Gospel Story Finder

Because his father was a bishop, young Harold witnessed Church welfare at work. “Then as now, the bishop was responsible for the care of those in need,” wrote President Gordon B. Hinckley, a longtime friend. “Bishop Lee ran his own storehouse, the commodities coming from his own pantry. In the night, the family would see him take a sack of flour, they knew not where, because confidences concerning those in trouble were to be strictly observed.”

Young Harold learned what it meant to listen to the voice of the Lord from an experience he had with his father. “I think maybe I was around ten or eleven years of age … , trying to spend the day busying myself until my father was ready to go home. Over the fence from our place were some tumbledown sheds that would attract a curious boy, and I was adventurous. I started to climb through the fence, and I heard a voice … calling me by name and saying, ‘Don’t go over there!’ I turned to look at my father to see if he were talking to me, but he was way up at the other end of the field. There was no person in sight. I realized then, as a child, that there were persons beyond my sight, for I had definitely heard a voice. Since then, when I hear or read stories of the Prophet Joseph Smith, I too have known what it means to hear a voice.”

This experience with the watch-care of the Holy Spirit impressed Harold that safe passage to Heavenly Father’s kingdom depends on our willingness to hear and obey that voice. “I have learned something of what the Spirit has taught,” he later reflected, “and I know now that … security can come to Israel only when they keep the commandments, when they live so that they can enjoy the companionship, the direction, the comfort, and the guidance of the Holy Spirit of the Lord.”

The Savior’s love, which shines through this Christmastime experience of President Thomas S. Monson, First Counselor in the First Presidency, can brighten our lives all year long.
One winter day as Christmas approached, I thought back to an experience from my boyhood. I was eleven. Our Primary president, Melissa, was an older and loving gray-haired lady.
One day at Primary, Melissa asked me to stay behind and visit with her. The two of us sat in the otherwise empty chapel. She placed her arm about my shoulder and began to cry. Surprised, I asked her why she was crying. She replied: “I don’t seem to be able to encourage the Trail Builder [now Blazer] boys to be reverent during the opening exercises of Primary. Would you be willing to help me, Tommy?”
I promised her I would. Strangely to me, but not to Melissa, that ended any problem of reverence in that Primary. She had gone to the source of the problem—me. The solution was love.
The years flew by. Marvelous Melissa, now in her nineties, lived in a nursing [home] in the northwest part of Salt Lake City. Just before Christmas, I determined to visit my beloved Primary president. Over the car radio, I heard the song “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing.” I reflected on the visit made by wise men those long years ago. They brought gifts of gold, of frankincense, and of myrrh. I brought only the gift of love and a desire to say “Thank you.”
I found Melissa in the lunchroom. She stared at her plate of food, teasing it with the fork she held in her aged hand. Not a bite did she eat. As I spoke to her, my words were met with a blank stare. I took the fork in hand and began to feed Melissa, talking all the time I did so about her service to boys and girls as a Primary worker. There wasn’t so much as a glimmer of recognition, far less a spoken word.
Two other residents of the nursing home gazed at me with puzzled expressions. At last they spoke, saying: “She doesn’t know anyone, even her own family. She hasn’t said a word in all the time she’s been here.”
Lunch ended. My one-sided conversation wound down. I stood to leave. I held her frail hand in mine, gazed into her wrinkled but beautiful countenance, and said: “God bless you, Melissa. Merry Christmas.”
Without warning, she spoke the words: “I know you. You’re Tommy Monson, my Primary boy. How I love you.” She pressed my hand to her lips and bestowed on it the kiss of love. Tears coursed down her cheeks and bathed our clasped hands. Those hands, that day, were hallowed [made holy] by heaven and graced by God. The herald angels did sing. Outside the sky was blue—azure blue. The air was cool—crispy cool. The snow was white—crystal white.
How silently, how silently
The wondrous gift is giv’n!
So God imparts to human hearts
The blessings of his heav’n.
No ear may hear his coming;
But in this world of sin,
Where meek souls will receive him, still
The dear Christ enters in.*
The wondrous gift was given, the heavenly blessing was received, the dear Christ entered in—all through the doorway of love.
(See Ensign, October 1996, page 7.)

I celebrated a birthday last month. For my birthday present, my wife, Mary, gave me a CD containing songs of hope and faith performed by a famous British singer named Vera Lynn, who inspired her listeners during the dark days of the Second World War.
There is a little history as to why my wife would give me this gift. The bombing of London in September 1940 commenced the day before I was born. My mother, listening to the account of the London Blitz on the radio in her hospital room, decided to name me after the radio announcer, whose first name was Quentin.
The vocalist Vera Lynn is now 93 years old. Last year some of her wartime songs were rereleased and immediately climbed to the top of the music charts in Britain. Those of you who are a little older will remember some of the songs like “The White Cliffs of Dover.”
One song, titled “When the Lights Go on Again (All over the World),” deeply touched me. The song brought two thoughts to my mind—first, the prophetic words by a British statesman: “The lamps are going out all over Europe, and we shall not see them lit again in our lifetime”; and second, the bombing raids conducted over British cities like London. To make it harder for the attacking bombers to find a target, blackouts were instituted. Lights were turned out, and windows were draped.
The song reflected an optimistic hope that freedom and light would be restored. For those of us who understand the role of the Savior and the Light of Christ in the ongoing conflict between good and evil, the analogy between that world war and the moral conflict today is clear. It is by the Light of Christ that all mankind “may know good from evil.”
Freedom and light have never been easy to attain or maintain. Since the War in Heaven, the forces of evil have used every means possible to destroy agency and extinguish light. The assault on moral principles and religious freedom has never been stronger.
As Latter-day Saints, we need to do our best to preserve light and protect our families and communities from this assault on morality and religious freedom.
An ever-present danger to the family is the onslaught of evil forces that seem to come from every direction. While our primary effort must be to seek light and truth, we would be wise to black out from our homes the lethal bombs that destroy spiritual development and growth. Pornography, in particular, is a weapon of mass moral destruction. Its impact is at the forefront in eroding moral values. Some TV programs and Internet sites are equally lethal. These evil forces remove light and hope from the world. The level of decadence is accelerating. If we do not black out evil from our homes and lives, do not be surprised if devastating moral explosions shatter the peace which is the reward for righteous living. Our responsibility is to be in the world but not of the world.
In addition, we need to greatly increase religious observance in the home. Weekly family home evening and daily family prayer and scripture study are essential. We need to introduce into our homes content that is “virtuous, lovely, or of good report or praiseworthy.” If we make of our homes holy places that shelter us from evil, we will be protected from the adverse consequences that the scriptures have foretold.
In addition to protecting our own families, we should be a source of light in protecting our communities. The Savior said, “Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven.”
Our day has been described as “a time of plenty and an age of doubt.” Basic belief in the power and authority of God is not only questioned but also denigrated. How under these circumstances can we promote values in a way that will resonate with the nonbelievers and the apathetic and help abate the spiraling descent into violence and evil?
This question is of monumental importance. Think of the prophet Mormon and his anguish when he declared, “How could ye have rejected that Jesus, who stood with open arms to receive you!” Mormon’s anguish was justified, and his son, Moroni, was left to describe “the sad tale of the destruction of [his] people.”
My personal experience of living and interacting with people all over the world has caused me to be optimistic. I believe that light and truth will be preserved in our time. In all nations there are large numbers who worship God and feel accountable to Him for their conduct. Some observers believe there is actually a global revival of faith. As Church leaders, we have met with leaders of other faiths and have found that there is a common moral foundation that transcends theological differences and unites us in our aspirations for a better society.
We also find the majority of people are still respectful of basic moral values. But make no mistake: there are also people who are determined to both destroy faith and reject any religious influence in society. Other evil people exploit, manipulate, and tear down society with drugs, pornography, sexual exploitation, human trafficking, robbery, and dishonest business practices. The power and influence of these people is very large, even if they are relatively small in number.
There has always been an ongoing battle between people of faith and those who would purge religion and God from public life. Many opinion leaders today reject a moral view of the world based on Judeo-Christian values. In their view there is no objective moral order. They believe no preference should be given to moral goals.
Still, the majority of people aspire to be good and honorable. The Light of Christ, which is distinct from the Holy Ghost, informs their conscience. We know from the scriptures that the Light of Christ is “the Spirit [which] giveth light to every man that cometh into the world.” This light is given “for the sake of the whole world.” President Boyd K. Packer has taught that this is a “source of inspiration, which each of us possesses in common with all other members of the human family.” This is why many will accept moral values even when founded on religious convictions which they do not personally support. As we read in Mosiah in the Book of Mormon, “It is not common that the voice of the people desireth anything contrary to that which is right; but it is common for the lesser part of the people to desire that which is not right.” Mosiah then warns, “If the time comes that the voice of the people doth choose iniquity, then is the time that the judgments of God will come.”
In our increasingly unrighteous world, it is essential that values based on religious belief be part of the public discourse. Moral positions informed by a religious conscience must be accorded equal access to the public square. Under the constitutions of most countries, a religious conscience may not be given preference, but neither should it be disregarded.
Religious faith is a store of light, knowledge, and wisdom and benefits society in a dramatic way when adherents engage in moral conduct because they feel accountable to God.
Two religious principles will illustrate this point.
The thirteenth article of faith begins, “We believe in being honest.” Honesty is a principle founded in religious belief and is one of God’s basic laws.
Many years ago when I was practicing law in California, a friend and client who was not a member of our faith came in to see me and with great enthusiasm showed me a letter he had received from an LDS bishop of a nearby ward. The bishop wrote that a member of his congregation, a former employee of my client, had taken materials from my client’s work site and had rationalized that they were surplus. But after becoming a committed Latter-day Saint and attempting to follow Jesus Christ, this employee recognized that what he had done was dishonest. Enclosed in the letter was a sum of money from the man to cover not only the cost of the materials but also interest. My client was impressed that the Church through lay leadership would assist this man in his effort to be reconciled to God.
Think about the light and truth that the shared value of honesty has in the Judeo-Christian world. Think about the impact on society if youth didn’t cheat in school, if adults were honest in the workplace and were faithful to their marriage vows. For us the concept of basic honesty is grounded in the life and teachings of the Savior. Honesty is also a valued attribute in many other faiths and in historic literature. The poet Robert Burns said, “An honest man’s the noblest work of God.” In almost every instance, people of faith feel accountable to God for being honest. This was the reason the man in California was repenting from his earlier act of dishonesty.
In a commencement address last year, Clayton Christensen, a Harvard professor and Church leader, shared the true account of a professional colleague from another country who had studied democracy. This friend was surprised at how critically important religion is to democracy. He pointed out that in societies where the citizens are taught from a young age to feel accountable to God for honesty and integrity, they will abide by rules and practices that, while unenforceable, promote democratic ideals. In societies where this is not true, there cannot be enough policemen to enforce honest behavior.
Clearly, moral values with respect to honesty can play a significant role in establishing light and truth and improving society and should be valued by those who do not have faith.
A second example of how religious faith benefits society and contributes light to the world is the role of religion in treating all of God’s children as brothers and sisters.
Many faith-based institutions in the last two centuries have been at the forefront in reaching out and rescuing those subjected to cruel circumstances, because their members believe that all men are made in the image and likeness of God. William Wilberforce, the great British statesman who was instrumental in outlawing the slave trade in Great Britain, is an excellent example. “Amazing Grace,” the touching hymn, and the inspiring movie of the same name capture the feeling of the early 1800s and describe the account of his heroic effort. Wilberforce’s untiring efforts were among the first steps in eliminating this terrible, oppressive, cruel, and venal practice. As part of that effort he, together with other leaders, set out to reform public morality. He believed that education and government had to be morally based. “His … vision of moral and spiritual enrichment was what he lived for, whether in defending the institution of marriage, attacking the practices of the slave trade or emphatically defending the Sabbath day.” With great energy he helped mobilize the country’s moral and social leaders in a nationwide struggle against vice.
In our early Church history, the vast majority of our members were opposed to slavery. This was a significant reason, along with their religious beliefs, for the hostility and mob violence they experienced, culminating in the extermination order issued by Governor Boggs in Missouri. In 1833 Joseph Smith received a revelation stating, “It is not right that any man should be in bondage one to another.” Our commitment to freedom of religion and treating all people as sons and daughters of God is central to our doctrine.
These are just two examples of how faith-based values undergird principles that greatly bless society. There are many more. We should both participate ourselves and support people of character and integrity to help reestablish moral values that will bless the entire community.
Let me be clear that all voices need to be heard in the public square. Neither religious nor secular voices should be silenced. Furthermore, we should not expect that because some of our views emanate from religious principles, they will automatically be accepted or given preferential status. But it is also clear such views and values are entitled to be reviewed on their merits.
The moral foundation of our doctrine can be a beacon light to the world and can be a unifying force for both morality and faith in Jesus Christ. We need to protect our families and be at the forefront together with all people of goodwill in doing everything we can to preserve light, hope, and morality in our communities.
If we both live and proclaim these principles, we will be following Jesus Christ, who is the true Light of the World. We can be a force for righteousness in preparing for the Second Coming of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. We look forward to that beautiful day when “free hearts will sing, when the lights go on again all over the world.” In the sacred name of Jesus Christ, amen.

When I phoned my fiancée to wish her a happy birthday, she asked about my decision. I told her I had decided to go on a mission, but that I would like to talk with her when she came to see me in a few weeks. She insisted that we talk about it right then. Her sweet voice became choked as if something bitter were being swallowed against her will. We said good-bye.
I went to my room to pray to my Heavenly Father so she could understand and accept my decision. A little later the phone rang and that same sweet voice said with firmness, “Thank you for the birthday gift.” At first I thought she was being ironic, but then I realized she was sincere.

One day I attended a conference with our one-year-old daughter. In the conference, an Area Seventy talked about the responsibility of parents to teach the gospel to their children. He then made a promise that left a huge impression on me. He said: “If, after everything you can do to teach the gospel, one of your children leaves the Church, they will still be blessed because of the memory of the things they experienced at home.”

The words of that Area Seventy filled me with hope because I had nieces and nephews who had left the Church. Years later my daughter, the same one-year-old I held in my arms during that conference, left the Church when she turned 17. She had met someone who was not rooted in the gospel, and they got married. She never went to church after that.

This was painful for me. I asked myself over and over what we did wrong. Her father and I always tried to keep the commandments and serve in the Church. We love our children and want the best for them. After many tears and questions, we finally concluded that children grow, exercise their agency, and don’t always believe the things they’re taught at home.

Unfortunately, my daughter’s marriage fell apart, and she still doesn’t want to come back to the Church. All I can do is remember the promise that she will remember and be blessed because of the things she was taught at home.

I continue to pray for my daughter. I love her with all my heart, and it hurts me to see her distanced from the Church. But I know that, despite my imperfections, the things I taught her are right and true. I know that Heavenly Father is just and loving and that He listens to our prayers. Without any doubt in my heart, I know that if I do my part, He will answer them in the moment He sees right.

When I was 17, I left my home in Guadalajara to study at Benemérito de las Américas, a Church institution for young people in Mexico. I was very happy there, even though I wasn’t in the best of health. I always had people who were willing to help and encourage me, but my illness kept getting more and more serious, and I didn’t know what was wrong with me. Finally, I was given a week off school to go back to Guadalajara for some tests.
When I got home, I suffered total facial paralysis. I was hospitalized in very serious condition with kidney failure. I don’t remember what happened for the next two weeks. My mother told me I couldn’t see or hear or eat anything. The doctors had no hope for me because my vital levels indicated I couldn’t survive.
My mother called the bishop, who came and gave me a blessing. I could feel the power of the priesthood, and I started to recover. I was in a wheelchair for a while, but I wasn’t able to hold my head up, and I couldn’t see or hear. With the help of my ward members and their fasting and prayers, I continued to recover. I was put on dialysis. My mother donated a kidney, and the doctors performed a transplant. However, five months later my body rejected the kidney, and I am now on dialysis again. I am on the waiting list for another kidney transplant.
Despite these trials, Heavenly Father has given me the opportunity to graduate from seminary and to complete my Personal Progress, which gives me a great deal of satisfaction. I know I still have a long way to go before I’m healthy again, but I’m grateful to the Lord for this experience because I’ve gained a stronger testimony and it continues to grow every day. I think we all have different trials to overcome before we can obtain our eternal reward. “I give unto men weakness that they may be humble; … then will I make weak things become strong unto them” (Ether 12:27).
What I want more than anything else is to be able to return to the presence of my Heavenly Father. I know I can achieve this if I’m faithful and obedient. Sometimes it’s not very easy to accept the will of the Lord, but I try to face my trials with a smile and remember that we’re not here on earth very long when compared to eternity.
When I get discouraged I remember the hymn “Count Your Blessings” (Hymns, no. 241), and then I feel happy again. That hymn gives me peace and a feeling of gratitude. I remember the people who love me, including a loving Heavenly Father who has blessed me with strength.

It started innocently enough. Like most other children, I would sit by the window, look out at the stars, and repeat the chant:
“Star light, star bright
First star I see tonight.
I wish I may, I wish I might
Have the wish I wish tonight.”
Then I would close my eyes and make my wish. I wished for everything my childish mind could dream of: a pony, a puppy, the eradication of spinach, a fairy godmother. I never got my wishes, but that was okay because it was all done in fun.
I grew older and stopped wishing on stars, but, unfortunately, I didn’t stop wishing. Now it took on a definite greenish tint. I wasn’t wishing for a puppy or a pony, but I wished I could be more like Kathy, because all the boys liked her, or I wished I had clothes like Linda’s.
Whenever I saw someone with something I didn’t have, I thought of how much happier I would be with it, so I’d start wishing for it. Almost everyone I met seemed to have something I didn’t have. I began to believe that everyone else had everything, and I had nothing.
Of course I began to feel sorry for myself. I’d whine, “If only things were different.” Or, “It’s just not fair!” Or, “Why me?”
So how did I ever find my way out of this quagmire of envy and self-pity? Believe it or not, I found my answer in the Church hymnbook. One Sunday I was sitting behind a girl who had the most beautiful hair. I was wishing that mine were that long and shiny, when we began singing “Count Your Blessings.”
Now, I had probably sung that song dozens of times, but it never meant anything to me until then. For the first time, I paid attention to the words. Why was I always wishing for things I didn’t have? Why did I feel angry and cheated because life wasn’t treating me fairly? The answer was right there in the hymn. I wasn’t counting my blessings. All I ever thought about were the things I didn’t have, which completely obscured my awareness of all the things I did have.
I went home from church and did exactly what the hymn said to do. I made a list of all my blessings. First came the obvious ones like home and family, and food and clothing. But then I wrote down other things like my personal strengths and assets, the many opportunities and positive experiences I’d had, my understanding of the gospel and the unique perspective that added to my life. When I added them up, I counted more than 100 blessings. Like the hymn says, I really was surprised.
I carried this list for a long time, and whenever I found myself slipping back into my old wishing habit, I would read the list. It always helped me to have a feeling of gratitude rather than one of envy and self-pity.
Finally the day came when I didn’t have to carry the list anymore because I no longer needed to wish for things. I was happy for others and their blessings, because I was more aware of my own blessings. I became so much happier once I finally quit wishing.

Usually I didn’t like milking our mean cow Georgina, but the afternoon that Dr. Steed checked Father’s leg was one time when I wanted to be anyplace but in the house. Ever since his accident, Father had been in terrible pain. I prayed that Dr. Steed would do something to help Father, because I couldn’t bear to hear his moaning any longer.
Georgina seemed to know that I was upset—she didn’t cause me one lick of trouble. Grabbing the one-legged stool and the tin pail, I sat down to milk.
Even though I was only eleven, I had been milking cows since I was five. Today, I was milking fast and furiously, my mind a jumble of worries and fears.
Up until Father’s accident two days earlier, everything had gone well for us. Our crops were growing better this year than any time that I could remember. Not a single calf or cow had died during the winter or spring, which was probably a first. Father had even started building a new barn. We figured to have it finished before we brought in the third crop of alfalfa hay in August.
Father had been on a scaffold working on our barn when he slipped and fell 30 feet (over 9 m), landing horribly hard on his right leg.
The first time Dr. Steed looked at Father’s bulging, bloody ankle, he shook his head. “It looks mighty bad. The bone’s shattered. There’s nothing to set—it’s just a bunch of bone fragments.”
“What do we do?” Mother’s face was a mask of wrinkled worries as she clutched Father’s hand.
Father gritted his teeth and managed a faint smile that looked strange and out of place on his gray, tense face. “The good Lord will look after us, Dr. Steed,” he said weakly but confidently. “A busted leg doesn’t mean that the Lord doesn’t have His eye on us.”
I had always believed my father, especially when he talked about the Lord, but I began to wonder how He was watching over us when disaster hung over our home like a thick, heavy black cloud. Was He going to grow Father another leg?
The pain didn’t go away in Father’s leg. It got worse, lots worse! His leg from the knee to his toes swelled up something fierce. It looked as though it was going to burst. The skin turned almost black in places. Father wanted to wait longer to see if his leg would get better on its own, but Mother finally insisted that Dr. Steed take another look.
I closed my eyes and leaned my head against Georgina’s warm flank as the pail started filling up with the white foamy milk. I didn’t know what we were going to do with Father laid up. I knew that I was still too young to run the farm by myself. Maybe I could do it a day or so, but when it came time to cut the hay, harvest the grain, and bring in the corn, I’d need more help than my two little brothers could give me.
The shed door squeaked open. Mother stood there, her eyes wide and her face white as her apron. She wet her lips. “Your father’s leg …” The words died in her throat. She swallowed and tried again. “Charlie,” she got out, “Dr. Steed says your father’s leg has to come off from the knee down.”
“Cut off his leg?” I jumped up.
“Charlie, it’s his leg or his life,” Mother said softly, looking away. “Dr. Steed can’t save it. If he doesn’t take it off soon, your father will die. There’s no other way. Run and get Bishop Hunt. Your father wants a blessing before Dr. Steed starts cutting.”
I raced over to Bishop Hunt and gave him the bad news, but I didn’t go back to the house with him. Instead, I went down to the creek and hid in the bushes, wanting to be as far from Father’s moans and groans as I could get.
It was dark when I finally returned to the house. I crept into the house and stole silently down the hall to Mother and Father’s half-open bedroom door.
Father lay on his back, his eyes closed, his face ashen. Mother sat in the rocker next to the bed, holding his hand. Tears trickled down her cheeks. I studied the blanket covering Father and stared at the horrible empty place where his foot and lower leg should have been.
Mother saw me and smiled weakly. “Dr. Steed thinks he’ll be all right if he can rest through the night. Pray for him, Charlie. The Lord’s blessed us plenty. We need to ask for another blessing from His hand.”
I turned away. “How has the Lord blessed us?” I wondered. “Father is lying there without his leg. We still have the farm and the cows to take care of. The barn isn’t finished. And how can Father do any of those things with only one whole leg?” I fought back bitter tears of frustration and fear, wishing desperately that I were older so that I could carry the load.
I was busy from early morning till late at night, doing my very best to run the farm. Two days after Dr. Steed took off Father’s lower leg, I dragged into the house late, tired clear to the bone. I was shocked to see Father sitting in the rocker by the kitchen table with his stub leg propped up on a pillow in a chair. He looked better than he had since his accident. “Well, Charlie,” he said with a faint smile, “your mother says you’ve been doing a mighty fine job keeping things up around here. You’re a real man.”
I heaved a sigh and felt a hard lump in my throat, thankful for Father’s praise and mighty glad that he was doing better. Even so, I was overwhelmed by the huge job before me. I dropped down on a kitchen chair. Mother set a plate of hot food in front of me. I was almost too tired to lift my fork to feed myself. “I don’t know if I can do it alone,” I gulped.
“We won’t be doing it alone, Charlie,” Father said gently. “The Lord’ll be there. He always has been.”
“How can you say that?” I burst out, my mouth full of Mother’s homemade bread. I couldn’t bring myself to look at Father’s stump wrapped in white bandages.
The younger children were in bed and Mother and Father didn’t say anything while I quietly ate. As I wiped my plate clean with a chunk of bread, I heard the faint strum of a lone guitar. At first I wasn’t even sure I’d heard it until the guitar was joined by the low moan of a harmonica and then a fiddle. There was no mistake about it—there was music playing! Voices began to sing.
Mother and Father looked at each other and then at me. “Who do you suppose that could be?” Mother dried her hands on her apron.
I pushed back from the table and charged for the door. Flinging it open, I peered out into the night.
Four people were holding lanterns, three men strummed guitars, two played harmonicas, and one had a fiddle up to his chin. Crowded around them were other neighbors. All were playing or singing, “Master, the Tempest Is Raging.”1
Then I saw our front porch—loaded with flour and sugar and potatoes—and my mouth dropped open. There was a basket of apricots, fresh summer squash, green beans, and a few ears of early corn, too. There were also a couple pies, a sack of shelled walnuts, and a plate of fudge.
I felt Mother come up behind me. Touching me on the shoulder, she whispered, “I think your father would like to see this.”
It wasn’t easy getting Father to the front porch. With Mother on one side and me on the other, we helped Father out onto the porch and eased him down into a rocker.
“Well, George,” someone called from the crowd when they finished the hymn, “a few of us got together and figured you could use a little serenading. We might not make the best music in the world, but we sing with a whole lot of feeling.”
“We figured you could use a little something in the kitchen, too,” a woman called out. “If that isn’t enough, we’ll bring more.”
“And don’t fret about your barn being half done,” another voice called from the crowd. “There are enough hands around here to make short work of that little project. And when it comes time to mow your alfalfa, there’ll be a crew here.”
I glanced at Father. Big tears coursed down his face. “You folks are …” His voice quavered and the words died in his throat. “You folks are mighty kind,” he started again. “You treat me so fine that I’ll be tempted to go out and break my other leg.”
Everyone laughed, and then they began to play and sing again. They stayed for 30 minutes and serenaded us, singing our favorite songs and hymns. When they left, they all filed past Father, shook his hand and assured him that he didn’t have to worry about things.
When Mother, Father, and I were alone again on the porch, Father turned to me and said quietly, “That was the best music I’ve heard in a long, long time. It sounded like it came straight from heaven.” He took a deep breath and added, “Charlie, like I told you earlier, the good Lord is watching after us. We might stub our toes along the way, but he’s always there to lift us up and help us through.”
Swallowing back the big lump in my throat, I grabbed the sack of flour and nodded. As always, Father was right.

During my professional life as a pilot, I relied greatly on the precision and reliability of computer systems but rarely had to work my own personal computer. In my office work as an executive, I had assistants and secretaries who kindly helped me with the tasks.
All this changed in 1994, when I was called as a General Authority. My calling consisted of many wonderful opportunities to minister, but it also included a great deal of Church office work—more than I ever thought possible.
To my shock, the main tool to stay on top of my work was a personal computer.
For the first time in my life, I had to delve into this strange, mystifying, incomprehensible world.
From the start, the computer and I were not on the friendliest of terms.
Able tech people tried to teach me how to use the computer. They literally stood behind me, reaching over my shoulder, their fingers moving quickly and tapping a percussive symphony against the keyboard.
“See?” they would say proudly. “That’s how you do it.”
I did not see. It was a rocky transition.
My learning curve was more like a brick wall.
It took a great deal of time, repetition, patience; no small amount of hope and faith; lots of reassurance from my wife; and many liters of a diet soda that shall remain nameless.
Now, 22 years later, I am surrounded by computer technology. I have an email address, a Twitter account, and a Facebook page. I own a smartphone, a tablet, a laptop, and a digital camera. And, while my tech skills may not quite measure up to those of a typical seven-year-old, for a septuagenarian, I do all right.
But I have noticed something interesting. The more adept I get at technology, the more I take it for granted.
For a large part of human history, communication happened at the speed of a horse. Sending a message and getting a reply could take days or even months. Today our messages travel thousands of miles into the sky or thousands of meters beneath the oceans to reach someone on the other side of the world, and if there is a delay of even a few seconds, we get frustrated and impatient.
It seems to be human nature: as we become more familiar with something, even something miraculous and awe-inspiring, we lose our sense of awe and treat it as commonplace.
Taking for granted our modern technologies and conveniences may be a relatively small matter. But, sadly, we sometimes take a similar attitude toward the eternal and soul-expanding doctrine of the gospel of Jesus Christ. In the Church of Jesus Christ, we have been given so much. We are surrounded by such an astonishing wealth of light and truth that I wonder if we truly appreciate what we have.
Think of those early disciples who walked and talked with the Savior during His earthly ministry. Imagine the thanksgiving and reverence that must have flooded their hearts and filled their minds when they saw Him risen from the tomb, when they felt the wounds in His hands. Their lives would never be the same!
Think of the early Saints of this dispensation who knew the Prophet Joseph Smith and heard him preach the restored gospel. Imagine how they must have felt to know that the veil between heaven and earth had parted again, shedding light and knowledge upon the world from our celestial home above.
But most of all, think of how you felt when for the first time you believed and understood that you are truly a child of God; that Jesus Christ willingly suffered for your sins so that you may be clean again; that priesthood power is real and can bind you to your loved ones for time and for all eternity; that there is a living prophet on the earth today. Isn’t that wonderful and amazing?
Considering all of this, how could it ever be possible that we of all people would not be excited about attending our Church worship services? Or get tired of reading the holy scriptures? I suppose this could be possible only if our hearts were past feeling to experience gratitude and awe for the sacred and sublime gifts God has granted us. Life-changing truths are before our eyes and at our fingertips, but sometimes we sleepwalk on the path of discipleship. Too often we let ourselves be distracted by the imperfections of our fellow members instead of following the example of our Master. We tread a path covered with diamonds, but we can scarcely distinguish them from ordinary pebbles.
When I was a young man, my friends would ask me about my religion. Often I would start to explain the differences, like the Word of Wisdom. Other times I would emphasize the similarities with other Christian religions. None of this would impress them very much. But when I talked about the great plan of happiness our Father in Heaven has for us as His children, I had their attention.
I remember trying to draw the plan of salvation on a blackboard in a classroom of our chapel in Frankfurt, Germany. I made circles that represented premortal life, mortality, and the return to our Heavenly Parents after this life.
As a teenager, how I loved to share this exciting message. When I explained these principles in my own simple words, my heart would overflow with gratitude for a God who loves His children and a Savior who redeemed all of us from death and hell. I was so proud of this message of love, joy, and hope.
Some of my friends would say that this message felt familiar, even though such things were never taught in their religious upbringing. It was as if they had always known these things to be true, as if I was simply casting light on something that was always and deeply rooted in their hearts.
I believe every human being carries in his or her heart some form of fundamental questions regarding life itself. Where did I come from? Why am I here? What will happen after I die?
These kinds of questions have been asked by mortals since the dawn of time. Philosophers, scholars, and pundits have spent their lives and fortunes seeking for answers.
I am grateful that the restored gospel of Jesus Christ has answers to the most complex questions in life. These answers are taught in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. They are true, plain, straightforward, and easy to understand. They are inspired, and we teach them to our three-year-olds in the Sunbeam class.
Brothers and sisters, we are eternal beings, without beginning and without end. We have always existed. We are the literal spirit children of divine, immortal, and omnipotent Heavenly Parents!
We come from the heavenly courts of the Lord our God. We are of the royal house of Elohim, the Most High God. We walked with Him in our premortal life. We heard Him speak, witnessed His majesty, learned His ways.
You and I participated in a Grand Council where our beloved Father presented His plan for us—that we would come to earth, receive mortal bodies, learn to choose between good and evil, and progress in ways that would not otherwise be possible.
When we passed through the veil and entered this mortal life, we knew that we would no longer remember the life before. There would be opposition and adversity and temptation. But we also knew that gaining a physical body was of paramount importance for us. Oh, how we hoped that we would quickly learn to make the correct choices, withstand the temptations of Satan, and eventually return to our beloved Parents in Heaven.
We knew we would sin and make mistakes—perhaps even serious ones. But we also knew that our Savior, Jesus Christ, had pledged to come to earth, live a sinless life, and voluntarily lay down His life in an eternal sacrifice. We knew that if we gave our heart to Him, trusted Him, and strived with all the energy of our soul to walk in the path of discipleship, we could be washed clean and once again enter the presence of our beloved Father in Heaven.
So, with faith in the sacrifice of Jesus Christ, you and I accepted, by our free will, Heavenly Father’s plan.
That is why we are here on this beautiful planet earth—because God offered us the opportunity, and we chose to accept it. Our mortal life, however, is only temporary and will end with the death of our physical body. But the essence of who you and I are will not be destroyed. Our spirits will continue living and await the Resurrection—a free gift to all by our loving Heavenly Father and His Son, Jesus Christ. At the Resurrection, our spirits and bodies will be reunited, free from pain and physical imperfections.
After the Resurrection, there will be a Day of Judgment. While all will eventually be saved and inherit a kingdom of glory, those who trust in God and seek to follow His laws and ordinances will inherit lives in the eternities that are unimaginable in glory and overwhelming in majesty.
That Day of Judgment will be a day of mercy and love—a day when broken hearts are healed, when tears of grief are replaced with tears of gratitude, when all will be made right.
Yes, there will be deep sorrow because of sin. Yes, there will be regrets and even anguish because of our mistakes, our foolishness, and our stubbornness that caused us to miss opportunities for a much greater future.
But I have confidence that we will not only be satisfied with the judgment of God; we will also be astonished and overwhelmed by His infinite grace, mercy, generosity, and love for us, His children. If our desires and works are good, if we have faith in a living God, then we can look forward to what Moroni called “the pleasing bar of the great Jehovah, the Eternal Judge.”
My beloved brothers and sisters, my dear friends, does it not fill our hearts and minds with wonder and awe to contemplate the great plan of happiness our Heavenly Father has prepared for us? Does it not fill us with unspeakable joy to know of the glorious future that is prepared for all who wait upon the Lord?
If you have never felt such wonder and joy, I invite you to seek, study, and ponder the simple yet profound truths of the restored gospel. “Let the solemnities of eternity rest upon your minds.” Let them bear testimony unto you of the divine plan of salvation.
If you have felt these things before, I ask you today, “Can [you] feel so now?”
Recently I had the opportunity to travel to Belfast, Northern Ireland. While there, I noticed the Belfast Coat of Arms, which includes the motto “Pro tanto quid retribuamus,” or “What shall we give in return for so much?”
I invite each of us to consider this question. What shall we give in return for the flood of light and truth God has poured out upon us?
Our beloved Father simply asks that we live by the truth we have received and that we follow the path He has provided. Therefore, let us take courage and trust in the guidance of the Spirit. Let us in word and in deed share with our fellowmen the amazing and awe-inspiring message of God’s plan of happiness. May our motive be our love for God and for His children, for they are our brothers and sisters. This is the beginning of what we can do in return for so much.
Someday “every knee shall bow, and every tongue confess” that God’s ways are just and His plan is perfect. For you and me, let that day be today. Let us proclaim, with Jacob of old, “O how great the plan of our God!”
Of this I testify in deep gratitude to our Heavenly Father, as I leave you my blessing, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Often the blessings come long before the end, while you’re in the service of the Lord. Jo has seen that happen many times on his mission—such as the day he met Kevin Smith.
Kevin had become interested in the Church through the fine example of a young Latter-day Saint woman in his office, and he had requested a copy of the Book of Mormon from the Blackpool Ward. Jo and his companion volunteered to deliver the scripture to him.
“At that point I wasn’t sufficiently interested in the Church to have missionaries in my home,” says Kevin, who has been confined to a wheelchair for the past sixteen years. “I had a stereotyped image of Mormon elders—tall, fresh young American lads straight out of college, wearing stylish suits, with toothpaste-advertisement smiles. I probably wouldn’t have opened the door if they had looked like that. But here were two down-to-earth people, one just as surprised as I was at the sight of a wheelchair.”
“Kevin is such a great guy,” exclaims Elder Folkett, who was surprised to find his investigator in a wheelchair. “Even before we got to his house the first time, I felt that something good would happen.”
Elder Folkett and Kevin got along well from the moment they met, and Jo baptized Kevin not long after that first discussion.

When Gina Randall joined the Church in Johannesburg, South Africa in 1969, she was recently divorced with two young children. She had no family support and no friends in the Church. Her new branch was a large one. Coming to church was a daunting experience.
“At first I was very dependent on the missionary who had introduced me to the Church, but as he neared the end of his mission, he realised I needed another friend,” she says. “He introduced me to another, older sister who had been baptised at a similar time as I was.
“We clung together like monkeys!” says Sister Randall. “Just having somebody around when everything seemed new and strange gave me a lot of comfort. She really was my lifeline.”
Now, still an active member 52 years later, “I often wonder if I would have made it if it wasn’t for her,” she says.

As I lay in the motel room anticipating the next day’s state cross-country race, I struggled with all the difficult emotions a 16-year-old can have. I felt I was running worse than in past years. I felt ugly. Having never had a date or a boyfriend compounded my feelings of insecurity. I wanted so badly to feel accepted.
I had gone to bed early, and my teammates thought I was asleep. I heard them giggling, and then they nudged my shoulder and said, “Here, Jenny. Have some water.” I could distinctly smell that it was not water.
I was angry at these “friends” for trying to play a trick on me. Did they think I was stupid? I was scared they might force the alcohol down my throat. I yearned for the security of my family, but that seemed childish for someone my age.
A thousand questions raced through my mind. By drinking, will I be part of the “in” crowd? Will the alcohol make me beautiful? Will it give me a boyfriend? Will I be able to run faster or even win the race tomorrow?
I knew the answers to these questions. I said firmly, “No, that’s not water, and I’m not going to drink it.” Even though both of those girls beat me in the race the next day, I knew I had won a more important race in the Lord’s eyes.
The bus trip home seemed particularly long. I was anxious to return to my family and tell my mother what had happened.
The next night at dinner Mom presented me with a gift. My five brothers and sisters watched me open it. It was to let me know my family was proud of my decision to live the Word of Wisdom.
Around the dinner table that night my family helped me feel talented, beautiful, and accepted—an acceptance I may never find at school or on a cross-country team.

Let me share with you the experience of Barry Bonnell and Dale Murphy, well-known professional baseball players formerly with the Atlanta Braves baseball club. Each is a convert to the Church, Dale Murphy having been baptized by Barry Bonnell.
“An experience occurred during the 1978 season that Barry described as ‘life-changing.’ He was struggling terribly, batting about .200. Because of his poor performance, he was down on himself and felt miserable. He really didn’t want to go when Dale Murphy asked him to come along to the hospital, but he went anyway. There he met Ricky Little, a stalwart [Atlanta] Braves’ supporter, but a youngster afflicted with leukemia. It was readily apparent that Ricky was near death. Barry felt a deep desire to think of something comforting to say but nothing seemed adequate. Finally, he asked if there was anything they could do. The youngster hesitated, and then asked if they would each hit a home run for him during the next game. Barry said [later], ‘That request wasn’t such a hard thing for Dale, who in fact hit two homers that night, but I was struggling at the plate and hadn’t hit a homer all year. Then I felt a warm feeling come over me and I told Ricky to count on it.’” That night, Barry hit his only home run of the season.10 A child’s prayer had been answered, a child’s wish had been fulfilled.

In faraway Bucharest, Romania, Dr. Lynn Oborn, volunteering at an orphanage, was attempting to teach little Raymond, who had never walked, how to use his legs. Raymond had been born with severe clubfeet and was completely blind. Surgery had corrected the clubfeet, but Raymond was still unable to use his legs. Dr. Oborn knew that a child-size walker would enable Raymond to get on his feet, but such a walker was not available anywhere in Romania.
Let us turn now to Provo, Utah. The Richard Headlee family, learning of the suffering and pitiful conditions in Romania, joined with others to assemble a 40? (12.2 m) container filled with 40,000 pounds (19,000 kg) of needed supplies. The deadline arrived, and the container had to be shipped. No one involved with the project knew of the need for a child-size walker. However, at the last possible moment, a family brought forth a walker and placed it in the container.
When the anxiously awaited container arrived at the orphanage in Bucharest, Dr. Oborn said, “Oh, I hope you brought me a child’s walker for Raymond!”
One of the Headlee family members said, “I can vaguely remember a walker, but I don’t know its size.” Another family member crawled among the bales of clothes and boxes of food, searching for the walker. When he found it, he cried out, “It’s a little one!” Cheers erupted—which quickly turned to tears, for they all knew that they had been part of a modern-day miracle.
There may be some who say, “We don’t have miracles today.” But the doctor whose prayers were answered would respond, “Oh, yes we do, and Raymond is walking!” She who was inspired to give the walker would surely agree.
Who was the angel of mercy? Her name is Kristin Bestor. She was born with spina bifida, as was her younger sister, Erika.
Kristin’s father said to me at a celebration one evening, “President Monson, meet Kristin. She is the one who felt impressed to send her walker to Romania, hoping that some child there would be benefitted.”
I spoke to Kristin as she sat in her wheelchair: “Thank you for listening to the Spirit of the Lord.”
Later, as I walked out of that celebration, I looked upward toward the heavens and offered my own thank-you to God for children, for families, for miracles in our time.

Some time ago I received a touching letter from Randy Spaulding, who lived in northern Utah. The letter explained the composition of his family and then the gradual onset of an illness that took his father from a healthy, strong individual to a weak and crippled middle-aged man. The father’s physical condition deteriorated until he could not work, could not walk, became confined to a wheelchair, and was almost helpless.
Randy told how the family and ward members have taken over the care of the farm and have provided much help to the family. Father can no longer speak; Mother is his constant provider of care—yet neither of them has uttered or written those words, “Why us?”
Let me return to Randy Spaulding’s actual words. He wrote: “One morning as I was thinking about the mundane things of life and hurrying out the door to begin the day, I happened to notice my father sitting in the corner of the room reading his scriptures. I stopped and went over to speak to him. I noticed the difficult circumstances he was under. With his right hand, he was trying to hold up his head enough to see me and read the Book of Mormon. I learned that at one of the most trying times, he still had enough faith to read about a God of love, a God of miracles who heals and makes us whole, and a God of life—eternal life. My father still believes. Oh, how I long to take him back in time to the Pool of Bethesda and to ask our Master if He would please have mercy on us, so that my father, also, could take up his bed and walk.”
His letter continued: “That day I returned to my bedroom and thanked my Heavenly Father for a father and mother second to none.”

High overhead a flock of ducks locked their wings and dropped down toward the reservoir. It was early morning, and it was duck hunting season. I was in the bulrushes on one side of the reservoir, and two of my friends, Rick and Kinnley, were on the opposite side. The ducks circled the pond several times and then whistled down directly in front of the place Rick and Kinnley were hiding.
I heard three shots. The ducks came up fast. I heard a fourth shot. I remember wondering about it because the ducks were out of range when I heard it. The ducks flew out across the valley and began circling over some small ponds.
Kinnley ran out of the place they’d been hiding and yelled, “Skip, come here.” I knew there would be more ducks coming, and I didn’t want to move. Before I could answer, Kinnley ran back into the bulrushes. He came out again in just a few seconds.
“Skip, hurry!” he yelled.
I ran over as fast as I could so that I would be in position if more ducks flew over. When I reached Kinnley I knew something was wrong. His face was white.
“My gun jammed,” he stammered. “Rick’s been hurt.”
We ran into the bulrushes, and there I saw one of the most gruesome sights in my life. Here was one of my best friends writhing in pain from a shotgun blast in the side. Rick Was moaning. “Help me, you guys, you’ve got to help me.”
I knew we had to stop the bleeding immediately and that then we’d have to get help. The nearest town was several miles away. We bound the wound up with Kinnley’s shirt. It didn’t help much. Rick was dying. Kinnley and I both knew there wasn’t much time left. Our truck was on a road about two miles away. We knew we couldn’t carry Rick to it, and getting help would take time, maybe too much time. While we were trying to decide what to do, Kinnley said, “Skip, let’s give him a blessing.”
We knelt by his side and placed our hands on his head.
“You go first,” Kinnley said.
With the power of the Aaronic Priesthood I blessed Rick. I asked that the bleeding would stop, that Rick would be relieved of pain, and that he would survive the accident. I also prayed that Kinnley and I would be able to think clearly in getting Rick to a hospital.
When we finished our prayers and took our hands off his head, a feeling of peace replaced the panic we’d felt before. I told Kinnley to run and get the truck. I took off my coat and overalls to keep Rick warm. I put a coat under his head and carefully laid him on the side opposite the wound. He was getting weaker. I tried to assure him that it wasn’t all that bad and that he was going to be all right.
Never in all of my life had I felt so totally helpless, my friend in so much pain, dying, pleading for me not to let him die, blood soaking through the shirt we’d bound the wound in. I pleaded with the Lord to please, please let him live.
Kinnley came back with the truck. His face was even whiter than it had been before. We decided we couldn’t risk moving Rick. I left in the truck to call an ambulance. The road was rough, and it seemed like it took me hours to reach the town. I knew that every second counted.
I went into a cafe and said there’d been an accident. I went to a pay phone, the closest telephone, and called the hospital. I told them to send the ambulance to the junction in the road that turned off the main highway to the reservoir.
Several men in the cafe offered to help. We drove to the junction and waited. I can’t remember waiting for anything in my life as long as I waited for that ambulance. It actually took only three minutes from the time I called until the ambulance reached the junction.
The ambulance started following me to the reservoir, but the road was too rough. The ambulance crew loaded equipment into the back of my truck and we started again. It seemed like hours since I’d left Rick and Kinnley, and I didn’t know what I would find.
When we reached them, Kinnley stood up.
“Skip, look at Rick.”
Rick was breathing easier, and it appeared that the pain had subsided. The ambulance crew went to work. They put a pair of pressurized pants on Rick and pumped them up. In just minutes his blood pressure was close to normal, and in about a half hour he had stabilized enough to be moved. The ambulance crew and several of the men from the cafe lifted Rick onto the back of the truck and started for the ambulance.
I stayed behind to get our coats and guns. I sat there by myself for a while and said a prayer thanking my Father in Heaven. A week later Kinnley and I visited Rick in the hospital. He was sitting up in bed playing an electric basketball game, smiling. The experience strengthened my testimony of the priesthood. I knew the blessing we gave to Rick had helped save his life and had helped Kinnley and me make the right decisions.

As a boy of 14, Spencer Kimball heard a sermon in which the speaker asked who in the congregation had read the entire Bible. Only a few raised their hands. Not being one of those few, Spencer keenly felt the need to read the sacred book from cover to cover, which he began doing that very night by the light of a coal-oil lamp. In about a year he completed his goal of reading all of the Bible, an accomplishment that contributed to his lifelong love of scripture study.7

My first year as a member of the Church was a long and difficult one, but also full of rewards. Being the only member in your family isn’t the easiest thing, and I also received much persecution from old friends. In May of 2004, I received the Melchizedek Priesthood and a call to serve in the Virginia Richmond Mission, speaking Spanish. I left my nonmember family in July of 2004, not knowing exactly what I was getting myself into or just what it was that I was leaving behind.

During the beginning months of my mission, I heard many things from many friends about the progress of my parents in the Church. They had been attending church off and on and had allowed the missionaries to come by every so often. I was always excited to hear news. Then one Saturday morning my mission president told me he had just spoken with my stake president about my parents. My parents had decided to join the Church. The gospel had now changed their lives for the better, just as it had mine only two years before.

I am so grateful for my Savior Jesus Christ and for the opportunity I had to serve Him as a missionary. I now understand more fully the plan of salvation. I know that this is the gospel and Church of Jesus Christ. Upon returning from my mission in July of 2006 I was overjoyed to enter the Mesa temple with my parents, where we were sealed as a family for time and all eternity. It’s a day I could hardly have imagined just a few years earlier.

Living honestly is also important in our lives. Once, when I was in charge of a huge project in Italy, the people I worked with encouraged me to do something dishonest. “Everyone does it,” my coworkers said. “It’s just the way things are done.” Maybe what they were saying was true. But I refused to do something I knew was wrong. We decided together to do the honest, right thing, and our project was successful.

This story happened in the USA.
Bradley dumped another cup of sand into his bucket. He was going to need lots!
His school’s science fair was soon. Bradley was making a model that showed how tsunamis worked. He learned that a tsunami is a big wave of water caused by an earthquake in the ocean. He wanted his project to be perfect. Maybe he would win a prize!
When his bucket was full, Bradley gathered some sticks. Then he found a plastic bin and some small toy houses in the basement.
Bradley poured the sand into the bin to make the land. He carefully placed the houses and trees. Next came the exciting part—the water! Once he poured it in, he could push a piece of cardboard through the water to create the wave.
But then he made a big mistake. He poured in too much water! The houses were flooded—and he hadn’t even made the wave yet. The wet sand made a goopy, muddy mess.
Bradley called to his mom in the kitchen. “What should I do now? I put too much water in.”
“That’s OK. You can just start over,” said Mom. “Let’s do it together and measure a little at a time.”
“OK.” Bradley hung his head and went outside to get more sand.
This time they carefully measured the right amount of water and poured it in. Bradley moved the cardboard and watched the waves crash against the sand. It worked!
Next Bradley and Mom worked on his poster. He started writing some fun facts about tsunamis. But the words didn’t fit on the page.
“I don’t want to write it all over again!” Bradley said. His head began to ache.
“We don’t have to rewrite all of it,” said Mom. “We can just reword it so it will fit on the page.”
Bradley groaned. His poster did not look at all like he wanted it to. “I don’t want to do that. It will look bad if the words don’t fit perfectly.”
“Learning can be hard.” Mom gave him a hug. “Sometimes we make mistakes. But the important thing is that we don’t give up. Heavenly Father wants us to keep trying. So let’s take a break and finish in the morning.”
The next morning, they finished his poster. It wasn’t perfect, but Bradley felt a little better about it.
Finally the day of the science fair came. Mom dropped Bradley off at school. “Remember,” she said, “you worked hard on your project and learned a lot. And that’s what matters.”
Bradley carried his project to the big gym. It was full of projects and posters. All the fourth-graders were sitting down and waiting for their turn to show their project.
Soon it was Bradley’s turn. His heart beat fast as he walked to the front. What if everything went wrong?
Bradley pushed the cardboard through the water and showed the judges how the waves crashed against the land.
“What causes those big waves in the ocean?” one of the judges asked.
“The big waves are caused by . . .” Bradley’s mind went blank. “I can’t remember. But I can tell you some fun facts about tsunamis.” He read them the facts on his poster.
After school Bradley climbed into the car with his project.
“How did it go?” Mom asked.
“Not exactly the way I wanted.” Bradley smiled. “But I did my best and kept trying.”