Gospel Story Finder

It reminds me of an experience I had some months back when I was recuperating from surgery. I was feeling better, it was my first day back at Church headquarters, my attitude was good and my enthusiasm great. I walked on an elevator, and a lady got on with me; we were all alone. The doors closed and the elevator started to go up. She looked at me, looked harder, and then said, “Oh my goodness!”
I asked, “What’s the matter?”
She said, “I thought you were the General Authority that died.” You never know how you appear to somebody else.

The need was critical.
In early 2013, five cases of measles broke out in the Za’atari refugee camp in the Middle Eastern country of Jordan. More than 100,000 Syrian refugees, living in overcrowded conditions, were at risk of contracting this highly contagious, dangerous virus. The Jordanian government planned a massive immunization campaign to keep the disease from spreading. The plan was to immunize at least 90,000 Syrian refugees between the ages of 6 months and 30 years within a two-week period.
But there was a problem. The United Nations Children’s Emergency Fund (UNICEF) had the serum. The Jordanian Ministry of Health had the clinics. What they didn’t have were cold-chain supply items—syringes, containers for sharp instruments, serum coolers—and time was running out.1
Enter Ron and Sandi Hammond, senior welfare missionaries serving as country directors in Jordan for LDS Charities. As Ron and Sandi already had working relationships with UNICEF and the Ministry of Health, they quickly joined the collaboration between these organizations to determine how LDS Charities could help.
Ron says, “We inquired about the cost of purchasing the cold-chain supply items. When they told us, we said, ‘We think LDS Charities can help.’ They said, ‘How fast? We’ve got to get moving on this!’”
Within 20 hours LDS Charities had approved the purchase of the necessary cold-chain supplies. “When we informed the Ministry of Health and UNICEF,” Ron says, “they were awe-struck. How could an NGO [non-governmental organization] move so quickly? Not only did the immunization campaign go forward on schedule, but it also inspired a nationwide campaign that inoculated hundreds of thousands of Jordanians and Syrian refugees.”
Photograph courtesy of Samir Badran, UNICEF-Jordan
Crisis averted.
Furthermore, this productive partnership among UNICEF, Jordan’s Ministry of Health, and LDS Charities created the potential for future collaboration.

My study of mathematics has helped me be okay with not fully understanding everything about the gospel. I'd like to share an experience I had one day when I was a student at BYU-Hawaii. But it requires us to talk about a little bit of math.

Let's start with an easy example. Here we see two piles of fruit: a pile of apples and a pile of oranges.
Notice that the two piles are the same size. We can see this because we can match them up. Because these piles of fruit only contain three pieces each, it's pretty easy to know that the two piles are the same size.
Things get a little trickier when you have piles with infinitely many things in them. But the same principle applies: If you can match up the items from the two piles so that each object in one pile matches exactly with one object in the other pile and you don't have any objects left over in either pile, then the two piles are the same size. In math, we say the two piles (or sets) have the same cardinality.
Now let's try it with these two piles: In the pile on the left we have all the counting numbers. The counting numbers are the numbers one, two, three, four, five, and so on. Although we only see the first five counting numbers in the picture, the dot-dot-dot is intended to show that this pile keeps going. Since the counting numbers never end, the pile is infinite.
In the pile on the right we have all the even numbers. Even numbers are divisible by two: 2, 4, 6, 8, 10, and so on. Again, the dot-dot-dot shows us that this pile goes on forever. We won't ever run out of even numbers, so this pile is also infinite.
Now, to our finite minds these piles should not be the same size. When we first look at the piles, it appears as though the pile of even numbers should have half as many items in it as the pile of counting numbers. Every even number is a counting number, but there are counting numbers that aren't even numbers. So, if we think about it from a finite perspective, the piles appear to be different sizes. But remember the piles are infinite. Let's try to match up the objects in the piles, like we did with the piles of fruit.
This diagram shows a way to match up the numbers so that every number has a partner. If you pick any number in the pile of counting numbers, any number at all, you just multiply it by two to figure out which number it matches to. And if you pick any number in the pile of even numbers, you just divide by two to figure out what number it matches to. So every number has a partner, and no numbers will be left over. Although our finite view of the situation told us the piles should be different sizes, the fact that we can match up the objects in the piles shows that the two piles are actually the same size. The two sets have the same cardinality.
I remember the first day I learned this perplexing principle in a math class. My teacher said something along the lines of "Our human intuition can break down when we study things that are infinite. When infinity is involved, things can happen that are hard for our finite human minds to comprehend." In that class period, we learned several other examples that illustrated how our intuition breaks down when we study infinity.
As a math student, I was fascinated by these principles and left class thinking about them. Later that day, in my religion class, my teacher shared a quote that referred to the Atonement as "infinite and eternal."
At that moment, I started to understand that, as my math teacher said, when infinity is involved, things can happen that are hard for our human minds to comprehend. And the Atonement was infinite. How could the Savior have suffered for the sins, the pains, and the sorrows of everyone that would ever live? How could all that happen in such a short period of time? My human understanding was not adequate to understand that great, infinite, and eternal event. But I could trust the Lord, and He could help me gain His understanding. I could trust that the Atonement did happen, that the Savior did suffer for me, that He did feel my pains and my sorrows, that He knows firsthand how I feel when I go through a trial. Although my human understanding is still inadequate to understand the logistics and mechanics of how the Atonement occurred, as I have studied the Atonement, the Lord has helped me come to know that the Atonement is real, that it was "a great vicarious gift" given in my behalf and on "behalf of all [those] who would ever live upon the earth."[12]
My study of mathematics has taught me that my understanding is not always fully adequate. Sometimes I have to trust in the Lord and ask Him to share His understanding. However, as explained by Elder Clayton, we are not speaking of "blind obedience but of thoughtful confidence in the perfect love and the perfect timing of the Lord."[13]

“A parade up and down the blocks to see what was beneath each tree was an annual Christmas tradition for the children in our neighborhood. How parents permitted such a desecration of the day, such a trial-by-comparison trauma, I can’t understand. But year after year the parade persisted.
“The gifts beneath the trees in the homes of my friends were as different as the income and situation, as the taste and concern for the celebration would allow. And in the difference there was always pain for somebody.
“There was a friend in that pitiful parade whose father gave her a pair of shoes every year. Period. Shoes. Every year he would choose them himself without her counsel, and every year they’d be sturdy enough to last forever, ugly enough to ruin a girl’s chances at life. She hated them of course, and we hated him for what it did to her. Christmas after Christmas. Each year I told her they were okay, cute, neat, or great (whatever was the appropriate vernacular of that year), hoping against hope it would help.
“Then there was a girl who didn’t even get a gift as grand as shoes. Except for maybe an apron her aunt made, she seldom received anything at all. As we neared her house, she’d begin talking grandly about how she had all her gifts put away already. There was no point in even going to her house, she’d insist. But everybody else persisted just the same.
“‘Let’s go to your house last,’ I’d suggest, hoping we’d all have to go home by then. And sometimes it worked.
“I loved this friend with a protective passion and gave her the best gift on my list. And each year I told her that all I wanted was a bottle of her mom’s applesauce. And that’s what she gave me, ribbon tied.
“I think of that each canning season now, wondering why my own applesauce never tastes like the memory.”

For example, a young woman describes how she stays on the covenant path: “I once had a classmate ask me for help. I didn’t think much of it, just gave her the help she needed. But afterward, the Spirit reminded me that by helping bear her burdens, I was keeping the covenants I made when I was baptized (see Mosiah 18:8–10). I am grateful for the opportunities Heavenly Father gives me every day to choose to walk the covenant path.”

The Pack: Since my parents had both been raised in Idaho, our family moved from California, where I was born, to Idaho Falls near the end of my 5th grade year. Over the summer (what little bit of summer there is in Idaho), we looked for and bought a home in the small town of Shelley, just south of Idaho Falls. There, beginning with my 6th grade year, my parents remained for nearly 30 years. One of the first friends I made after our arrival in Shelley is also named Mike. For the first several years of our friendship, exactly one foot separated us in height. Even though he eventually played four years of football at BYU, he stopped at 6’4” while I, on the other hand, closed the gap and grew to the lofty 5’7” stature standing before you today.
As an Aaronic Priesthood holder, I was active in the Boy Scout program. As a deacon, I recall one particular overnight trip when we were to backpack into our campsite. Contrary to the counsel of my father, I opted to use an old wood framed backpack and then carry about everything imaginable with me for the campout. We were not far into the hike toward camp when it became apparent that even with good intentions, my inexperience and lack of listening to wise counsel was costing me dearly.
How fortunate I was to have not only a very kind but a much larger friend who graciously offered to switch packs with me. I recall being able to tell that it even became a struggle for Mike to carry my pack, but he marched ahead, and we eventually arrived at the campsite.
I recall the gratitude I felt then, and now, for a great and kind friend who was willing to literally lift the burden from my back that I was unable, or unprepared, to bear.

The morning is quiet. On his way out of the house to feed the horses, Brother Gines glances at the shelves of trophies and stops. He stands there, silent, silhouetted against the early morning light, looking at Neal’s basketball trophy and remembering the long hours Neal practiced to prove that he wasn’t clumsy. As he stands there, he recollects the times he and Neal have spent together.

“Back when Neal was younger, we milked the neighbor’s cows. It was Neal’s job, but I went anyway, figuring that it was important to be with him. We talked about horses and football and bulldogging and the Church. We grew closer together, understanding each other, becoming best friends.

“When Neal started bulldogging, I became the hazer (the one who guides the steer in a straight line). It’s kind of symbolic, both of us coming out together, with me hazing to keep the steer from running wild so Neal can grab him and throw him to the ground. We work well together, we’ve done it for so long. I can tell if Neal is hurt, how bad it is, whether it is just another scrape to add to his scars, or whether the horns have dug deeper this time. I never say much, but I’m right there.

“As Neal grew older, we didn’t stop doing things together. My wife teases us about being inseparable, but a father likes to know that his son wants to spend time with his old dad,” Brother Gines adds with a smile.

On cool fall nights they work outside together, joking, trying to hurry and get the wood stacked so they can go in and eat. They spend long hours hauling hay; taking trips to the saw mill to gather shavings so the animals can have the “softest beds”; walking quietly through the just-fallen snow, tracking down pheasants; going downtown to get a malt. They are still inseparable, still best friends.

“Need some help feeding the horses, dad?” Neal asks as he walks into the room.
Brother Gines turns to see Neal all dressed, ready to help. “Sure,” he replies.
Together they walk out into the bright morning.

On 29 November 2018, my dear wife, Ruth, went into labor with our fourth child. Although this was an exciting and joyous moment for us as a family, there was some major concern. The pregnancy was at 32 weeks and the expected delivery was to be late January 2019. This was approximately eight weeks early. The thought—and the now-evident reality—of getting our baby preterm was disturbing.
Before we rushed to the Aga Khan University Hospital in Nairobi that night, I said a silent prayer and beseeched the Lord so that both the mother and baby would be protected. As we arrived at the hospital, the doctors warned me of the possible dangerous outcomes of preterm delivery. They mentioned that the baby’s development could be affected due to incomplete time in the womb. In the worst-case scenario, loss of life happens, and mom and baby could be lost. Although this terrified me, I knew that God was in the details. I knew that the Lord would do His will upon my wife and baby. This assurance gave me a lot of peace. I had prayed many times for other pressing matters in the past, and I had seen the hand of the Lord. He had answered all my prayers from the days of my youth. I knew He would not forsake us even in this case however difficult it seemed.
Around this time of trial, my ward, Zimmerman, was split and I received a call to become the bishop of one of the two newly created wards. This was a very challenging moment for me, but I knew that God would provide a way to accomplish this immense task. I could juggle between my new calling, taking care of the three children at home—all of whom were still young—making regular visits to the hospital, and give honest labor to my employer.
From my past interactions with other bishops, it was evident that the calling of being a bishop was considered one of the most challenging callings in the church—feared and loved in equal measure. However, I confidently knew that whom the Lord calls He qualifies and that He would provide a way for me to be a successful bishop as well as fulfill all other responsibilities placed on my shoulders. As Nephi states: “And it came to pass that I, Nephi, said unto my father: I will go and do the things which the Lord hath commanded, for I know that the Lord giveth no commandments unto the children of men, save He shall prepare a way for them that they may accomplish the thing which He hath commandeth them” (1 Nephi 3:7).
Things went on well and our baby, David, was born weighing 1.5 kg (approximately 3.3 pounds). The doctors said he looked good for his age and that he was not in any extreme danger. He was placed in the neonatal intensive care unit and he responded very well to the care given by the doctors and nurses. Like many other times in the past, I saw the hand of the Lord and His choicest blessing in my wife’s and son’s lives. This experience helped me appreciate our great medical technology and the selfless acts of the hospital personnel. David is healthy and thriving now and has been a great addition to our family. He is a source of joy to us all. His siblings Payson, Precious, and Natasha love him dearly. He is a constant reminder of the greatness of God.

It was 11:00 at night, and I was in my bedroom after being out with a few high school friends. I knew I hadn’t made the best decisions that night. “But,” I reasoned, “I hadn’t made the worst ones either.”

Frustrated, I picked up a homework assignment. I was so tired that I just wanted to get it over with and go to bed. “I still need to read my scriptures. But I’ll just skip them tonight,” I thought.

I began thinking of everything I was expected to do. Read my scriptures, attend early-morning seminary, attend church and Mutual, get good grades, be involved in extracurricular activities, have a part-time job … The list went on.

I felt so much pressure in every area of my life, especially as the only female Latter-day Saint in my high school. I reminded myself again and again that I might be the only female Latter-day Saint my peers ever met, so I had to be a good example. Yet I knew I was starting to slip.

“I wish I could be carefree like my friends,” I thought. I also wished I didn’t feel so awful when I went to a party or said a bad word, but the truth was I did. It made me feel physically sick when I made choices I knew weren’t the right ones. For some reason, though, I continued to make them.

It was almost midnight when I finished my homework assignment. In five hours my alarm clock would be beeping. I would wake up, drag myself to seminary, and try to get through another day of high school.

Then it dawned on me. I didn’t have to obey all the rules. I could stop attending church, seminary, and Mutual if I wanted to. Just because my family went, it didn’t mean I had to.

It was such a liberating thought. I crawled into bed and was almost asleep when I had a strong impression to read the scriptures. “No,” I thought. “I’m done.”

Again I felt it. This time I thought, “Maybe just one last time.”

In seminary that year, we had been studying the New Testament. I turned to where my marker was in James chapter 1. This was the chapter Joseph Smith had read that inspired him to go to the Sacred Grove and pour out his heart to Heavenly Father. “How ironic,” I thought. I started reading.

Verse 5 was familiar to me: “If any of you lack wisdom …” But it was verse 8 that opened my eyes that night. It said, “A double minded man is unstable in all his ways.” I froze. Then I reread it.

I was being double-minded. I claimed to be a Latter-day Saint, but my actions were beginning to say otherwise. And if I continued, no matter what path I chose, I would be unstable and unsure and thus very unhappy.

I needed to know if the gospel was true. I needed to know if getting up every morning at 5:00 a.m. to study the gospel was worth it. I needed to know that I was trying to live my life to the best of my ability, despite at times being ridiculed, because it truly would bring me the most happiness and joy.

It was almost 1:00 in the morning then, but I knelt beside my bed and poured out my heart to my Father in Heaven. I asked Him to help me know what was right, to know which path to take, to lead me by the hand and take away the confusion I was feeling.

Simply, clearly, and peacefully, the thought came to my mind, “You already know.” And I did.

I got off my knees, shut off my light, and went to sleep. Four hours later my alarm went off. Sleepily, I shut it off. A minute later I was up getting ready for another day, early-morning seminary included.

It has been years since that wonderful midnight experience. My testimony still continues to grow. Sometimes it is stronger than at other times. The difference is I know and I have never once looked back.

I should like to share with you an incident or two in the early life of President Marion G. Romney, best told in his own words:
I’m a Mexican by birth. I was born in Colonia Juarez, Chihuahua, Mexico. My parents happened to be down there at the time. I was raised there until I was about fifteen years old. During the last two or three of those years, the Madero Revolution was in progress. The rebels and the federalists were chasing each other through the country; each taking everything we colonists had, by way of arms and ammunition and by way of supplies. Finally we were forced to leave. I came out of Mexico with the Mormon refugees in 1912.
I remember I had a very thrilling experience on the way from where we lived to the railroad station about eight miles south of Colonia Juarez. We went in a wagon. . . . I was riding with my mother and her seven children and my uncle (her brother) and his family of about five or six children. . . . We had one trunk—that was all we were able to bring. I was seated on the trunk in the back of the wagon. . . . The Mexican rebel army was coming up the valley from the railroad station toward our town. They were not in formation. They were riding their saddle horses. Their guns were in the scabbards. Two of them stopped us and searched us. They said they were looking for guns. We didn’t have any guns or ammunition. They did find $20 on my uncle—pesos, not dollars. . . . They took that and waved us on. They went up the road about as far as from here to the back of this room, stopped, turned around, drew their guns from their scabbards, and pointed them down the road at me. As I looked up the barrels of those guns, they looked like cannons to me. They didn’t pull their triggers, however, as evidenced by the fact that I am here to tell the story. That was a very thrilling experience! One of my maturing experiences.
[President Romney continues,] The rebels blew up the railroad track after the train we were on passed over it. Later, Father and the rest of the men came out to El Paso, Texas, on horseback. We never returned nor did we recover any of our property while my father lived.
Father and I went to work to earn a living for his large family. There were no welfare programs then. We had a difficult time making a living. We had to “root hot” or die.[Marion G. Romney, speech at Salt Lake Institute of Religion, October 18, 1974]
I had the opportunity to see how well President Romney handles a trowel when he laid the cornerstone for the São Paulo Temple. President Romney said, “Going to school but part time, it took me from 1918 to 1932 to get through college.”
After he was married and his family was started, he worked full time at the post office in order to provide for his family while he went through law school. In these difficult conditions his marks were so high and his scholarship so excellent that he was later admitted to the Order of the Coif. The Order of the Coif admits only the most distinguished law scholars. I was never invited to join that organization.
Someone has said that among the law students the “A” students make the professors, the “B” students make the judges, and the “C” students make the money. President Romney and I both proved that adage wrong because President Romney did not become a law professor and I did not make a fortune. He practiced law and became a bishop, stake president, one of the first Assistants to the Twelve, a member of the Council of the Twelve, and, as we know, has given great service as a counselor in the First Presidency to two Presidents. He has demonstrated his great love and compassion for people through his many years of guidance in the welfare program of the Church.

Another example: After I served as president of Brigham Young University for nine years, I was released. A few months later the governor of the state of Utah appointed me to a 10-year term on the supreme court of this state. I was then 48 years old. My wife June and I tried to plan the rest of our lives. We wanted to serve the full-time mission neither of us had been privileged to serve. We planned that I would serve 20 years on the state supreme court. Then, at the end of two 10-year terms, when I would be nearly 69 years old, I would retire from the supreme court, and we would submit our missionary papers and serve a mission as a couple.
Four years after we made that plan I was called to the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles—something we never dreamed would happen. Realizing then that the Lord had different plans and different timing than we had assumed, I resigned as a justice of the supreme court. But this was not the end of the important differences. When I was 66, my wife June died of cancer. Two years later I married Kristen McMain, the eternal companion who now stands at my side.
How fundamentally different my life is than I had sought to plan! My professional life has changed. My personal life has changed. But the commitment I made to the Lord—to put Him first in my life and to be ready for whatever He would have me do—has carried me through these changes of eternal importance.

When William later hurt his back lifting a quarter beef, he took a laborer’s job in the dockyards at the same pay. Harbor activities intrigued him, and he carefully noticed the daily comings and goings of the many ships using the docks. One day he heard that a British naval vessel, the H.M.S. Eurotas, soon would sail for the South Pacific, and he immediately formulated a plan for reaching Zion. He enlisted in the British navy and joined the Eurotas’ crew as a butcher, hoping one day to go ashore in California and make his way from there to Utah.

But once the “old twenty-eight gun sailing frigate, converted into a screw propellor” cleared port, his immigration hopes vanished. At a surprise meeting the commanding officer opened secret orders and announced to the crew: “My men, we are bound to the Crimea, the seat of war!” Uncontrolled tears rolled down William’s face—men around him thought it was cowardice or fear. Fighting deep disappointment, the Mormon sailor quietly prayed, pledging his loyalty to God, country, and parents, and asking that he might return from the war unharmed. “I then determined not to desert but to fill my five years honorably.”

Because the ship operated with but half a crew, William soon learned various sailing skills. As he later wrote: “I not only had my work to perform as a butcher, but after it was done, I then had to assist the gunners’ crew in whatever they were doing. The gunners are almost invariably excellent seamen … I was therefore under very practical men and learned to do considerable sailor’s work which I have always found useful to me even in Utah.”

Lisbon. Gibraltar. Algiers. Malta. Constantinople. At each stop William went ashore to obtain meat for the crew. And all along the way they received “dreadful” war reports from the Crimea. They sailed past Scutari, Turkey, where Florence Nightingale gained fame the year before by nursing the war wounded. At Sinope, on the Turkish shores of the Black Sea, the Eurotas’s crew viewed with horror the splintered and submerged remains of what had been a proud fleet of 11 Turkish ships—British allies in the war. These had been destroyed, along with hundreds of Turks, by a Russian fleet two years before.

After cruising off the Crimean peninsula, the Eurotas docked near Sebastopol [Sevastopol], a city from which British and allied troops had driven Russian units at terrible cost to both sides. To William’s great joy he found that among the thousands of British servicemen camped in the area were enough Latter-day Saints for a “field church” to be established. He eagerly participated. Later he judged this to be one of the strangest religious situations of his adventurous life, for in the same trenches overlooked by the stern, grim walls of Sebastopol could be found worshipers of Catholic, Protestant, Islamic, and Latter-day Saint persuasions, while guns blessed by the Eastern Orthodox church thundered in their ears.

It’s near enough to Christmastime that I am reminded of two little stories I would like to tell you. While our youngest daughter was in school, she came home just before Christmas and said to her mother, “Do you know what they tell me at school?” Her mother said no, and my daughter said, “Well, those kids tell me there’s no Santa Claus.”
My wife said, “What did they say about the presents?”
“They say their fathers and mothers give them to them.”
“What did you say?”
“Well, you don’t know my dad and mother.”

Bradley rode his bicycle along the gravel path through the park, pedaling hard and making gravel fly as he turned the corners. In a few minutes the last school bell would ring. He had been late twice already this month, and if he was late again, the school would call his mother. He just couldn’t let that happen.
His father had died when he was two years old, and since then he and his mother had lived alone. She worked the early shift at the hospital so that she could be home with him in the afternoons and evenings, but it meant that he had to get ready for school by himself and make his own breakfast. If the school called Mom at work, she’d be disappointed and worried. She might even hire Sister Williams again to help him get ready for school.
Suddenly Bradley skidded to a stop. There was a black leather wallet lying on the ground, thick with papers and cards. It took him only a moment to pick it up, slip it into his backpack, and be on his way.
Some early-morning jogger or someone taking a walk must have dropped the wallet, he decided. A fat wallet like this must contain lots of money. He thought about how tired his mother was after her shift at the hospital and about how little money they had after she paid the rent and bought food and clothes. They seldom had anything extra-nice. His mother’s birthday was just two days away, and he wished he could give her a really nice birthday present.
He shoved his bike into the rack in the schoolyard and hurried inside, getting to his seat just as the bell rang. During recess, Bradley went into an empty room and closed the door. He took the wallet out of his backpack and opened it. His fingers trembled as he took out the bills: twenty, forty, sixty—sixty dollars! he stuffed the money back inside and pulled out some cards, searching for a driver’s license. When he found it, the picture of a woman stared back at him. She had big brown eyes and wavy hair, her name was Maryann Foster, and she lived not very far from him. A heavy feeling started in his stomach as he wondered if Mrs. Foster had a son. He put everything back into the wallet and shoved it into his jacket pocket. Finders-keepers, he thought. But there was a tight feeling in his chest.
When Bradley got home after school, he tiptoed into the house and hurried to his room to hide the wallet. He sat down on his bed and thought about the birthday present that he could buy. For some reason, though, he didn’t feel happy.
He worked on his homework until his mother called him for supper. He kissed her and sat down at the table.
“How was school?” she asked.
“OK, I guess,” he answered, shrugging his shoulders.
“You sound unhappy. Did something happen at school that you want to talk about?”
“No, not really,” he replied. “Mom, what would you like for your birthday?”
“Oh, Bradley, I know that you don’t have much money, so I don’t want you to worry about my birthday. Just having you is like getting a present every day.”
“What if I told you that someone gave me some money?” Bradley felt his face grow red. The wallet was making him lie, and suddenly he hated it.
“Did someone give you some money?” his mother asked.
When he looked at his mother’s worried face, Bradley had to tell her the truth. “No, but this morning on my way to school I found a wallet. It has sixty dollars in it. I want to buy you a present.”
“Finders-keepers?” his mother asked.
“I thought that we probably need the money more than anyone else. You’ve always said that I should pray for what I need, and I’ve been praying for a long time for some way to buy you a really nice present.” Tears started to run down his cheeks.
“Do you think that if you really need it, that it’s all right to keep something that isn’t yours?” Mom asked in a quiet voice.
“No. I tried to tell myself that it was finders-keepers, but I didn’t really believe it. All I wanted to do was buy you something nice.”
“I know, honey,” said Mom, “but there’s a better present that you can give me than one bought with money.”
Bradley got up and gave her a hug, then went upstairs to get the wallet.
After supper they started walking to Mrs. Foster’s. When they found her address, Bradley opened the gate, went up the sidewalk bordered with late-summer flowers, and rang the doorbell.
The door opened, and Bradley recognized Mrs. Foster from her picture. Clinging to her legs and staring at him shyly were two small children, and she had a baby in her arms. She looked tired, and there were worry lines creasing her forehead.
“Yes?” she asked.
“Uh, … my name’s Bradley. This morning on my way to school, I found this, so I’m returning it to you.” He held out the wallet.
The woman stared at him a moment, speechless. Then her face crumpled, and she started to cry. “I’m sorry,” she said, wiping the tears from her cheeks with the corner of her apron. “Won’t you please come in?”
When they were sitting inside, Bradley noticed that the furniture was old and that the toys on the floor were broken.
“Oh, Bradley,” said Mrs. Foster, “I’m grateful that you are honest. When I couldn’t find the wallet, I didn’t know what to do. I’ve been praying all day that whoever found my wallet would return it to me. Thank you for answering my prayer.”
Later, as they were walking home, Mom asked, “When Mrs. Foster tried to give you some money for a reward, why didn’t you take it?”
“Well, I decided then I didn’t really need the money so much. When I first found the wallet, I thought that it was the answer to my prayer. But I’m happier now to have been the answer to Mrs. Foster’s prayer. I think that she needs the money more than we do.”
“Oh, Bradley,” said Mom, hugging him. “I’m proud of you! You really are the best birthday present that any mother could have!”

“Would you accept Moses as a prophet of God if he lived today?” I asked.
“Why, yes,” answered my friend, “without any doubt!”
“What if he wore modern clothing and drove a car? What if he were a husband, a father, and a devoted citizen of the country in which he lived?”
“Moses would never have been like other men,” my friend replied. “He was Moses, the prophet—the man who communed with God!”
It did not occur to my friend that Moses had been much like the other men of his time. For my friend, it was inconceivable that a man who lived in modern times could be a mouthpiece for God—and could act and speak in his name.
“I met a prophet once,” I told my friend. “He was a highly respected businessman, a wonderful husband and father, a devoted citizen. Even though I wa a child when I met him, I knew that he was a true prophet of God.”
The place was Hamburg, Germany—the year, 1937. President Heber J. Grant was touring the European missions. The branch of the Church to which my family belonged met in a rented hall in a soap factory, squeezed into a back alley of a thickly populated industrial district. Here people from all the northern and western districts of Germany had assembled to see and hear the prophet speak.
A gifted poet in our branch had written a long poem for the occasion, and I had been chosen to greet President Grant and recite it. The night before the prophet’s visit, my mother came to my room to say good night. “Tomorrow you will shake hands with a prophet of God,” she said. “What a great privilege that is! I am sure it is because of your faith that you have been asked.”
I was glad it was dark in my room so my mother could not notice my despair. The minute she left my bedside, I prayed, begging my Heavenly Father to forgive my sins and help me be worthy to meet the prophet. My mother spent half the night at the sewing machine, finishing a lovely new dress for me to wear. Normally, this would have excited me tremendously, but not now. I felt that the prophet would be able to see into my heart, and that he would know of my sins and of how vain I was.
The next day in school seemed like a nightmare. Every time I looked at the big clock on the wall, I panicked about how little time I had left to repent of all my misdeeds! I was very withdrawn, and my school friends thought I was ill. I preferred to let them think that way instead of letting them know my secret.
Finally the hour arrived. After President Grant was welcomed, I was to hand him a large bouquet of long-stemmed roses and then recite the poem with the aid of an interpreter.
The floor beneath me shook as I walked toward President Grant. With each breath, I had been praying. Now there was nothing I could do but go ahead.
When President Grant saw me, he rose from his chair. He seemed as tall as a mountain. His friendly eyes looked deeply into mine as he stretched forth his arms and pulled me toward him. My entire body went numb, and the bouquet dropped to the floor. President Grant bent down to retrieve the roses for me. Then he hugged me and stroked my head, waiting patiently until I was ready to begin.
Suddenly all my fear vanished, and I felt an indescribable happiness. I had always pictured my Father in Heaven as loving, kind, and sensitive, and it was natural that his prophet would have all those qualities that were so dear to me. From then on, I knew that I would always be able to recognize a true prophet—by the love and concern he shows for our Heavenly Father’s children.

Conner’s new family got up every Sunday morning, put on their nice clothes, and went to church. “At first, church was really hard,” Conner says. Sitting for three hours with no idea what was going on wasn’t easy. “I wanted to know what they were talking about.”
But he began to understand and feel a desire to learn more about the gospel. His parents called the mission president and asked if Conner could have Mandarin speaking missionaries teach him the discussions. And it just so happened that a sister missionary, Sister Jin, was available to teach him.
On their first visit, Sister Jin and Conner were talking to each other in Mandarin when they suddenly started jumping up and down with huge smiles on their faces. They were from the same town in China! “Finding out that they’re from the same city, love the same foods, and knew the same places was so special,” said Christianne.
“I’m so lucky,” said Conner, “I had a great missionary who taught me everything about Jesus. And when I started to learn about Him, I was so happy. I didn’t know anything about Him. My mom taught me how to pray, then Sister Jin taught me simple things. It just started with wanting to learn the gospel.”

It has been nearly three years since I received one of those dreaded early-morning phone calls. My younger brother Steve had suffered a massive heart attack and died during the night. In an instant, and without warning, my most trusted friend was gone.
During the next few days many who loved Steve and his wife and children traveled to their home in Colorado. But it wasn’t until after the funeral that I realized that seven dear friends of mine had made the long trip from Salt Lake City to attend the service. Not one of them had ever met my brother. They had come to support me. You can imagine my emotions as they encircled me and one of them said, “We just didn’t want you to be alone today.” In word and deed, they taught a divine principle. It is not good, nor is it intended, for any of us to be alone.

Stacy was thrilled to be with her family at the Nauvoo Illinois Temple open house. “I must remember everything I see,” she reminded herself. Grandma had not been able to come with them, but she had asked Stacy to pay close attention and tell her all about it later.
Stacy studied the beautiful paintings of Jesus Christ on the walls and the carved wooden handrails on the stairs. Even though many people were visiting the temple, she felt a deep peace, as if she were all alone. “I’ll tell Grandma about the peaceful feeling,” she thought.
After visiting the temple, Stacy and her family walked around Nauvoo, admiring some of the other buildings.
Suddenly Stacy realized that she was not with her family anymore. She searched all through a tall brick building, but they weren’t there. She felt a lump growing in her throat. She walked down the street as two fat tears rolled down her cheeks.
Then she remembered that Daddy had parked their car near the temple. “If I go to the temple, my family can find me,” she realized. She looked right and left but could not find the temple. Then she heard a voice in her mind. “Look up.” She obeyed the voice and saw the tall white temple spire with the angel Moroni on top. When she reached the temple, she found her family looking for her.
As she happily hugged her mother, Stacy said, “I’ll tell Grandma about the pictures of Jesus and the peaceful feeling. But first I’ll tell her that if you get lost, you should look up so you can find your way to the temple.”

Ben and Danelle Fobert are among the finest people I know. We met serving in a married student ward bishopric while Danelle served as the Relief Society President. Currently, Ben is the principal of a new high school just out of San Francisco and has served in the bishopric and Young Men’s program. Danelle takes care of the children, organizes Joy School for pre-schoolers, organizes Independence Day parades, helps raise funds for school construction and each year finds time to have fun at Girl’s Camp.

Of their experience in the late 1990’s they explained: “We both felt, quite literally, that the prophecy given through David O. McKay in regards to students… going into the world to be an influence for good and peace on an international scale applied to us. To have been blessed to have been admitted to such a place with a prophetic promise instilled in us a sense of purpose that continues to this day.”

As seniors, the biggest hurdle they faced was preparing for the birth of their first child while completing student teaching. Ben recounts: “With a strong faith in the Lord’s plan for our lives and tons of righteous examples of the scores of married couples living in TVA, we knew this challenge was something that could be shouldered together. When Meilani was born, it was life changing. Not only did we feel a new kind of love for one another and this little baby, but we found an outpouring of love and support from our fellow students and a love and understanding from our professors and teachers.” Many people helped the Foberts through those last weeks and months. Danelle affirms: “This was all done selflessly by all involved and we are forever in debt to all our BYUH brothers and sisters. The Lord truly provided for us and honored our commitment to education through the end.”

After graduation they moved backed to the San Francisco Bay Area to live near their families. They found work managing apartment complexes while Ben worked full-time. Part of their decision to live in the South Bay was “grounded in the desire to teach in urban schools where equity and social justice would consistently be in the forefront of Ben’s work… A job fair in the CAC brought an answer to prayer in the form of a job offer to teach in East Side San Jose.” After years of hard work and much sacrifice, Ben is completing his doctoral degree in education leadership.

In December 2004, I was serving as a full-time missionary in Lins, São Paulo, Brazil. The local ward and branch decided to participate in Brazil’s annual “Natal sem Fome” (Christmas without Hunger) program. Teaming up with several other entities—including soldiers from the Brazilian army, mail carriers, and members of other faiths—we passed through several neighborhoods collecting food that would later be given to the needy of the city. We also used this as a great opportunity to give out pass-along cards, or “friendship cards” as we called them. About 2,000 cards were given out.
Many of the members commented on the great feelings they had felt as they served and shared the spirit of Christmas under the hot Brazilian sun. It was an impressive sight to see the soldiers handing out pass-along cards from a church they didn’t even belong to.
One week later we received 127 requests for the Joy to the World Christmas DVD featuring the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. The next week we received 22 more. My companion and I started teaching these people and were able to enter into many homes as a result of this project.
I will never forget the joy and love of that special project, when we helped spread the gospel and bring relief to many families’ hunger. Both spiritual and physical hunger were lessened.
I know that through small and simple things (such as a pass-along card) many great and wonderful things (such as the salvation of the souls of men) come to pass. This experience was evidence that many opportunities surround us during Christmas and other seasons to bring forth this marvelous work and a wonder.