avevo organizzato una routine che mi consentiva di assolvere alle mie responsabilità e pianificare momenti tranquilli da trascorrere in famiglia. Rimanere confinati tutti in casa giorno e notte per un periodo indefinito scombussolò la routine e si rivelò inizialmente molto frustrante per me e il resto della famiglia. I piani giornalieri che fino a quel momento mi avevano consentito di essere efficiente nel rispondere alle esigenze della famiglia, da un giorno all’altro furono stravolti e le mie giornate diventarono un correre senza sosta verso la prossima riunione online, la prossima lezione, il prossimo compito di scuola, il prossimo pasto da preparare, ecc ecc. Il tempo sembrava aver perso la sua naturale regolarità e le settimane sembravano dissolversi in un unico giorno.
A questo disorientamento si aggiungeva giornalmente il peso delle notizie gravi riportate dai telegiornali sui contagi e sulle vittime del Covid-19, insieme al pensiero di amici e conoscenti che stavano combattendo personalmente contro il virus, per i quali avrei voluto fare di più, come poter pregare per loro al Tempio.
Per molti versi mi sentivo piccola e senza meta.
Una mattina decisi di alzarmi presto per fare esercizio fisico e nel silenzio della casa cominciai a riflettere sul viaggio che Lehi e la sua famiglia avevano fatto nel deserto. Per otto anni erano rimasti isolati dal resto del mondo, lontani dalla sicurezza che avevano conosciuto durante la loro vita a Gerusalemme per affrontare fatiche e privazioni che non avevano mai vissuto prima. Per tanti anni avevano vissuto senza potersi recare al Tempio ma erano sopravvissuti; in qualche modo erano riusciti a continuare giorno dopo giorno, prova dopo prova, e arrivare alla terra promessa. Il versetto in 2 Nefi 15, “e mio padre dimorava in una tenda”, continuava a tornare alla mia mente e cominciai a chiedermi come vivesse Lehi nella sua tenda e come avremmo dovuto vivere noi… cosa avremmo potuto fare per trasformare la frustrazione in motivazione e la nostra casa in una tenda come quella di Lehi, in una succursale del Tempio?
Per poterlo fare avrei dovuto organizzarmi diversamente.
Iniziai a stilare un elenco di cose da fare giornalmente per occupare al meglio il nostro tempo inserendo anche attività che non eravamo soliti fare in passato. Partendo al mattino dallo studio familiare del Libro di Mormon (cosa che già facevamo, ma non con regolarità assoluta), i bambini più grandi si dedicavano poi ai compiti e alle lezioni di scuola per potere avere il resto della giornata disponibile per altre attività come esercizio fisico, cucina con una sana alimentazione, pomeriggi trascorsi in balcone per beneficiare del sole disponibile, lezioni online, musica e inglese, momenti dedicati ai giochi in scatola, ai progetti di arte, di servizio per la comunità e organizzazione delle nostre scorte alimentari e dei nostri zaini di emergenza e per finire, alla lettura o alle attività basate sulle scritture durante le nostre domeniche a casa.
In poco tempo la nuova routine aveva aperto orizzonti diversi e le limitazioni dettate dall’isolamento forzato si trasformarono in opportunità di fare cose che non eravamo riusciti a realizzare prima come famiglia. La nostra tenda cominciava a riempirsi di buone attività.
Non tutto è arrivato insieme e non tutto è stato fatto sempre col sorriso, ma piano piano, giorno dopo giorno, siamo riusciti a creare una nuova routine efficace per gestire le circostanze.
Ora che siamo tornati a circolare più liberamente la nostra routine è cambiata, ma non è tornata quella pre-Covid-19; ne abbiamo invece creata una nuova, con un mix più regolare di attività in casa basate sullo studio e sul Vangelo e in mezzo alla natura per mantenere in forma il nostro fisico. Lo studio e l’applicazione del Vangelo è diventato un pezzo importante della nostra vita giornaliera e non è più qualcosa che dobbiamo ricordarci di fare ma il punto di partenza e di arrivo delle nostre giornate.
Non posso dire che la nostra casa sia diventata una succursale del Tempio, perché il percorso per arrivare ad una tale meta richiederà tutta la vita e forse di più, ma quando penso al nostro studio delle scritture, al silenzio e riverenza quasi perfetta raggiunta durante il momento del Sacramento in casa alla domenica, ai giochi dei bambini incentrati spontaneamente sulle storie del Libro di Mormon, e alle preghiere inginocchiati insieme in favore di tutte le persone afflitte dal virus e di chi si trova in difficoltà, allora spero di aver messo qualche nuovo picchetto alla nostra tenda familiare.
Spero che nel nostro viaggio verso la terra promessa, anche se in un deserto (per noi comunque pieno di agi rispetto alla famiglia di Lehi) possiamo avere la gratitudine e la forza di pensare a dove vogliamo arrivare e rendere questa meta parte di ogni nostro giorno, mentre dimoriamo nella nostra tenda familiare.

My tourist visa ended and I had to return to Taiwan. During the following months alone, I missed what I had felt. For a time, I was filled with despair and darkness. Those feelings were so overwhelming that I wanted to give up. I didn’t really know how to pray, but I called out to God and told Him everything I was feeling and thinking. A feeling of peace came—the same feeling I had experienced when I had attended our home church. I know it was the Holy Ghost. He calmed me down.

Later in my life, I was preparing to leave college and I wasn’t really sure what I wanted to do. I went to a meeting where information was given on several different kinds of work. I got excited about printing and decided that I wanted to be a printer. I made an application and was offered a position with a printing company. I had a vision in my mind of being in charge of a big printing press.
On the first day of work, I was delighted when the supervisor took me to a very large machine that was printing in two colors. I thought he was going to say to me, “This is your machine.” I didn’t realize how much training I would need to perform that responsibility. The supervisor assigned me to work with the man in charge of that machine, which I did for six months. All I did that six months was move the paper to be printed on into the machine.
After that, I was put on another machine, and I worked with somebody else. Then I was assigned to a third machine, which was a handfed machine. That means that I “fed” each sheet of paper into the machine by hand. I could do that because by that time I had learned to handle paper well.
A few weeks later, the supervisor came up to me and said, “We feel that you have come to the point where you can be in charge of this machine.”
I was excited. This machine put glazing on the labels that were used for a very popular product in the United Kingdom.
The supervisor said to me, “Before I leave you in charge, you need to spend a little while longer developing your skill. There are a few more things that you need to know.” He stood by me while I was feeding paper into this machine and said, “There is one special thing you need to know—you need to listen for a particular sound. It’s sort of a clicking sound.”
The noise of the machine running with its gears rolling, along with the noise of twenty-five other machines, made it difficult to distinguish sounds, but I confidently said, “Yes, I hear that.” I thought that I was hearing what he was describing.
He said, “That’s all you need to know. As long as you can recognize that, you’ll be fine.”
He left, and I fed the paper into the machine for forty-five minutes. Suddenly the machine came to a grinding halt, making an incredible noise. All sorts of parts were knocking together. The other workers came running to see what had happened.
My supervisor came back and said, “Did you hear the sound?”
I said, “I thought I did.”
He said, “Let’s clean the machine up.” There was paper on the rollers and the cogs, and it took us about thirty minutes to clean up the machine. When he turned the machine on, he said, “Listen, there’s a sort of clicking sound. That’s the best way I can describe it. Can you hear it?”
I listened and just heard all the same noises that I’d heard before, but I said, “Yes.”
He said, “Fine.”
About thirty minutes later, the same thing happened. The supervisor said to me, “You can clean the machine by yourself this time.”
It took me over an hour to clean the paper off the rollers and out of the cogs and get the machine ready to run.
The supervisor came back and stood beside me and asked again, “Can you hear the clicking sound?”
Suddenly, above all the other sounds, I heard a sound that I hadn’t heard before, and the best way I could describe it was that it was a sort of clicking sound. The supervisor explained to me that the sound was made when the paper separated from the printing plate. The sound was determined by the consistency of the gloss that was glazing the paper.
If that sound changed, it meant that the gloss was getting too thick and too tacky. And when that happened, the paper would jam up in the grippers, causing a big pileup of paper that stopped the machine. Once I discovered that sound, I could fix the consistency of the gloss, and my machine never stopped again unless I myself turned it off.

Recently I received a letter from parents in California whose son had written home just before last Christmas, and then shortly thereafter his life was taken in the war in Vietnam. This is part of what he wrote: “War is an ugly thing, a vicious thing. It makes men do things they would not normally do. It breaks up families, causes immorality, cheating, and much hatred. It is not the glorious John Wayne-type thing you see in the movies. It is going a month without a shower and a change of clothing. It is fear creeping up your spine when you hear a mortar tube in the jungle. It is not being able to get close enough to the ground when coming under enemy fire; hearing your buddy cry out because of being ripped with a hot piece of shrapnel. You men be proud of your American citizenship, because many brave and valiant men are here preserving your freedom. [This letter was written to his priesthood quorum back home.] God has given you the gift of a free nation, and it is the duty of each of you to help in whatever way you can to preserve it. America is the protector of our Church, which is dearer to me than life itself. [And then this young man said this very significant thing:] I realize now that I have already received the greatest gift of all, and that is the opportunity to gain exaltation and eternal life. If you have this gift, nothing else really matters.”

“Soldier!”
Meltiar Hatch leaped to his feet and saluted the man on horseback. The Mormon Battalion had been on the march since dawn. Meltiar had taken advantage of a break to bring his 16-year-old brother, Orin, to rest in the shade of a tree. He hadn’t heard the officer’s horse until it was right next to him.
Lieutenant Smith returned Meltiar’s salute. “At ease, soldier.” He looked down at Orin, who lay unmoving, his eyes closed. “Your companion looks to be very ill.”
“Yes, sir,” Meltiar said sadly. “He contracted the fever at Fort Leavenworth, but I know that in time—”
“Time? Time?” Lieutenant Smith loudly interrupted. “This troop has no time. The untimely death of our former commanding officer has set us back two weeks. We cannot defer to the sick and the weary. Leave him.”
Meltiar’s protests were ignored as Lieutenant Smith turned and gave the order to assemble. As the drums sounded, men began to scramble to collect their provisions and line up. Meltiar sat down heavily and put his head in his hands.
“Meltiar,” Orin’s voice was barely audible. “Forgive me. I joined up only because I wanted to finally be useful, like you were in Nauvoo. I never imagined it would end like this.”
“Well, none of us imagined we’d ever be led by Lieutenant Smith, either. Few of the non-Mormon leaders have been unkind; he’s just the worst of the lot. Let’s not forget the promises given by Brigham Young and the Twelve,” Meltiar said with conviction. “If we conduct ourselves properly on this march, our lives will be spared.” He put his pack and canteen in Orin’s hands. “Here is some extra food and some water. I must go now, but I’ll be back, I promise.” He got to his feet.
“I never meant to be a burden.”
“Brothers can never be burdens.”
When the battalion made camp for the night, Meltiar quietly slipped away and began his journey back to the place where Orin waited. Much in need of rest, he sat down by a tree and quickly fell asleep. Later, he awoke with a start. He couldn’t remember why he was alone in the woods in the middle of the night, but sensed that someone’s life depended on him. Meltiar shook his head to clear his jumbled thoughts.
His first thought was that he was still a messenger in the Nauvoo Legion.
He spoke aloud to himself. “The Prophet Joseph is dead. I couldn’t have prevented his assassination. However, I should have found help when my horse went lame, instead of trying to walk to Carthage. Then I might have been able to deliver the last message from his loved ones before he died.” He shook his head sadly. “But I was young and full of pride, just as Orin is now.”
At the thought of his brother, Meltiar stumbled to his feet. That’s whose life depended on him now! Weary as he was, he had to keep walking. The two previous nights, Meltiar had another soldier help him bring Orin back to camp on horseback. Each morning, when Lieutenant Smith discovered what had happened, he angrily ordered that Orin be left behind again. Last night Lieutenant Smith had informed Meltiar that if he wanted to keep up his “foolhardy venture,” he could no longer disturb the sleep of other men or beasts. That was why he was now alone and on foot. And he knew that he must be only about a third of the way back to where he’d left his brother.
Meltiar had prayed fervently for help when he’d set out. He knew he had an impossible task. Even if he had not been exhausted from lack of sleep, it would take him most of the night just to reach Orin on foot. Although Orin was much improved and could probably walk, he couldn’t travel very fast in his weakened condition. Meltiar knew that if he didn’t get back to the battalion before it pulled out at dawn, it would leave them both behind. But he also knew that he could never leave Orin.
Several times on these night trips, Meltiar had had the uneasy feeling that he was being watched. Now he was certain he saw movement by a large rock up ahead. He stopped walking and slowly reached for his pistol. But the pistol was gone! He must have dropped it back where he had fallen asleep. He started to reach for his knife but froze when an Indian stepped out of the shadows. In the light of the moon something glinted in the Indian’s hand. It was Meltiar’s pistol!
As Meltiar stood wondering what to do, he heard the sound of a horse approaching. Could someone from the battalion be following me? he wondered. Or could it be another Indian? The Indian appeared not to have heard the sound, but stood unmoving, the gun down at his side.
When the horse came into the clearing, Meltiar’s heart sank when he saw that it was an Indian pony with two riders. Meltiar closed his eyes and prayed for help.
“Meltiar?” a familiar voice said.
Startled, Meltiar opened his eyes to see that one of the riders had dismounted and was approaching him cautiously.
“Meltiar?” the voice repeated. “Is that you?”
“Orin?”
The two brothers rushed together in a brief, fierce hug, then turned to face the waiting Indians. The Indians had both mounted the pony, leaving the brothers’ guns and packs on the ground. One Indian slowly raised his hand in a salute. “Brothers,” he said before they turned and rode off into the shadows.
“That’s what he said when he came and got me,” Orin said. “I thought he meant that something had happened to you, so I went with him, even though I was scared. How did they know we were brothers?”
“They’ve been watching us these past few nights,” Meltiar said with sudden realization. “And maybe they could see how much we cared for each other. They could also see how much we needed their aid, so they helped us! Or—” he smiled at Orin— “maybe he meant that we are all brothers.”
“I’m grateful for their help,” Orin said softly, “but sometimes it isn’t easy to accept help from others.”
“I know what you mean.” Meltiar leaned on Orin. “But if you are as strong as you look, now it’s time for you to be useful. I need your help to walk back to camp. I hate to be a burden, but I am very tired!”
“I am much stronger now, Meltiar. Don’t worry,” Orin told him with a smile. “Brothers can never be burdens.”

President Hinckley’s sense of humor gives him a light touch in many settings. For example, while chairing a budget session held early one afternoon in which Church Educational System managers were presenting their budget needs for the coming year, feelings became intense. Another General Authority turned to President Hinckley and asked, “What do you think?” President Hinckley, who had been listening with his chin resting on the palms of his hands, replied: “I think I am never again going to have stuffed pork chops for lunch.” Everyone laughed, and the tension was diffused.

In a recent news report we learned of the release of the grandson of one of the world’s wealthiest men by his drug trafficking captors for the incredible amount of nearly $3,000,000. The ransom money was paid by the boy’s mother, who had a love for her son that far exceeded any monetary consideration. As the mother was reunited with her son, she hugged and kissed him repeatedly. She was quoted as saying, “Only now I’m beginning to live again.”

I’d lost my cell phone. No matter how hard I searched my room, I couldn’t find it. I knew this phone was of no worth in the grand scheme of things, but it was still important to me. I decided, “Why should I keep looking? I’ll never find it,” when all of a sudden I felt the need to pray.
I knelt down and prayed for help. When I opened my eyes, I was staring at a certain spot in between my bookcase and my bed. It was covered by my blanket, so I moved it. I looked under the bed, and there was my cell phone! I was so relieved.
I suddenly remembered all of the Friend magazine stories I’d read about children thanking their Heavenly Father for helping. So that’s what I did. I thanked Heavenly Father for helping me find my cell phone, an earthly item that could have been replaced.

One day a stranger came to our door. She introduced herself as Barbara and told us that she was looking for household work so that she could pay her power bill. My mother invited her in and listened to her. Mother told her that we didn’t have much money but that we would share what we had. Mother asked if she would clean a window to earn some money. While she was cleaning, we talked to her and found out that she had three young children and no job and had just recently moved from another city.
As she cleaned the window, we felt impressed that she needed some clothes, toys, and food for her children. My little sister, my mother, and I began preparing a box for her to take home. I put some of my toys in the box for the children. I wanted to give something more, so I decided to give her the money that I had been saving for a toy that I really wanted, money I had earned by working at my Grandpa Brown’s house.
I also wanted to share the gospel with her. I knew it would help her. It is so important to my life, and I knew it could help her family, too. I gave her a copy of the Book of Mormon and explained that we belong to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I bore my testimony. I taught her the plan of salvation, using a chart that I had. She listened and took the Book of Mormon.
After some lunch, Barbara left. My mother read Matthew 25:34–40 to my little sister and me and told us that when we helped Barbara, it was as if we had done those things to the Savior. I felt the Spirit, and I knew that I had done something that Jesus would have done for another.

My father did not believe in accepting government handouts. While he was fit and able, he believed he should meet the needs of himself, my mother and me. It meant long hours, working at least two jobs until he finally retired at eighty-one. He had his own one-man business, travelling through the villages near where we lived, selling hardware out of the back of a small van. His customers were mainly agricultural workers living on very low wages. Frequently they couldn’t afford to pay him. and he would come home with a rabbit, some eggs and, on one occasion, a chair, given in place of cash. In turn, his compassionate heart was rewarded by the boss of his second job. Early mornings and evenings he would gut fish and pluck chickens, for which he was paid a wage and given gifts of fish, crab, and chicken.

In the mid-1950s my parents were picked at random to take part in a government household expenditure survey. Our completed form was returned for “obvious corrections”, as it was judged that three people could not live on such a small cash income (less than what social security would pay). But they didn’t know my parents and their ability to make something out of nothing (“summat out nowt”). They also didn’t know our neighbours, who were of higher economic standing, and who appreciated my parents’ honesty, integrity, compassion, and hard work, consequently putting work their way and providing much of our clothing needs.

The Lord blesses those who keep His commandments, whether they know they are doing so or not. My father lived the second great commandment (“thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself”—Matthew 19:19) and taught me, as the Lord did Adam and Eve, that we “shall eat [our] bread by the sweat of our [our] brow” (Moses 5:1).

Several weeks ago, while en route to Monterrey, Mexico, I sat next to an attractive Mexican of Lamanite extraction. During our conversation I learned that he had eight children. He was obviously proud to be their father. I encouraged him to talk about them. Then I asked, “How long do you plan to be with them?”

“As long as I live.”

“And then what?”

“I’ll lie down and turn to dust.”

From the Bible, we read the words of the Savior to his Apostles just prior to his crucifixion: “In my Father’s house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you.

“And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and receive you unto myself; that where I am, there ye may be also.” (John 14:2–3.)

I asked him what Jesus meant by that. He pondered the question, and then he was ready to listen. I explained about the spirit world and the Resurrection and asked, “Do you really love your children?” He was emphatic.

“How would you like to be with your wife and children in the next life?”

“There is nothing I would rather have.”

I explained that he could have them. We talked about the Book of Mormon—that it was a history of his progenitors, that it contained the narration of the visit of Jesus Christ to America, and that it was a key to having an eternal family. I had him write his name and address on a card and promised to have a Book of Mormon in Spanish delivered to his home.

When I arrived in Monterrey, I gave the referral to the missionaries. Last week I received a letter reporting on their visit to the family. They wrote: “The following Sunday, after the conference, we went to Roberto’s home. His wife came to the fence, and supposing we were preachers of religion she told us it would not be possible to see her husband, that he was very busy. But after talking and showing the card you gave us, he quickly came out with open arms to greet us. We entered his home and knelt down with the family in prayer. He has eight beautiful children. The Spirit of the Lord was present.

“He gratefully accepted our offer to return to teach them the plan of salvation. He received the Book of Mormon and promised to read the words of the book from cover to cover.”

I had a friend in my branch of the Church in Russia with whom I socialized at all Church activities. We had a lot in common, I had a lot of fun with him, and I was glad to have such a good friend.
But then something strange happened. For no reason that I could determine, he offended me badly. He did not ask for forgiveness, and I stopped associating with him. I did not even greet him on Sundays. That went on for two months. I was hurt and unhappy, but he said nothing.
Then I found out he was leaving our city. I didn’t think our relationship should stay the way it was; I thought we should reconcile. About then I remembered a scripture from the Book of Mormon: “Go thy way unto thy brother, and first be reconciled to thy brother, and then come unto me with full purpose of heart, and I will receive you” (3 Nephi 12:24).
It was difficult for me to humble myself and take the first step, but I prayed and then called him. I didn’t know what his reaction would be, and I was ready for the worst. What I heard shocked me.
He sincerely asked me for forgiveness, and I could tell by his voice that he had suffered a lot because of his action—just as I had. Most of all, I remember one sentence that he repeated three times: “Natal’ya, thanks for calling!”
I was so happy! He moved a short time later, but we separated the best of friends.
Learning to love and forgive each other is one of our most difficult tasks. Forgiveness—especially when we are not at fault—requires that we be humble and overcome our pride. I learned that taking the first step to forgive and reconcile is worth it.

Last January, seven-year-old Sailor Gutzler and her family were flying from Florida to Illinois in a private airplane. Sailor’s father was at the controls. Just after nightfall, the aircraft developed mechanical problems and crashed in the pitch-dark hills of Kentucky, upside down in very rough terrain. Everyone but Sailor died in the accident. Her wrist was broken in the crash. She suffered cuts and scrapes and had lost her shoes. The temperature was 38 degrees Fahrenheit (or 3 degrees Celsius)—it was a cold, rainy Kentucky winter’s night—and Sailor was wearing only shorts, a T-shirt, and one sock.
She cried out for her mother and father, but no one answered. Summoning every ounce of courage, she set off barefoot across the countryside in search of help, wading through creeks, crossing ditches, and braving blackberry briars. From the top of one small hill, Sailor spotted a light in the distance, about a mile away. Stumbling through the darkness and brush toward that light, she eventually arrived at the home of a kind man she had never met before who sprang to her care. Sailor was safe. She would soon be taken to a hospital and helped on her way to recovery.
Sailor survived because she saw a light in the distance and fought her way to it—notwithstanding the wild countryside, the depth of the tragedy she faced, and the injuries she had sustained. It is hard to imagine how Sailor managed to do what she did that night. But what we do know is that she recognized in the light of that distant house a chance for rescue. There was hope. She took courage in the fact that no matter how bad things were, her rescue would be found in that light.
After the crash, Sailor had a choice. She could have chosen to stay by the airplane in the dark, alone and afraid. But there was a long night ahead, and it was just going to get colder. She chose another way. Sailor climbed up a hill, and there she saw a light on the horizon.
Gradually, as she made her way through the night toward the light, it grew brighter. Still, there must have been times when she could not see it. Perhaps it went out of view when she was in a ravine or behind trees or bushes, but she pressed on. Whenever she could see the light, Sailor had evidence that she was on the right path. She did not yet know precisely what that light was, but she kept walking toward it based on what she knew, trusting and hoping that she would see it again if she kept moving in the right direction. By so doing, she may have saved her life.
Just as Sailor had to believe that she would find safety in that distant light, so we too must choose to open our hearts to the divine reality of the Savior—to His eternal light and His healing mercy. Prophets across the ages have encouraged us and even implored us to believe in Christ. Their exhortations reflect a fundamental fact: God does not force us to believe. Instead He invites us to believe by sending living prophets and apostles to teach us, by providing scriptures, and by beckoning to us through His Spirit. We are the ones who must choose to embrace those spiritual invitations, electing to see with inward eyes the spiritual light with which He calls us. The decision to believe is the most important choice we ever make. It shapes all our other decisions.
Sailor could not know at first if what she was doing as she pushed her way through the underbrush would actually work. She was lost and injured; it was dark and cold. But she left the crash site and ventured out in hope of rescue, crawling and scraping her way forward until she saw a light in the distance. Once she had seen it, she did her best to move toward it, remembering what she had seen.

A brilliant and highly educated young woman spoke in Berchtesgaden, Germany, to a conference of American military personnel who were members of the Church. I was there and heard her. She was a major in the army, a medical doctor, a highly respected specialist in her field. She said:
“More than anything else in the world, I wanted to serve God. But try as I might, I could not find him. The miracle of it all is that he found me. One Saturday afternoon in September 1969 I was at home in Berkeley, California, and heard my doorbell ring. There were two young men there, dressed in suits, with white shirts and ties. Their hair was neatly combed. I was so impressed with them that I said: ‘I don’t know what you’re selling, but I’ll buy it.’ One of the young men said: ‘We aren’t selling anything. We’re missionaries of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and we would like to talk with you.’ I invited them to come in, and they spoke about their faith.
“This was the beginning of my testimony. I am thankful beyond words for the privilege and honor of being a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The joy and peace this glad gospel has brought to my heart is heaven on earth. My testimony of this work is the most precious thing in my life, a gift from my Heavenly Father, for which I will be eternally thankful.”

While competing in a national beauty pageant a few years ago, I saw how much the gospel helps me in many aspects of my life. During the pageant, I refrained from negative talking or backbiting. I knew that everyone there was a child of Heavenly Father and that participating in such activities would not be uplifting.
After a few weeks, the other contestants and I found out that there was an undercover judge—our makeup artist. She had always been in the dressing rooms and at photo shoots and appearances, and she heard everything we were saying. Some girls worried the judge had heard the bad things that they were saying, and I was thankful I didn’t have that burden on my mind and that I could be at peace. I was able to make a good impression by keeping my standards and not participating in any gossip or foul language.
After the pageant, a judge came to me and thanked me for my mature conduct. All the judges had recognized that I acted different from some of the other girls.