Gospel Story Finder

I noticed that I was having a hard time paying attention in school. I was daydreaming a lot, and I wasn’t learning everything that I was being taught. So one night I prayed to Heavenly Father, “Please help me to pay attention in class so that I can raise my grades.” The next day I went to school, and it was a good day. I learned a lot and was able to pay attention to the teacher that day. Now I know that if you ask with all your heart, Heavenly Father will answer your prayer.
Brock P., age 11, Utah, USA

Once there was an old, wise, and prudent king who had three sons. As the king grew older, he decided it was time to confer his kingdom upon one of them. So he called his sons to him and said, “Soon I will go the way of all the earth. Before I die, I will crown one of you the next king. I know that all of you are good men, so I am going to give you a test: Here are three small coins for each of you to take to the marketplace and buy something that is useful and that will fill my whole house.” Then he told them to come back the next day with what they had bought.
The three sons left their father’s house and went to the marketplace, which was very big. It was full of all kinds of things that were interesting and beautiful, simple and useful. Wonderful smells were floating in the air. Here you could find anything you needed or wanted.
The oldest son scurried around the marketplace, wondering what he could buy with his three small coins. Although he was a very busy husband and father, and had a business to take care of, he would honor his father’s unusual request. If only he could find something quickly!
Glancing at the rugs, he thought they were very beautiful. The rugs were useful, too, and could fill his father’s house—but they were far too expensive. Then he saw something else that was quite useful, and he could buy enough of it to fill his father’s house. He made his purchase and hurried home with it, thinking, That was easy!
The second son slowly wandered in and out of the stalls and shops. He was becoming very discouraged because he simply could not see a thing that he could buy with only three small coins. He thought that his father’s request was really impossible to fulfill. He was hungry and ready to go home, when something caught his attention. The son bought several with his coins and went home. At least he wouldn’t go back to his father empty-handed.
The youngest son was also very puzzled over his father’s strange test. He walked around the marketplace all day, looking and looking. Once he stopped to help a lost little girl find her mother. Another time he helped an old woman load her donkey with bundles of firewood. He talked with the men and laughed with the children playing games. But his search for something useful that could fill his father’s house seemed in vain. He had just about given up finding anything, because it was getting dark and the market was closing.
I’ll try once more, he decided. And as he passed a small shop for the last time, he saw exactly what he needed! “Why didn’t I think of it before?” he said out loud. He spent his three small coins and carried his treasure home.
The next day, the three brothers again found themselves before their father, the king. Each was ready to show what he had bought with his coins.
The oldest son carried in a large, bulky bundle of straw. He scattered the straw across the floors in all the rooms of the king’s house. It smelled sweet and made a crunchy, swishy sound as all in the household went about their chores. But soon the children were playing in it, and it stuck to their hair and got in their clothes. Then the chickens came into the house to scratch in the straw and to make their nests. And the women in the king’s house complained that they could not keep the house clean and that they couldn’t find small things that were dropped.
The king frowned. He decided that the straw was too troublesome to really be useful.
The second son filled small bowls with burning sticks of incense. Carefully, he placed a bowl of the incense in various places in the house. Its sweet smell started drifting through the rooms, and the people stopped their work, trying to catch a whiff of it. But the delicate scent was soon gone with the gentle breeze that came through the open windows.
The king shook his head and decided that the incense did not fill his whole house long enough and that when they smelled it, people didn’t seem to want to do their work.
Finally the youngest son came in. In each room of the house he set out a candle and lit it. A soft, warm glow filled the corners and hallways. Everyone began chatting amiably as they busied themselves around the house, for the light had chased away the shadows. The children giggled and played, or practiced their lessons. Women sang while they did their housework and took care of the babies. And the men were able to do their work faster, and more safely too.
The old king sighed a happy sigh, and smiled with contentment. The new king would be his youngest son, who filled the castle with light and helped his people enjoy their labors.

In St. Johns, New Brunswick, Joseph found a schooner captain willing to take him across to Nova Scotia for working on board en route. While crossing in a storm the young missionary saw what looked like a star and immediately told the captain, who recognized it as the Digby Lighthouse. The captain was barely able to change course in time to avoid the rocks and make it through the narrow passageway (called “Digby Gut”) and on into port at Digby (1). But now let Elder Millett again speak for himself, this 19-year-old just arrived in the field:

Illustration by Dan Burr
I remember it was your typical ward Christmas party: tables covered with red and green butcher paper, dinner served on paper plates, little children running around, and the happy sound of ward members chatting. Somehow, someone had managed to quiet things down to give a blessing on the food, and then everyone ate. The program was about to start.
It wasn’t my ward. I had gone with a friend to her ward party, so I didn’t know many people. We had wanted to leave early, but her mom convinced us to stay for the program.
The first number on the program was by the Primary children, who walked onto the stage wearing gold-tinsel halos on their heads. They sang a song then bumped and giggled their way offstage, leaving a trail of gold tinsel in their wake.
Two pianists then played joyous songs. The first pianist played “Oh, Come, All Ye Faithful” (Hymns, no. 202) without missing a note. The other, a young boy, sat down at the piano and looked mournfully over his shoulder at his mom, who began to quietly count the beat. The boy sighed, turned to the instrument, and played his best version of “Up on the Housetop.”
Next on the program was one of my favorite songs—“C-h-r-i-s-t-m-a-s.”
I looked up to see a sister with stooped shoulders and one hand held close to her body, walking with an awkward stride to stand beside the piano. She stood with one hip lower than the other and offered a lopsided smile before she began. I admit I wrongfully wondered if the song would be any good.
“When I was but a youngster, Christmas meant one thing,” she sang. The song went on to tell how a child learns how to spell Christmas and discovers what the holiday is really about.
“C is for the Christ child, born upon this day; H for herald angels.”
Her mouth was slack on one side, and she had difficulty forming the words.
“R means our Redeemer; I means Israel; S is for the star.”
Cautiously I looked around the room and studied the faces of her ward members. No one seemed embarrassed. In fact, they sat smiling and listening contentedly.
“T is for three wise men … ; M is for the manger.”
She continued singing and turned her face upward, fixing her eyes on a spot somewhere on the ceiling. After a few moments I looked up too, but I saw only ceiling tiles. When I glanced back at her, though, I noticed tears gleaming in her eyes.
“A is for all He stands for; S means shepherds came.”
When she finished, the hall filled with applause. Her cheeks flushed red. As she made her way back to her seat, hands reached out to touch her arm or shoulder as ward members expressed genuine gratitude. One sister, sitting close to me, told her what a nice job she had done, to which she quietly replied, “Thank you. I hope He liked it.”
He? To whom had she been singing? Even as I asked myself the question, I knew the answer. I realized she hadn’t been singing to anyone in the room. She hadn’t performed for the approval of the audience. She had sung to the Savior to praise Him.
Many Christmases have passed since that ward party, and I’ve heard the song “C-h-r-i-s-t-m-a-s” performed by many well-trained voices. But the version I heard that Christmas, sung by one whose performance was out of the ordinary but truly heartfelt, is the one I remember best.

“The first time I went home teaching, I was really nervous about what I would have to say to the families,” admits Ryan Hunter. “I was glad when I only had to give the closing prayer.” But after just a couple months of home teaching, Ryan wasn’t nervous anymore. Now he looks forward to going. “My favorite part is talking to the people and learning more about them and how we can help them,” says Ryan. “If it were not for home teaching, people might not ask for help, even when they really need it.”

Our grandson was only four when a policeman picked him up on the side of the highway. He said he was headed to Grandma’s house, about five miles (8 km) away.
It was the second time he had run away from the unhappiness at home, trying to get to me. Over the next few months, I came to realize that the responsibility of raising my grandson and his two younger sisters was probably going to fall on my shoulders—an idea I did not readily embrace.
My husband and I had done our best to raise our children with gospel principles, but they eventually rejected those principles. I was in my 50s and felt that I had finally earned the right to pursue my own interests. I cherished the goal my husband and I shared of serving a mission together when he retired. The notion of going grocery shopping with preschoolers, organizing mealtimes, doing thousands of loads of laundry, and someday again mothering teenagers reduced me to tears.
One afternoon, however, something changed my heart. A small thing had upset my grandson, so I took him onto my lap and wiped away his tears. As I held him, we talked about how much Jesus loved him. Nearby I had a wall calendar featuring paintings of the Savior, so we looked at those beautiful images one by one.
My grandson was especially interested in a depiction of the Savior sitting in a stone doorway with a small, brown-haired girl on His lap. In the painting, both the Savior and the child radiate peace. My grandson looked closely, pointed to the girl, and called her by his sister’s name.
“How can Katie sit on Jesus’s lap, Grandma?” he asked. “I want to sit on His lap too!”
“You can’t sit on Jesus’s lap now, sweetheart, but you can sit on my lap,” I said. “Jesus gives little children grandmas to love them and hold them and take care of them when they need it.”
Suddenly my heart embraced a future of loving—as the Savior would love—three beloved children who needed me. They were no longer a burden but a wonderful blessing and opportunity to serve our Lord.
I will be forever grateful for the tender mercy of the Lord given to me that afternoon. It changed my life and continues to strengthen and bless our home.

“It looks like Sarah will need to have an MRI of her back,” said Dr. Frank. He smiled at Sarah. “I’m going to schedule one for tomorrow. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Sarah’s back had been hurting for a while. When she woke up that morning, it hurt so much that it was hard for her to stand up straight, and she could barely walk. Sarah and her mom had come to see Dr. Frank to find out what was wrong.
“Another MRI?” asked Sarah, looking up at Mom. She’d had an MRI once before. She remembered how scared she had felt in the big tube that took pictures of the inside of her body.
“I’m sorry, Sarah,” said Mom. “But the pictures will help Dr. Frank learn what’s wrong with your back. I know you can do it. And I’ll be right there with you.” Mom squeezed Sarah’s hand.
“But you can’t come inside with me,” said Sarah. Her head dropped, and a tear slipped down her cheek. Mom could be with her in the room, but once Sarah went into the machine’s tunnel, she would be alone.
Mom put her arm around Sarah. “That’s true, but do you know who can be there to comfort you?”
Sarah remembered a name she had heard for the Holy Ghost: the Comforter. Maybe the Holy Ghost could help her not feel so afraid.
“The Holy Ghost?” Sarah asked.
Mom nodded. “That’s right. You can pray for the Holy Ghost to help you. Dad and I will pray for you too.”
That gave Sarah a great idea. “Can I ask Dad for a blessing?”
Mom smiled. “Of course. I know he’d love to do that.”
That night Dad placed his hands on Sarah’s head and gave her a priesthood blessing. As he blessed her that she would be comforted by the Holy Ghost, a soft warmth filled her body. The feeling stayed with her all night.
The next day Sarah lay on the bench that would slide into the big tube in the MRI machine. She repeated in her head the words Dad had used during her blessing: The Holy Ghost will be there to comfort you. Sarah squeezed Mom’s hand tight. Then the nurse slid her into the tube.
The MRI machine made funny noises while it took pictures of her back. Sarah had to lie very still so the pictures wouldn’t be blurry. She panicked for a minute, but then she felt that warm feeling again. It felt like one of Mom’s hugs. Or a snuggly blanket. She knew that everything would be OK. Before she knew it, the MRI was over!
In Dr. Frank’s office, he showed Sarah and Mom the pictures of Sarah’s back. “You did a great job lying still,” Dr. Frank told Sarah as he knelt down beside her. “These pictures of your back show that you will need surgery to help you walk better.”
Sarah gulped.
“We’d like to do the surgery soon,” Dr. Frank said, looking up at Sarah’s mom. Then he turned back to Sarah. “It might take a few weeks afterward for you to feel like your old self again, but after seeing you today, I know you’ll do great.”
Sarah tried to think about all the things she’d do after Dr. Frank fixed her back. I’ll be able to run and swim—and jump in a big pile of leaves. She missed doing all those things. But surgery was even scarier than an MRI! Then Sarah remembered her prayers and her special blessing. Heavenly Father had sent her the Comforter. He would help her again.
She looked at Dr. Frank. “Then can I jump in a big pile of leaves?” she asked.
He grinned. “Then you can jump in a big pile of leaves.”

Finding and following Jesus Christ sometimes takes us through difficult waters. Tamton’s journey to Christ has been like that. “I was serving as a deacon in the Protestant church when the missionaries first came to Abaiang from Tarawa,” he says. “Their coming was strongly opposed, and they had difficulty getting land on which to build a bata [traditional grass house]. I felt sorry for them and invited them to stay with me. They taught me the gospel, and I felt what they were teaching was true. So I was baptized.”
That was in 1984. Tamton and Taake were among the first on Abaiang to join the Church. Amid suspicion and persecution, they immediately began helping the missionaries find others to teach.
Tamton and Taake feel they have been richly blessed by the Lord. Several years ago, Tamton wanted to build a large fish trap to support his family. But to build one, he needed to take thousands of rocks out into the ocean. The task seemed impossible. He had only a small canoe and just his sons to help.
“I prayed hard about the problem,” he says. “The next day I saw a float [a tangle of debris] beached on my land. In the float were some large pieces of styrofoam. With them, I built a raft, and with the raft, my sons and I built our fish trap. In fact, we built two.” The traps have been valuable family assets. When the traps catch more fish than the family can use, they sell the extra.
As their faith in Jesus Christ sustains Tamton and his family in times of need, it also comforts them in times of sorrow. Several years ago one of their sons died while fishing for octopus. He was only 22, but he suffered a heart attack alone out in the ocean.
Tamton’s eyes get moist as he speaks of his son. “The news broke our hearts,” he says. But then his eyes brighten. “We want him sealed to us.” When Tune was their district president, he taught Tamton and Taake about the priesthood and its power to seal families together forever in the temple. They are eager to go.
But with few resources, they have yet to see a temple let alone visit one. Still, Tamton and Taake are trying to find a way. Tune says that if they die before they go to the temple, he will make sure their work is done for them. He encourages them to fill out the necessary family records. Perhaps their children will be able to do the temple work they cannot.
With the meal and the singing and the stories over, Tune and Moretekai take their leave of Tamton and Taake. They have others on the island to visit.
The Saints in Kiribati have great respect for the priesthood, and wherever Tune goes on Abaiang, he is received with gladness. It soon becomes apparent it wasn’t whim that brought him to Abaiang. He was drawn to the island by prayer—reeled in like one of his tuna. He thought he was just visiting, perhaps finding an excuse to go fishing. But the real reason he came was to give Aritaake Moutu a priesthood blessing.
“Ever since I joined the Church, I’ve depended on priesthood blessings,” Sister Moutu says. “I had a problem with one of my legs before I joined the Church. Now whenever it gives me trouble, I ask for a blessing, and I’m always healed. This morning I was praying for someone to come and give me a blessing because my husband is not on the island to give me one.” She smiles at Tune. “That’s why you came.”
“It’s always like that,” Tune says. “She lives on this isolated island in the middle of nowhere. She and her family have their challenges. There are few jobs; most people live off what they can grow and get from the sea. There are no doctors or nurses on Abaiang. The Saints here depend a lot on the Lord. And the Lord takes care of them.”
“Yes, we have our challenges,” Sister Moutu says, “even after joining the Church. But we don’t notice them as much now.”
When the missionaries first contacted her family, Aritaake would run away—or chase the missionaries away. “Our minister told us there would be false prophets, and we thought that was them,” she remembers. “But one time an elder by the name of Jones came to visit us. When I turned him away, he stood outside the house and prayed for us. While he was praying, I felt something in my heart change. I asked the missionaries to forgive me and teach my family.
“One thing the elders did changed me completely. They asked me to pray. When I said my prayer, I became a different person. I started liking the Church, and it was no problem believing the Church’s teachings.”
What impressed her most in all the missionaries taught? “The Spirit they brought. And the teachings about the family—how we can be happy as a family and remain together forever.”
It is time to return to Tarawa. Tune knows he needs to get back before the tide pulls too much water out of Tarawa’s lagoon, leaving parts of it too shallow for his outboard motor. But before he and Moretekai leave, Tune gives Aritaake the priesthood blessing she prayed for.

In 1993, after I had served as president of the Mexico Tuxtla Gutiérrez Mission, we traveled as a family to see my parents, who lived in northern Mexico. During the trip we talked about the joy of serving the Lord and seeing the change in people who had accepted the gospel during the three years we were in the mission. We were commenting about those people who were baptized, confirmed, and had received the priesthood and the ones we knew had entered the temple and were sealed as families for eternity.
My youngest son asked a question that made me reflect: “Dad, are you sealed to your parents?” I told him that because my father had been less active for many years, he and my mother were not sealed in the temple. To help him become active, I thought up a plan. It involved my children, and I explained to them how we would do it: Every Sunday my father would get up early to take my mother and sister to church, only to return home, wait for the services to end, then go back to pick them up. So I assigned my children to go with him and say, “Grandpa, would you do us a favor?” I knew his answer would be, “Whatever you want, my children.” Then they would ask him if he would go with them to church and stay with them so he could listen to their testimonies. It was the first Sunday of the month. I also knew my father would give any excuse not to go, so I planned to enter the room to help my children convince him.
The time soon came for executing the plan. My daughter, Susana, approached my father and asked him about the favor. Sure enough, my father told her he would do anything he could for them. Then came the invitation to go to church, and just as we had predicted, he used this excuse: “I can’t because I haven’t even showered.” That’s when my wife and I, who were hiding behind the door, shouted, “We’ll wait for you!”
When we realized he was not making a decision, my wife and I entered the room and, together with our children, began to insist: “Shower! Shower!” Then what we expected happened. My father came with us, he stayed for the services, listened to the testimonies of my children, his heart was softened, and from that Sunday on he never missed church. Months later, at the age of 78, he and my mother were sealed, and we, his children, were sealed to them.
I know that thanks to the power of godliness manifest in the ordinances of the temple, I can now be reunited with my parents for all eternity, even after death.

September 25, 2005, started out as a calm, peaceful Sunday for Victor Manuel Torres Quiros, his wife, Yamileth Monge Ureña, and their family. They had returned from church and were resting, reading, and enjoying a quiet, rainy afternoon at their home in the mountains of Costa Rica.
It had been raining most of the weekend, nothing unusual for the area or the season. About 5:00 p.m., Brother Torres observed that the river running near their property had risen more than usual and was getting closer to the house. He calmly alerted his family, and as a precaution he and his 11-year-old son, Erick, began placing blankets at the doors to keep water from seeping inside.
Moments later the river swelled to the point that the water was more than a meter-and-a-half (five feet) deep around the house. Within seconds the water crashed through the windows. (The family learned later that a landslide had caused the sudden surge of water.) Brother Torres shouted to his family to run for the backyard, where there were some trees and higher ground. His three teenage daughters, Sofia, Korina, and Monica, immediately left the house.
But Sister Torres couldn’t make it outside. So she ran with Elizabeth, a young child in the family’s care that weekend, to a bedroom. They quickly climbed onto the bed, which, amazingly, floated. Neither had any idea where the others were or whether they were OK. Little Elizabeth reminded Sister Torres, “Don’t cry. Remember that our God loves us.” Then they began to pray.
Brother Torres had been following his daughters outside when he realized he didn’t know where Erick was. Fighting the current, he went back into the house. He found Erick standing on a pile of rubble—a displaced wall, some furniture, trash, and several branches that the water had pushed against a closed door. Together, they moved to the kitchen, where Brother Torres set Erick in a safe, high place. Brother Torres then discovered that the water had wrapped a nylon cord around his legs, making it difficult for him to move. Even so, he managed to push the refrigerator and some furniture away, preventing the door from closing and trapping him and his son.
From the kitchen, Erick and Brother Torres could see the girls in the backyard, but they did not know how Sister Torres and Elizabeth were doing. Brother Torres suggested that together, they ask for Heavenly Father’s help.
Meanwhile, outside and up a guava tree, the girls were also praying. Sofia, Korina, and Monica could see water gushing through their home. From all appearances, it seemed impossible that anyone remaining inside could be alive. Worried for their family and feeling cold and frightened, the girls sang hymns and prayed together.
“We asked Heavenly Father to cause the water to start going down,” says Sofia. “We knew that we needed to have faith; if we didn’t, the miracle could not occur. The happiest moment was when we opened our eyes and the water level had gone down.”
It continued to do so. Within a short time their father came outside to ask if they were OK. It was now dark, so he went back into the house, found a candle, and using gasoline, created a torch so that neighbors would know the family was, in fact, in the house.
A neighbor saw the torch and came to their aid. He helped the girls down from the trees and with Brother Torres moved the objects that were blocking the door of the bedroom where Sister Torres and Elizabeth were. That night the family stayed with a relative.
Because it was dark when they left, the Torres family didn’t know the extent of the damage to their home. On Monday morning they returned and discovered that they had lost everything.
Nevertheless, they didn’t complain. “We knew that the Lord gives and the Lord takes away,” says Brother Torres (see Job 1:21). Even though their home and belongings had been destroyed, Sister Torres said they “just felt grateful because we saw the windows of heaven open to us,” both in their lives being preserved and in the blessings that followed.
Many of those blessings came in the form of the generosity of Church members throughout Costa Rica. By Thursday the family was receiving beds and other furniture, food, clothing, and other necessities from members of the several stakes in the San José area. Four days after that, the family found another place to live.
“We learned that God shows His love for us using other people,” says Sister Torres. “There were so many people, so many brothers and sisters, who helped at that time. We felt so much love. We had no reason to ask, ‘Why us?’”
“It was a miracle that we all survived,” says Brother Torres. “Undoubtedly, our family’s faith has increased. I know without a doubt that God lives and loves us.”
Sister Torres adds, “We have long had a family motto: ‘God is in the details of our lives.’ After our experience, we know this for sure. Heavenly Father knows us. He answers our prayers.”

They couldn’t hold another quorum meeting without Bill. So, with cooperation from Bill’s mother, Brother Perry and the young men he led entered Bill’s bedroom one Sunday morning.
“We started the meeting with a spirited opening hymn,” said Elder L. Tom Perry of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. “Bill came up out of those sheets like he had been shot out of a gun.” By meeting’s end, however, Bill knew he was valued and appreciated.1

One day after my doctor told me that I would have to receive physical therapy for months, I went home in tears and asked Heavenly Father, “How long will I have to endure this?” Immediately, it was as if a tender and clear voice told me, “You can’t progress without trials. You still need even more.”
I couldn’t believe that I had received an immediate response to my prayer. At that moment, I was determined to move forward in faith. I decided to resubmit my mission papers and serve God, despite my challenges. A few months later I received my mission call to the Guatemala Guatemala City South Mission! But getting to that point wasn’t easy either. It took a lot of bravery and courage to accept my circumstances, forget myself, and invite others to follow Christ.
My mission was wonderful. I learned to value the principles of the gospel even more, and I found confidence in myself to share my testimony and bring hope to many people who didn’t know where to find it. I felt my heart being changed by Heavenly Father. I had never experienced what it felt like to love total strangers and be willing to give everything I had for them without hesitation until now—walking day in and day out, rain or shine, my feet tired and sore.

September 23, 1846—on the western bank of the Mississippi RiverTremendous thundershower today. The rain came down in torrents, drenching everything. We have only a tent to shelter us. We left Nauvoo in haste a few days ago. Our carefully packed belongings were scattered by the mobs looking for firearms. We have little left. It was not hard to leave the deserted city, but it breaks my heart to see our beloved temple just across the river—so near, yet unreachable. Papa is still grieving. As Brother Joseph’s bodyguard, he feels he should have somehow prevented the martyrdom. If he would just make music again on his fife, I am sure my heart would not be so heavy.

Third, and this is so significant: listen. In particular, President Packer encourages us to listen to those who are experienced: “I learned early on that there is great value in listening to experience in older people. … I remember in the Quorum of the Twelve, LeGrand Richards didn’t walk as fast as the other Brethren, and I would always wait and open the door for him and walk back to the building with him. One day one of the Brethren said, ‘Oh, you’re so kind to take care of Brother Richards.’ And I thought, ‘You don’t know my selfish motive’—as we would walk back, I would just listen to him. I knew that he could remember Wilford Woodruff, and he would speak.”3

Many years later, Paul C. Child, then of the Priesthood Welfare Committee, and I attended a stake conference together. At the priesthood leadership session, when it was his turn to speak, he took his scriptures in hand and walked from the stand into the congregation. Knowing President Child as I did, I knew what he was going to do. He quoted from the Doctrine and Covenants, including section 18 concerning the worth of a soul, indicating that we should labor all our days to bring souls unto the Lord. He then turned to one elders quorum president and asked, “What is the worth of a soul?”
The stunned quorum president hesitated as he formulated his reply. I had a prayer in my heart that he would be able to answer the question. He finally responded, “The worth of a soul is its capacity to become as God.”
Brother Child closed his scriptures, walked solemnly and quietly up the aisle and back to the stand. As he passed by me, he said, “A most profound reply.”

WHAPP! The head of a sunflower toppled to the ground. “All’s well now, my lady. The Duke of Mogar’s cruelty to others is at an end.”
Jason and his older sister Emily were playing knights and ladies, a pastime of great imagination they both enjoyed whenever the weather and chores allowed.
“Gruuuk! Gruuuk!” crowed Marcus, seeming to approve of the good knight’s brave deed. Then with a single jump and flutter of wings, the rooster alighted on Emily’s shoulder.
“What do you think, Marcus?” Emily asked as she smoothed the bird’s feathers. “Didn’t my knight slay the duke handily?”
Jason beamed under his sister’s praise, and tucked the nicked and battered boomerang he used for a sword into his belt.
“Let’s have our lunch now, Jason,” Emily suggested, and she stopped under the shade of a large sycamore tree to spread the contents of a bundle she had been carrying. There were wedges of cheese the color of the Montana summer sun, hefty slices of oatmeal bread, some molasses cookies, and two McIntosh apples. While they ate their lunch, Marcus scratched up some grubs and other delicacies he fancied. Then when he left off scratching, he strutted about in his imperial manner, convinced of his elegance.
Emily tossed Marcus a piece of bread that was quickly eaten. She remembered when the rooster was still a feisty Rhode Island Red chick. Even then there was something extraordinary about his appearance and behavior. He was larger by half than any of the others of the same hatch and more assertive. And there was a certain nobility in his bearing that reminded Emily of the character of Marcus in a book about Roman gladiators she had once read. So Marcus he became and the name suited him perfectly!
Marcus followed Emily around from the start, accepting tidbits whenever she offered any. Mama and Papa were amused at first by the bird’s attachment, but when his loyalty persisted it was obvious that he was Emily’s protector as much as any watchdog could have been and just as faithful. And whenever the children played knights and ladies, Marcus included himself in the adventure.
On the way back to the house to do their chores that afternoon, the children heard old Bully snorting before they saw Papa, guiding his team up over a rise. They were heading for the barn, and Jason wanted Emily to race with him, to see if they could beat Papa home. But Emily had started coughing again. “We’ll race him tomorrow,” he said good-naturedly.
After supper that night Emily went to bed early. The next morning she was burning up with fever. When Papa called the doctor, Jason knew his sister was very sick.
“It’s pneumonia,” Dr. Delaney announced with a furrowed brow after his examination. “As bad a case as I’ve ever seen.”
For several days afterward an unnatural quiet settled over the house as Mama and Papa took turns caring for Emily. They spoke in soft whispers. Doors were eased shut lest the noise disturb the little patient. Marcus, too, sensed the change. He missed his mistress and hovered about the back steps, pecking and scratching disinterestedly in the gravel.
Although Jason might have had trouble expressing his feelings for his sister, he loved Emily and missed her dearly. Then one morning after Jason had been outside rolling a barrel hoop with a stick, he came running into the kitchen. “Mama! Mama! Come quick!” he shouted. “Something’s the matter with Marcus. He’s stretched out under the steps—funny-like. And he’s not moving.”
Papa came, too, when he heard the alarm, only half shaved and with his suspenders dangling. As soon as he stooped down and pulled Emily’s pet out into the light he knew what had happened. “A weasel,” he said through tight lips. The marks under the ruffled neck feathers clearly showed where the rooster’s lifeblood had been drawn off.
“Ever since Emily’s been down,” Mama said, “Marcus has hardly left the back steps. I guess he relaxed his vigil last night and the weasel took him.”
“How will we tell Emily,” Jason agonized, “feeling poorly like she is? I’d just like to lay hold of that old varmint!”
“No you wouldn’t, son,” said Papa firmly. “They’re quick as lightning and about as vicious as an animal can be. It was just an unequal contest, that’s all.”
The three of them sat on the steps with their own thoughts for a while. Finally, Papa sighed and said, “I’ll get a shovel.” Jason went with him and then they went around to the shady side of the barn.
After the soft earth had been smoothed over, Jason asked, “Can we say some words, Papa?”
“All right, son.”
Upstairs, Mama hesitated a moment before going into the bedroom. “Emily,” she asked, “are you awake?”
“Come in, Mama,” a husky voice answered.
“How do you feel, dear?”
“Better, thanks, Mama.”
“Want me to plump up your pillows and raise the shade a little?” Emily nodded.
Sitting down on the edge of the bed, Mama wondered how to begin. She fussed with a thread on the coverlet a moment, then she started. “Emily, you remember last fall when your papa’s saddle horse Jake turned up missing?”
“Yes, Mama, and I remember how bad Papa felt when he found him dead and the mountain lion tracks all around where they had struggled. It was awful.”
“That’s right, honey, it was awful and we all felt bad, knowing how much your papa loved that old horse. But somehow we get over those hurts. Memories are softened in time, and we can more clearly see why things happen the way they do. Our hatred for the big cat gradually changed to an understanding that he was only acting out of instinct and that he must have been very hungry to attack an animal as large as a horse.
“Emily, I’m telling you this to help you bear some more hurt. And I’m sorry to have to tell you when you’ve been so sick, but there’s never a good time to hear some things.”
After Mama had explained about Marcus and the weasel, Emily sobbed out her unhappiness while Mama held her close.
When Jason came to see his sister later that afternoon, any mention of Marcus was avoided. He tried to cheer her up and talked of a new place he had found by the creek for their play. “It would make a perfect place for a castle moat!” he said excitedly. Emily managed a wan smile, but Jason knew where her thoughts were. When he couldn’t bear to feel Emily’s sadness anymore Jason fidgeted, then hugged his sister tightly and left the room.
After doing his and Emily’s chores, Jason wandered into the barn where he could hear Papa hammering on the anvil. He liked to watch the sparks scatter when Papa’s powerful arm brought his hammer down with a ringing blow to shape a horseshoe.
Nero, one of their Percheron draft (work) horses waited patiently while Papa fitted him with new shoes. A gust of wind fluttered the horse’s wispy leg feathers as it turned his head to watch Papa. Nero and his harness mate Bully together weighed well over four thousand pounds. Bully was seventeen hands tall, half a hand taller than Nero. But in the pulling contests at the fair they were both champions. There wasn’t a team in either Gallatin or Jefferson County that could outpull them. Maybe even in all of Montana, Jason speculated.
When Papa plunged the red-hot shoe he held with tongs, sizzling into the water tub, an idea came to Jason as he watched the last of the water bubbles burst. “Papa, when you’re through with old Nero, can I talk to you about something—something to make Emily happy again?”
“Sure, son, just give me a few minutes,” Papa replied.
Jason was always amazed at how expertly Papa maneuvered the big horses into position with the slightest urging. They seemed to know by his touch and the sound of his voice how fond he was of them. And they returned their master’s good feelings. It didn’t take Papa long to finish, and then Jason told him his plan.
For several days Mama was curious about all the hammering that came from Papa’s forge behind closed doors. But whenever she asked Jason or Papa about the racket, they always managed to skirt around a direct answer. When she took Emily’s lunch to the upstairs bedroom and her daughter asked, “What’s Papa making?” Mama answered, “I honestly don’t know, dear. And I don’t know how much longer I can school my curiosity.”
At the supper table that evening, Mama noticed Papa wink at Jason as he excused himself and said expansively, “Nobody ever made dumplings like that before, Mama.” Then he lifted her lightly and together they twirled twice around. “Now, Jason and I have to finish something,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. “And never you mind what it is. You’ll know soon enough.”
Out in the twilight gloom of the barn, Papa said in a loud whisper, “Fetch a couple of feed sacks, Jason. We’ll put the parts in one and the tools in the other. I’ll get a length of rope and a lantern.”
When they had climbed up the ladder pole to the loft, they lugged their gear down to the door at the end of the barn where they could barely see the hay hoist silhouetted against the starry sky. Papa went up first. Next, he pulled up Jason and the sacks. Then the two forms hunkered down on top of the barn ridge and, by the soft lantern light, opened the sacks.
There was an air of expectancy in the kitchen the next morning. And in spite of the fact that Mama served Jason’s favorite meal—flapjacks and chokecherry jelly—he didn’t seem to be giving it his full attention. Papa wasn’t doing justice to his breakfast either. When Mama said she was going to take Emily’s tray up to her, they both offered their help, so they all trooped up the stairs together.
Emily was much improved, but she still felt sad and listless. Next to the family, she had loved the old rooster best of all.
Before Emily could get to her tray, Papa suggested they move her bed closer to the window, and Jason was already tugging at the blind. “Let’s let in more light,” he said. When the bed was shifted, Jason let the blind go with a FLAP, FLAP, FLAP.
Mama stopped talking in mid-sentence, and when she had caught her breath all she could say was, “Well, I declare!”
There high on the peak of the barn and facing into the first rays of the morning sun was a near-perfect likeness of Marcus, only it was fashioned out of scrap iron and brass. “It’s a weather vane, Emily,” Papa explained, “and pretty near indestructible unless a tornado snatches it away.”
“Do you like it, Em?” Jason asked excitedly. “See how he cocks his head just like Marcus always did.”
Emily thought at first she was going to cry, but then a smile made in heaven settled on her face and bathed them all with its warmth.
When she could find her voice again, Emily threw her arms around her father’s neck and cried, “Oh, Papa! Papa!” And then with wet cheeks she turned to Jason and said, “Thank you, my good knight. Well done! Now, whenever I look up outside I can see my faithful sky watcher riding on the wind.”

Every morning Zach looked outside to see if it had snowed. “Will it snow today, Mommy?” he asked.
“I’m afraid not—the first snow is late this year.” Mommy hugged him sympathetically. She knew that Zach wanted to play in the snow.
It hadn’t snowed in November or so far in December. A week before Christmas, Zach looked out the window and sighed. He wanted to build a snowman and run all over the backyard and leave his footprints in the snow before he went to bed. “But there still isn’t any snow,” he said sadly to himself.
Mommy heard him. She thought about the dishes in the sink and the ironing she had planned to do. Zach is more important, she decided. “Let’s pretend that there is snow and go out and play in the backyard,” she said. She got out their coats and boots and mittens.
Zach and Mommy stomped all over the backyard, pretending to make footprints in the snow. “What big feet you have!” Mommy exclaimed. That made Zach laugh.
They rolled invisible snowballs around the yard and put them together to make a make-believe snowman. Then they went inside to drink hot cocoa and admire their snowman through the kitchen window.
Just as Mommy asked, “Did you have fun today?” a snowflake drifted past the window. Soon there were lots and lots of snowflakes falling faster and faster.
Zach said, “It’s fun to pretend, but”—he gave Mommy a big smile—“it will be even more fun tomorrow, when we make a real snowman!”
Mommy looked at the dishes in the sink and the pile of ironing. Then she looked out the window at the snow and smiled back. “You know,” she said, “I think so too!”

I remember attending a general conference when I was president of the stake up in Canada and meeting President Kimball with two or three others. He said, (whispering) “Hello, I can’t speak to you.” In other words, “Hello, President Tanner, I can’t speak to you.” He could not speak at all so that you could hear him any more than just a bare whisper. They didn’t know whether he’d ever be able to speak again, but he was blessed by the priesthood, and he was able to speak. Then later on, just a few years ago, they found that he had what they thought to be further cancerous growth in his organs, and they wanted to operate. But he called the priesthood to pray over him, to bless him, anoint him, and to administer to him. Now notice that it was the priesthood whom he called. It wasn’t because it was President Lee and Eldon Tanner; it was because of the priesthood we held. He was given a blessing, and it wasn’t necessary for him to have that operation.

During the next year, however, the Lord was able to teach me how to keep the spirit of Christmas. We served among a humble group of people living in nearly abandoned milling towns scattered along small rivers. And we loved serving among these people immensely.
We decided to share our Christmas with an investigator, Alice, and her family. Alice supported her three teenage boys, a daughter, and a granddaughter all with her income working at a fast food place. Needless to say, her budget was tight. So instead of focusing on ourselves at Christmas, we decided to serve someone else.
My companion at the time, Elder Werner, felt there were basically two things that would bring joy into the world: the gospel and good food. When we showed up on Christmas morning to cook a simple breakfast, we were hailed like Old Saint Nick himself. Her extended family was there, and everyone was laughing, joking around, and wanting to help us cook. Since our families were allowed to call on Christmas, Alice and my mom were able to talk on the phone together. Watching her speak with my family was far more of a gift than the three meals I participated in the year before. It connected someone I was serving to my family and helped my family share my mission with me. The morning was filled with a feeling of familiarity that was almost tangible. I knew I was where I was supposed to be.
During that morning, I came to appreciate the true spirit of Christmas. And it has everything to do with the example of our Savior and the teachings of the gospel. The excitement wasn’t about us as missionaries; it wasn’t even about our gesture of making breakfast. That morning was about sons and daughters of God simply sharing with one another. I wasn’t given a feast of food, but my soul was full of joy.

After graduation, he took a position with a company in Idaho. Just as he was trying to learn a new job and get his family settled, he was called to be second counselor in the bishopric. His first reaction was to decline—and feel justified about it. But previous training proved stronger than any excuses he could think of, and he agreed to serve.
That decision proved to be an important one for his spiritual growth. It furthered his secular education as well, for it taught him organization and management that could also be applied in business assignments. His successful career in retailing took the Perrys to the states of Idaho, Washington, California, New York, and Massachusetts. Each time business opportunities required a move, he responded willingly to new Church callings. Along the way he taught early-morning seminary and served in two bishoprics, a high council, and two stake presidencies. He was a stake president in Boston, Massachusetts, at the time of his call as a General Authority.