Gospel Story Finder

Bloomington, Indiana—Few young Latter-day Saints have ever lived behind the Iron Curtain as has twenty-three-year-old Cenek Vrba, who presently studies violin and music performance at the famed University of Indiana School of Music. Already, Cenek is one of the great young violinists of our time.
What was it like living in Czechoslovakia?
“Most people in Canada and the United States to whom I have talked cannot even imagine what kind of life our family had in Czechoslovakia before escaping in 1968. People outside of Communism don’t even realize the value of their fantastic freedom to do as they wish. Freedom—that is the difference.
“My father was branch president and we had a good Mormon home. But in school we were taught that there is no God. We were taught to hate the ‘class enemy,’ or the owners of small shops and businesses. The USSR was held up as the shining example in everything. In school we were shown movies of how Russia won World War II and how they had given the Czech people their freedom and therefore had the right to occupy the country after the war.
“But at home I was taught love and the gospel and about God. We did not doubt God, even though we could not talk to others about the Church. We could not even tell them of our sacrament meetings. Once we told a trusted friend about our meetings and he informed the secret police. They stopped our meetings and interrogated my father. Although my father has three doctorates, he was released from teaching in the university because, he was told, his Mormon ideas would corrupt the students. He was offered wealth and position if he would join the Communist Party.
“When I was six years old our family had to begin to prepare for my baptism two years later. Since it would have been impossible for me to be baptized in a river or a lake, Father built a font in our garden. He worked on it for over two years so that no suspicions would be aroused. When the secret police asked him why he built it, he said it was to keep the children cool. When I was eight, Father baptized me in our 4? x 4? font in the middle of the night.
“Freedom is the difference between my life in Czechoslovakia and my life in Canada and the United States. Here I have freedom. I didn’t resent studying Marxism and learning about it, but it was terrible to live in it. It takes some principles that are close to the gospel and twists them into force and great unhappiness.”
And about music?
“Music to me is something almost spiritual, even though it can be material—I practice five hours a day and study much. Music lifts people’s spirits. My goal is to be a concert violinist. I look forward to being known as a Mormon. My life as a concert violinist and all the traveling will present challenges when I marry and children come, but I will stay close to the Church and build a good home. I love the Church and know from experience that God answers our prayers. To me, Jesus Christ and his gospel are wonderful.”
Cenek is close to attaining his professional goal. He was concert-master of a symphony orchestra in Czechoslovakia and won first place in the Czech Beethoven National Violin Competition. After his family moved to Calgary, Alberta, Canada, he won the Calgary Music Festival’s top award; the $1,000 grand festival award at the Spokane, Washington, Music Festival; and the top two $500 prizes in Alberta, Canada, music competition.

I was the type of person who always wanted miracles to prove things to me. I couldn’t really believe in something until it was proven by some earth-shaking event. I had been born and raised in the Church. I went to Mutual and camp, I knew the Young Women motto by heart, and I served as a Beehive class officer. Still, I never really knew the Church was true.
People always talked about burning feelings, warm feelings, peaceful feelings, and wonderful feelings. Me, I had no feelings. When I said my prayers every night I did the routine: “Thanks for Mom, Dad, and all my blessings. Help me to have a good day and do right.” You could say that I was “leaning” on my parents’ testimonies.
I finally decided that I wanted to know for myself. Every night I prayed for about five minutes, begging God to send me a miracle. I used tears, bribery, and I even threatened that I wouldn’t be righteous. I promised God that if he sent me just one little visitation from a holy being I would be a true believer. Of course, I was going about it all wrong, but I didn’t know that.
Finally after receiving no visits from Moroni, or anyone else for that matter, a new thought hit me—faith. I had always assumed that I deserved a miraculous vision just like Joseph Smith’s. It never occurred to me that God expected me to have faith. This was a hard concept for me to accept.
I wanted so badly to know with blinding certainty about the Church. Yet I was beginning to realize that God could not bless me with a testimony if I did not exercise faith in him. Now I’m a little lighter on miracles, and I’m coming to understand what a true testimony is. I’ve learned that faith is things that are hoped for and not seen (see Heb. 11:1).

Remember, it isn’t sufficient to assume that when you teach, the boy is listening to what you say. Let me illustrate:
In what we call the west boardroom of the Church Administration Building, there hangs a lovely painting rendered by the artist Harry Anderson. The painting depicts Jesus sitting on a small stone wall with numerous children gathered around, knowing they are the object of His love. Each time I gaze at that painting, I think of the passage of scripture, “Suffer the little children to come unto me, and forbid them not: for of such is the kingdom of God.”
On one occasion I had given a priesthood blessing in that room to a small lad who was soon to undergo major surgery. I directed his attention and that of his parents to the painting of Jesus and the children. I then made a few remarks concerning the Savior and His never-failing love. I asked the boy if he had any questions. “Yes,” he replied seriously. “Brother Monson, how does a boy go about getting a little goat and a leash for it like that one in the painting?”
For a moment I was stunned by the unanticipated question, a little deflated concerning my teaching ability, but then I responded: “Jesus gives to you and me gifts far more important than a goat on a leash. He provides a road map to heaven. His teachings, His example, His love are far greater gifts than that offered by the world.”
“Come, follow me,” He invited. And we are wise when we follow Him!

Valentine’s Day: a day of love or a day of loneliness? Or something else entirely? The spectrum swings far and wide regarding how people feel about this particular holiday.
Sister Wendy Nelson once described to a large group of Church members how Valentine’s Day can be both wonderful and miserable, depending on the circumstances and the individual.
She was also quick to elevate the definition of love beyond that of romance. “Our Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ want us to feel the love They have for each of us. And the Savior says to you and to me, ‘If you love me, keep my commandments’ [John 14:15],” Sister Nelson said. “What a wonderful Valentine gift we can give to our Heavenly Father and to our Savior—as we humble ourselves and open our hearts to receive Their love and as we keep the Lord’s commandments.”1
True love—Christlike love—has little to do with chocolates or wrapped presents. And it’s within reach for us all.
One particular example of true love left a permanent impression in my mind. I once came across a general conference talk by Elder Joseph B. Wirthlin (1917–2008) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles where he spoke on charity, or the “pure love of Christ” (Moroni 7:47).
Elder Wirthlin began by quoting Jesus’s teaching that the greatest commandment is to love God and to love our neighbor (see Matthew 22:37–40). Of course, I’d heard this scriptural account many times before. And always, for me, that level of Christlike love had seemed somehow beyond reach. How could I, plain old me, ever love as purely or as effectively as the Savior? It felt like an impossible goal.
But then Elder Wirthlin described an elderly couple who’d been married for many years. The wife grew unable to care for herself fully, including being able to paint her fingernails.
So the husband decided to paint them for her, simply because it made her smile. “That is an example of the pure love of Christ,” Elder Wirthlin declared.2
And with that brief example, something clicked in my brain. Painting fingernails? Not raising Lazarus from the dead or healing the blind, but a quiet act of kindness? That’sconsidered the pure love of Christ? Well … gee, I could do that!
Elder Wirthlin continued, adding further clarity. “Sometimes the greatest love is not found in the dramatic scenes that poets and writers immortalize. Often, the greatest manifestations of love are the simple acts of kindness and caring we extend to those we meet along the path of life.”3
My mind latched on as this idea took hold. I could perform those acts of kindness. What’s more, I knew for certain I’d been the recipient of countless such acts my whole life. True love isn’t glamorous or glittery. It’s quiet yet powerful. And available to all.
Then, in a twist of fate almost so coincidental as to be serendipitous, I was about to witness a demonstration of this principle in the very talk Elder Wirthlin was giving.
About halfway through his conference address, Elder Wirthlin started to lose physical stability. His breath came in short gasps and his body began to tremble.
Right when it appeared that Elder Wirthlin might not be able to finish delivering his address, President Russell M. Nelson (then Elder Nelson) rose and stood quietly behind Elder Wirthlin.
For the next several minutes, President Nelson’s silent presence was remarkable. With a firm grip on Elder Wirthlin’s arm and another grip on his lower back, President Nelson quietly personified the topic in discussion of Christlike love.
Did President Nelson take Elder Wirthlin’s struggles away? Not really. Did he do anything complex or dramatic? Again, not really. But his love and concern for his friend and fellow quorum member was palpable, and the strength he offered Elder Wirthlin made all the difference.
True love occurs every time we try to make another’s burden lighter.
Ultimately, Valentine’s Day could be missing the point a bit with its focus on love during one specific day of the year when we all need to give and feel Christlike love every day. That’s true for each of us, whether or not we’re in a romantic relationship. As children of God, we each need love like we need food and air.
And as Elder Wirthlin taught and President Nelson demonstrated, those strengthening, life-shaping acts of love don’t have to be as mysterious or complex as I once assumed.
If I’m having a rough day, a kind word from a friend can make all the difference. That’s another example of Christlike love. So is a stranger smiling and saying hello.
If I know somebody is sick and I bring them a hot bowl of their favorite soup, that’s me trying to be a little more Christlike. It’s me trying to share Christlike love.
And that’s always in season.

One night my elementary school principal came to our house for a meeting. After the meeting I asked her if she had a Book of Mormon. She told me she didn’t have one, but she would like one.
Three weeks later I went to a missionary fireside. The missionaries gave me a copy of the Book of Mormon to give to a nonmember friend. I didn’t know who to give it to. Then the Holy Ghost whispered to me the name of my principal.
I told my dad I wanted to take the Book of Mormon to her. I marked one of my 7. Dad took me to her house after the fireside, and I gave it to her.
A month later, when the missionaries came to our house for dinner, they asked me if I knew anyone they could visit. I told them about the nice lady I had given the Book of Mormon to.
The next time the missionaries came to dinner, they said they had visited her and they had a feeling that someday she would join the Church!

I was a Scoutmaster leading 20 young men and two leaders on an activity trip in southern Utah, USA.
When we got to the turnoff that would take us to the campsite, I stopped and surveyed the desert in front of me. I had made this trip many times, but for some reason, I couldn’t see anything that I recognized. I scanned left and right, looking for something familiar.
No matter how many roads I turned onto, they were all dead ends.
It was getting dark. Finally, I stopped and told everyone to stay put. I grabbed a flashlight and told them that I’d find the road on foot and signal to them once I had found the way.
What I actually did was kneel down and beg Heavenly Father to help us out of this awkward situation. I poured my heart out to Him, detailing my preparedness, my love for the boys, my gratitude for the fathers who had come with us, and my absolute faith that He would answer my prayer quickly. I finished my prayer and stood up. I expected to get up off my knees, point my flashlight out into the darkness, and have the beam immediately fall upon the right road.
But nothing happened.
I silently scanned the horizon as far as my beam would reach.
Still nothing.
I couldn’t believe it. I knew that as soon as I stood up, I would see the road. I knew that the Lord would not let me down, especially with so many people depending on me.
I now had to face two frustrated fathers and their vans full of rowdy, anxious young men, all of them asking, “Are we there yet?”
I apologized and assured them that I had made this trip 20 times in my life and that I knew the road was there. I just couldn’t see it.
Finally, we decided to drive into town and rent two motel rooms. We would start out fresh on Saturday morning.
Since we couldn’t build fires to cook the campfire dinners we brought, we went to the local pizza place we’d seen at the end of town.
The pizza was delicious and the boys were happy, but I still felt guilty about the motel and dinner bills.
As we ate, I wondered why Heavenly Father hadn’t answered my prayer, when suddenly I heard a loud boom.
I got up, swung open the door of the pizza place, and saw the biggest downpour of rain I had ever seen. There were lightning bolts to the northwest—right toward where I had been praying for an answer not an hour earlier. At that moment, the Spirit came over me, and I realized that the Lord had answered my prayer!
The next morning, the sky was blue, and as we headed back into the maze of dirt roads, I drove straight to the exact turnoff I had been searching for the night before. I know now how prayers are sometimes answered with a no, but they are always answered.

I can’t believe that my parents named her Angela! They’re both teachers, so you’d think that they’d know better than to call the terror of the kindergarten an angel. Being her eleven-year-old brother is hard. I have to baby-sit her on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons. The other days I have soccer or my first-aid class for Scouts. That and my homework keep me “legitimately” busy until suppertime.
The thing is, Angela has a vivid imagination. She’s always pretending to be a world-famous astronaut or world-famous ballet dancer or something else “world-famous.” She also likes to talk a lot, which drives me bonkers. And she loves animals. You’d think they were people, to listen to her.
Last Tuesday Mom was just leaving for a class as I walked in the front door after school. She gave me a quick kiss and said good-bye. I sighed and headed for the kitchen. It was too quiet! Angela was sitting at the kitchen table, eating a gooey peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich. Except for the grape jelly around her mouth, she looked like one of those kids in a TV commercial. But she didn’t fool me! I looked around the kitchen for signs of damage. I didn’t have to look far. Max, our sometimes-troublesome mutt, was under the table, having a great time finishing off the grape jelly—right out of the jar.
“He was hungry, too, Jeff. How could I eat in front of him?” Angela asked as I glared at her.
I shooed her next door to play with her friend Carrie so that I could clean up. Carrie has a swing set, and I figured it would help if Angela wore off a little energy. I used some wet paper towels to mop up the rest of the grape jelly, then curled up with my latest book, Invader from the Unknown.
Not even five minutes later I heard Carrie screaming at the top of her lungs. “Angela’s stuck! She’s going to fall! Hurry, Jeff!”
I tore out of the house and over to Carrie’s swing set. Angela wasn’t making a sound, but she had a panicky look on her face. She was hanging upside down from the swing set by one foot.
As soon as I helped her down, she gave me a mischievous grin. “The swings were gone, so we’ve been practicing for the Olympics. We’re going to be world-famous gymnasts.”
I gave Angela a threatening look. “You’re going to be a world-famous prisoner if you keep it up. One more caper like that, and you’ll stay in your room until Mom gets home.”
“I’m sorry, Jeff. I’ll be really good now. Carrie and I will have a tea party for our dolls.”
A few minutes later, all was quiet. Keeping one ear tuned for trouble, I stretched out on the couch with my book again. The alien ship had just set down on planet Earth, and billows of smoke were rising from the craft. …
All of a sudden I realized that there was real smoke and that it was coming from the kitchen! I made it there in record time. Carrie was hightailing it out the door for home, and Angela was staring sadly at a cookie sheet with several little black mounds on it.
“I did it just like Mommy did the peanut-butter cookies the other day,” she told me, “but I didn’t know what number to put the oven on, so I just turned the knob as far as it would go. I guess that was wrong, huh?” Seeing the fury on my face, she added quickly, “I turned it off as soon as I saw the black smoke.”
I looked at the clock, and my anger turned to panic. Mom would be back soon! “Angela,”—I spat out the ultimate threat between clenched teeth—“if you don’t help get this kitchen cleaned fast, I will never give you a piggyback ride again!”
Angela’s eyes widened, and she grabbed the sponge. She started wiping the counter, making big doughy streaks in the flour she had spilled while making the cookies. While we worked to get the worst of the mess cleaned up, Angela talked a blue streak about how she and Carrie were going to be world-famous cooks. I looked at the black blobs in the garbage can and had to admire her optimism. I was awfully glad that I had my first-aid class the next day, though. I didn’t think I could take another afternoon like this one.
“Angela, how about another snack?” I figured food would keep her quiet, and I didn’t know how much more of her jabbering I could take. I opened a can of little hot dogs. The food didn’t slow her down a bit; she was still talking a mile a minute. I growled, “Angela, if you don’t stop talking while you’re eating, you’re going to choke.”
All of a sudden, Angela got very quiet. She had a funny look on her face, and she was turning blue!
Without thinking about it, I reached over and whacked her on the back. Nothing happened. Then I remembered the Heimlich maneuver. It’s to help someone who has something caught in his throat and can’t cough it up. I’d just learned it last week in first-aid class.
I was scared. I’d only tried the maneuver on the dummy there, and I knew it should only be used in a real emergency or the person could be hurt badly. But Angela looked like she was going to pass out any minute. I heard my voice saying, “Don’t be afraid, Angela. I know what to do. I’m going to stand behind you like this. …”
I put my arms around her in a bear hug from behind, right below the rib cage, as the instructor had demonstrated. I made a fist with my left hand, thumbside against her stomach, and grasped the fist with my other hand. Taking a deep breath, I gave a sudden squeeze.
Angela made a funny choking sound, and the meat popped out onto the floor. She started breathing and crying at the same time and wrapped herself around me like a pretzel. That was OK with me—I was so glad to hear her breathing again that I wouldn’t have cared if she’d hung on all day.
Now both Mom and Angela think I’m terrific—or, as Angela says, “a world-famous hero!” And Mom said that as a reward for my heroism I don’t have to do the dishes for a week.
I’ve decided that Angela isn’t such a bad kid after all. She’s just different. “Unique,” Mom says. But then so am I. Unique, I mean.
And I’ve decided something else: Angela can have all the piggyback rides she wants—this week anyway.

Dirk set the tip of the shovel into the sod and pushed hard on it with his foot. The shovel made a crunchy sound as it cut through the tough grass that had started creeping into his mother’s iris garden. Although his arms and shoulders were tired, Dirk had to admit that the iris bed was beginning to look much better. Earlier his mother had told him that if he helped her Saturday morning he could do whatever he wanted in the afternoon.
While he was digging and shaking the soil from the tangled grass roots, Dirk thought about batting a few balls with Ethan, Rick, Chad, and some of his other friends over at the park. Spring had seemed so late that they’d hardly had any time for baseball practice.
Dirk set the shovel aside and went to get the rake to finish his job. His mother had been separating and thinning her iris plants while he worked and had a pile of them at one end of the garden.
“What are you going to do with all of those?” Dirk asked.
“Aunt Maria wants a few of the yellow ones. And Mrs. Cox asked me to save her half a dozen of the blue irises.” Mother shook her head. “It seems a pity.”
“A pity?” Dirk echoed.
“A pity to throw the rest away when they could brighten a yard somewhere. If we just knew someone who could make use of them.” Mother laughed. “But through the years as I’ve separated my plants, I’ve given starts to everyone in the neighborhood who had space. The neighbors have traded back and forth until every yard on the street is filled with flowers.”
“Not every yard,” Dirk said. And he looked surprised as an idea popped into his head. “Hey, Mom, may I have the extra irises?” he asked eagerly. “There is one spot on our street that doesn’t look good. You know, the old vacant lot that’s too little for a house. No one takes care of it.”
“That’s true,” Mother said. “Mr. McCarty lives right next door to it and kept the lot looking nice for years. But now he’s barely able to keep up his own yard and no one else has cared about doing it.”
Dirk nodded in agreement. “Everyone says it’s an eyesore, but no one does anything about it. People passing the lot often throw papers on it and the kids don’t care either. I guess we’re all to blame. Maybe we’d all be more careful if a few flowers were growing there, and iris plants spread fast.”
“And they don’t need as much water as most flowers do,” Mother added.
“I could carry water until they get started,” Dirk suggested. “I believe even a few flowers near the sidewalk at the front of that lot would make people think twice before they threw trash in there.”
“I’m sure they would,” Mother said. “You have a great idea, Dirk, and are welcome to all of the plants you want. Maybe I can even find a little time to help you later this afternoon.”
After lunch Dirk was so busy raking leaves and grass and rubbish from the spot he had chosen for planting his irises on the little lot that he hardly looked up. He collected three bags of rubbish before he cleared a spot large enough to suit him. Then he started spading up the earth. When Ethan saw Dirk digging he came across the street to find out what his friend was doing. “That looks like work!” Ethan said.
Dirk answered with a grin, “It’s work all right, but it’s fun.”
After he explained about the iris plants he asked, “Do you want to help me?”
Ethan thought for a moment and then he nodded. “I’ll go home and get a shovel. This old lot has looked awful for a long time.” In a few minutes Ethan came back with a shovel and a rake. He was grinning as he explained, “I told my mother about your idea and she thinks it’s great. She’s separating some big double shasta daisies and we can plant them right next to the fence. My dad says he’ll come help us after while.”
The boys worked fast, pausing only to grin at each other now and then. They were so busy they didn’t see Monica walk by until she asked them, “Why are you raking and digging in this old vacant lot?”
The boys explained about the iris plants and the daisies. In unison, they asked, “Want to help us?”
“The old lot looks better already,” Monica said. “I’ll be glad to help. I’ll go home and get a shovel.”
In a few minutes she was back with her older sister, Andrea, who carried a box with six peony plants to put near Ethan’s double shasta daisies.
Before Dirk had finished spading his iris bed, Chad came to see why they were all so busy and decided he wanted to help too. He went home for a rake and brought back four yellow rose bushes to put at the back of the little lot where they could grow tall against the back fence.
Mr. McCarty hobbled out to see what was going on next door. His eyes brightened with interest. “I’ve wished many times that I could still take care of this plot,” the old man said, smiling happily. “If you folks are willing to plant and care for some flowers, then the least I can do is provide the water for you. We can just pull my garden hose through the fence whenever the place needs watering.”
Dirk was grateful for Mr. McCarty’s offer for he hadn’t looked forward to carrying water to get all the plants started.
The afternoon went by quickly. With so many working together, there was a lot of talk and laughter and fun. Before the sun went down, nearly everyone on the street had come to help, to offer plants or fertilizer or hours of care to keep the garden blooming.
When they had finished and each family had taken a few boxes or bags of rubbish to put out with their own garbage, they all came back to look at their new garden.
“I believe that this will be the loveliest garden in our whole neighborhood,” said Mr. McCarty. “It’s a very special spot now because it’s everybody’s garden. Not only will we enjoy it, but everyone who walks or drives past will have a spot of beauty to enjoy in place of that awful eyesore.”
Everybody’s garden, Dirk thought happily as he walked home. It was going to be fun to have everyone working together to make something beautiful.

One night I was kneeling at my bed, asking Heavenly Father if He would help me have more faith, remembering a New Testament scripture where a disciple asked Jesus Christ to “increase our faith” (see Luke 17:5). I had no idea that soon after this prayer, I would face some of the hardest of trials in my life. I’m so grateful that I was already seeking to increase my faith in the Savior when those trials hit, because I don’t know how I would have survived them without my Heavenly Father’s help.
A few days after that prayer, I had a terrible accident where I almost lost my left hand and had to get all my fingers on that hand amputated. Obviously my life was never the same again. Even though I felt the love of my Heavenly Father and of my family and friends through the long process of surgeries and therapies, it was so hard.
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.
When my mission ended, all those experiences helped me stay hopeful in the chaotic and superficial world back home. I returned home at a very difficult time for my family and my country. There were many political and economic problems, and many families were emigrating to other countries because of the lack of employment and education opportunities. I couldn’t believe that things had changed so much in such a short time, even within my own family. Some of my loved ones and friends had also passed away. I felt so overwhelmed with all the difficulties surrounding me.
One day, feeling discouraged, I took out my study notebook and began to write about the feelings in my heart. I thought of the many experiences I had had while serving others on my mission. Recalling those special experiences was exactly what I needed to lose myself even more in His work, to serve and continue to develop the gifts that He has blessed me with. That day a very special phrase that my mission president’s wife always repeated to us stood out to me: “You can do hard things.” I have tried to remember that continuously, including while learning to use a prosthetic hand and trying to live a normal life.
Throughout the adversity I’ve faced, my testimony has grown—especially my faith in miracles. Miracles happen if we set out to do something with determination, consistency, and faith. Those who believe in Heavenly Father can have always have hope in any circumstances.
I know that the trials in my earthly life will continue, but I shouldn’t fear because trials can bring us closer to Heavenly Father, who can help us know how to progress. My accident and every difficult challenge I’ve been through since remind me to turn Heavenly Father for help. And He has helped me change for the better. I am so glad I prayed for more faith, and I know through my trials, I have been able to serve Heavenly Father and get so much closer to Him. Despite how my life has been altered by my trials, I’m truly happy and I’m so thankful to have come so far with Heavenly Father’s help. I can’t wait for the day when I am resurrected—when I’m able to see Him again and tell Him, “Thank you! Thank you for humbling me, thank you for shaping me, thank you for ‘increasing my faith!’”

Many years ago in a general conference, I spoke of how José de Souza Marques understood the words of the Savior that “if any man among you be strong in the Spirit, let him take with him him that is weak, that he may … become strong also.”6
Brother Marques knew the name of every sheep in his priests quorum and realized that Fernando was missing. He hunted for Fernando at his house, then looked for him at a friend’s home, and even went to the beach.
He finally found Fernando surfing in the ocean. He did not hesitate until the boat sank, like in Daniel’s story. He immediately entered the water to rescue his lost sheep, bringing him home rejoicing.7
He then ensured through continual ministering that Fernando never again would leave the fold.8
Allow me to update you on what has happened since Fernando was rescued and to share the joy that came from rescuing just one lost sheep. Fernando married his sweetheart, Maria, in the temple. They now have 5 children and 13 grandchildren, all of whom are active in the Church. Many other relatives and their families have also joined the Church. Together they have submitted thousands of their ancestors’ names to receive temple ordinances, and the blessings just keep coming.
Fernando is now serving as bishop for the third time, and he continues to rescue, just like he was rescued. He recently shared, “In our ward, we have 32 active young men of the Aaronic Priesthood, 21 of whom were rescued in the last 18 months.” As individuals, families, quorums, auxiliaries, classes, and home and visiting teachers, we can do that!

Another time I was in a distant city. After a conference we were ordaining and setting apart leaders. As we concluded, the stake president asked, “Can we ordain a young man to be an elder who is leaving for the mission field?” The answer, of course, was yes.

As the young man came forward, he motioned for three brethren to follow and stand in for his ordination.

I noticed on the back row a carbon copy of this boy, and I asked, “Is that your father?”

The young man said, “Yes.”

I said, “Your father will ordain you.”

And he protested, “But I’ve already asked another brother to ordain me.”

And I said, “Young man, your father will ordain you, and you’ll live to thank the Lord for this day.”

Then the father came forward.

Thank goodness he was an elder. Had he not been, he soon could have been! In the military they would call that a battlefield commission. Sometimes such things are done in the Church.

The father did not know how to ordain his son. I put my arm around him and coached him through the ordinance. When he was finished, the young man was an elder. Then something wonderful happened. Completely changed, the father and son embraced. It was obvious that had never happened before.

The father, through his tears, said, “I didn’t get to ordain my other boys.”

Think how much more was accomplished than if another had ordained him, even an Apostle.

While serving in the Bolivia Cochabamba Mission, my companion and I were assigned to labor in Villamontes (now part of the Bolivia Santa Cruz Mission). This remote village lies in the southeastern corner of Bolivia. The closest town is 90 kilometers away. Because Villamontes did not have a baptismal font, we performed baptisms in the nearby Pilcomayo River.
Our labors were meeting with some success, and we were having quite a few baptisms in the river. It seemed a good location until we began to hear rumors about piranhas. Standing waist-deep in water infested with carnivorous fish did not sound like something we wanted to do, but we didn’t have another place to perform these important ordinances. We ignored the rumors until a Church member actually caught one of the fish and showed it to us. The piranha’s sharp teeth alarmed us. Still, the Lord’s work must go forward, and we trusted in Him to protect us.
We needed His protection at our next baptism because seasonal rains had caused the river to rise to treacherous levels, clogging it with logs, sticks, and other debris. We were convinced we had to find another place to baptize.
After days of looking, we finally decided to perform a baptism in a member’s cistern—a small water tank. The cistern was so small we wondered if two people would fit into it. But both the convert and the priesthood holder climbed in, and the convert was baptized by immersion.
We had another baptism the following week, and the cistern was no longer available. So we performed the baptism in a small cement tub. Again both the convert and the priesthood holder stepped into the tiny makeshift font. The boy being baptized had to kneel down to be immersed.
After that baptism, we started thinking about where we could have future baptisms. The problem was urgent because three more people were scheduled for baptism the following Sunday. Fortunately, a district conference was going to be held in Yacuiba, and the meetinghouse there had a baptismal font. We traveled there for the baptismal service.
At the service, our mission president told us that because of the growth of the Church in Villamontes, that small village would receive a baptismal font. We were overjoyed.
Our experiences in Villamontes taught us that when we work hard, the Lord always provides a way for us to accomplish what He has asked. The Lord’s work will always move forward, with or without piranhas.

Five years later I met some full-time missionaries serving in Delhi and knew immediately that I wanted to serve a mission. In August 1993 I received a call to serve in the India Bangalore Mission, but I was deeply concerned as I entered the mission field against my father’s wishes.
Halfway through my mission, I spoke with my mission president, Gurcharan Singh Gill, about my parents. Although by that time missionaries had been assigned to work in my hometown, my parents speak a native dialect and could not be taught by the English-speaking missionaries. My greatest desire was to have my parents united with me and my brother and sisters in the gospel.
Soon after my conversation with President Gill, he assigned me to go to Rajahmundry to assist with translation and to give me an opportunity to teach my parents. I had spent many years pleading with Father in Heaven to soften my parents’ hearts so they could recognize the truth. When I arrived after a 20-hour train ride, I could see that my prayers had been answered. My father had changed his mind and was supportive of me as a missionary.
A week later I taught my parents the first discussion. It was wonderful to watch my father, who had converted to Christianity when he married my mother, express his love and gratitude to Father in Heaven and Jesus Christ. My parents accepted the Book of Mormon and agreed to hear the other discussions. I was overjoyed.
Then my father began building a house and seldom had time to listen to anything more about the Church. Knowing the power of fasting and prayer, I decided to fast and pray that my father would be able to set aside time to hear the rest of the discussions. Soon after, we were able to continue with the discussions.
My parents accepted the challenge to be baptized. The zone leader interviewed them, and afterward I asked anxiously, “How did it go?”
“They’re ready!” he said.
I was very happy. During the baptismal service, I felt the Spirit so strongly that I cried for joy. Kommu Appo Rao and Kommu Mani were baptized in June 1994 on a very hot day in Rajahmundry. Finally my family was united in the true Church!
I am grateful to our Father in Heaven and to my mission president for sending me to be a missionary to my own parents.

One of my earliest memories is of attending Sunday School class as a five-year-old in the basement of our old ward meetinghouse. I recall one day watching the dust particles move in the shafts of bright sunlight as our teacher read to us the story of how Joseph Smith prayed and our Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ came and stood before him. I can still feel myself sitting there, looking and listening, surrounded by the towers of sunlight. But most of all, I remember the warm feeling swelling within me when I heard about Joseph Smith seeing and talking to our Heavenly Father.
Later that day at home, I found a book of my father’s that looked like the one my teacher had read from. I didn’t know at the time that it was a copy of the Triple Combination. I couldn’t read it, but just holding the book in my hands and looking at its pages recaptured for me what I had felt in Sunday School.

Why is it that the most impoverished seem to know best how to thank the Lord? In the highlands of Guatemala, members barely subsist. Going to the temple requires great sacrifice. A visit takes a year of preparation. There is hard work, sacrifice to save money and food, the spinning, dyeing, and weaving of new clothing. There is the long, barefoot walk out of the mountains, the crossing of Lake Isabel, the bus rides with little food. Tired and worn, they arrive at the temple. They scrub until they shine, dress in their new clothing, and enter the house of the Lord.

Reclothed in white, they are taught by the Spirit, receive ordinances, and make covenants. One highland woman was greatly touched by the spirit and meaning of the endowment. Entering the celestial room, she saw others seated, with heads reverently bowed. Innocently, she knelt at the entrance to the room, oblivious to others. She bowed her head, sobbed, and for 20 minutes poured out her heart to her Father in Heaven. Finally, with her dress soaked with tears, she raised her head. The sensitive temple matron asked, “May I help?” She responded, “Oh, would you? This is my problem: I’ve tried to tell Father in Heaven of my gratitude for all of my blessings, but I don’t feel that I’ve communicated. Will you help me tell Him how grateful I am?”

“I hate to change horses in the middle of the stream.”
“No. Don’t think of it like that.”
“How else can I think of it?”
“Well, okay, you’re at this corral, see, and there’s all these horses milling around. At first you picked out this rather ordinary quarter horse named Kyle. But then you spot this magnificent Arabian named Elliott. So you turn to the man in charge of the horses and you ask, ‘Would it be all right if I changed my mind and took that Arabian instead of the one I originally picked?’ And the cowboy says, ‘Hey, Lady, it’s no skin off my nose.’ So you pick the Arabian. What I’m trying to say is, don’t think of it as changing horses in the middle of the stream. In the middle of the stream would be if you were officially engaged, which you’re not. But this is still in the corral. I think you should keep that in mind.”
She smiled. “You had to be the Arabian, didn’t you?”

Tomorrow was Christmas!
Jacob helped Mom make sugar cookies. They made them in fun shapes. Stars. Candy canes. Snowmen. Christmas trees.
Mom made frosting. Jacob helped frost the cookies. Jacob and Mom put sprinkles on the frosting. Jacob was having fun.
But Jacob kept thinking. There were lots of presents under the Christmas tree. One of them was wrapped in red paper. It had Jacob’s name on it. He thought maybe it was a soccer ball. Jacob loved soccer.
Tomorrow was so far away. Jacob wiggled in his chair. He wanted Christmas now!
“Time for dinner,” Mom said. It was chicken noodle soup. That was Jacob’s favorite! But all through dinner Jacob wiggled. It was just too hard to wait for Christmas.
After dinner the family went to the living room. Jacob tried to sit still. But he kept wiggling. He wanted to open his presents.
Jacob’s family had a Christmas program. They sang “Silent Night.” Then Dad read about when Jesus was born.
Jacob stopped wiggling. He felt peaceful. He remembered that Christmas was about Jesus.
Mom prayed. Then Jacob hugged her.
“Jesus is the best part of Christmas!” he said.

The Prophet Joseph Smith petitioned the Lord on two occasions, asking if a prominent friend, Martin Harris, could take the first 116 handwritten pages of translated material from the book of Lehi from Harmony, Pennsylvania, back to Palmyra. Each time, the Lord counseled Joseph to avoid entrusting the manuscript to Mr. Harris.
Martin was seeking to use the translated material as evidence to stop his associates from spreading rumors about his friendship with Joseph Smith. On the third request the Lord granted Joseph’s appeal.
Martin lost the manuscript, and as a result the plates were taken from the Prophet Joseph Smith for an extended period. This was a painful lesson for the Prophet Joseph, who said, “I made this my rule: When the Lord commands, do it.” This should and can be our rule as well.

Take the month’s Young Women–Young Men combined activity, for example. The activity is a special-needs night. They are going to learn what it’s like to be restricted to a wheelchair or find out how handicapped accessible their building is. They are also going to have someone give demonstrations on how it feels to be blind or deaf. But this isn’t just a nice activity. The youth are learning what some of their own ward members are going through. The mother of two of the young men is confined to a wheelchair. It would help if some of their friends knew what they could do to help her on occasion. The other youth of the ward need to learn in what ways she struggles.
One young woman’s grandfather is blind. She will demonstrate how to be an effective guide. Another ward member is hearing impaired. A young woman is planning to demonstrate some of the things that restrict this sister because of her deafness. The activity is a good one, but it is even better because it meets the needs of several of the youth and ward members.
In youth council, the group in charge has divided the work for the activity night into six assignments. One group quickly volunteers to round up some wheelchairs. Another offers to bring refreshments. Another offers to do the publicity. Soon the last assignment, cleanup, needs to be made. Again, it goes to the deacons. Everyone starts to laugh. The deacons haven’t learned how to speak up quickly enough on assignments and usually wait too long and get stuck with cleanup. But they are good-natured about it. It’s a job they know how to do well.

The second lost horizon may be in physical soundness. More than a strengthening of muscles, there comes a strengthening of resolve, self-discipline, and carriage when one participates in athletic endeavors. My brother Gus and I occasionally would have to walk the eight kilometers from our high school to the area where we lived after having participated in a football scrimmage or training for a track meet. To many this seemed foolish, but there was a certain satisfaction in having persevered in an overwhelming physical challenge.