Gospel Story Finder

When I was a little older, I went with my dad on a business trip for his manufacturing company. We were to meet with a purchasing (buying) agent from a large company. My dad had always wanted to do business with them, but he had never been offered the opportunity.
When we met with the agent, he told us that we could have the project they were offering—if we increased the price and secretly sent him the extra money. My father said that we would call him later with our decision, and we left.
“What do you think we should do?” Dad asked me. He pointed out how much this project could benefit our company. He said that we could give more people jobs and accomplish much good.
Then he taught me something I have never forgotten. He said that if we were to be dishonest in even this one business dealing, we could seriously damage a reputation for honesty that took years to build. He turned the offer down. I am happy that he showed the courage to be honest at all times, even when the temptation was great.

This story happened in Taiwan.
“Are you ready?” Terry’s older sister, Hailey, popped her head into his room. “It’s time to go practice for the Christmas play.”
Oh yeah! Terry and Hailey were in a special play for their ward Christmas party.
“Almost ready!” Terry pulled on his jacket and walked to the front door. “Who else will be there?”
“Mia and Jake. And some kids from Jake’s school,” Mom said. “The other kids don’t go to our church, but they’re excited to help.”
Terry froze. He didn’t realize there would be kids he didn’t know at the practice. There was no way he would be brave enough to say his lines in front of them.
“I don’t want to go anymore,” Terry said.
“Why not?” Mom asked.
“I don’t know the other kids,” Terry said. He always got nervous talking to new people.
“But you can make new friends. And I’ll be there with you,” Hailey said.
Terry shook his head. “Maybe next time. Can we practice my lines at home for now?”
Mom nodded. “OK. But if you want to be in the play, you’ll need to practice with the other kids soon.”
Terry liked practicing at home. It was easy! But he knew he needed to practice with the other kids too.
At family prayer a few nights later, Terry had an idea.
“Can we pray that I’ll have courage to join the practice?” Terry said. “Maybe Heavenly Father can help me.”
“Of course,” Dad said. “Good idea.”
They all closed their eyes and folded their arms.
“Dear Heavenly Father,” Dad prayed, “please help Terry to have the courage to go to play practice.”
On the day of the next practice, Terry walked into the church with Mom and Hailey. His heart was beating fast, but he wanted to try. He felt ready. Heavenly Father and Jesus must be helping me! he thought.
“Terry! We’re so glad to see you,” Sister Tee said.
Terry smiled and nodded. Lots of other kids were already talking and laughing. He saw Jake and Mia. But he didn’t know the others.
Sister Tee told the kids where to sit and when to speak while they practiced. Terry was still nervous to sit by kids he didn’t know, but he tried to remember Dad’s prayer. It helped him feel better.
They practiced the songs and their lines over and over. The kids sitting by Terry were fun. They made him laugh a lot!
A few days later, it was time to for the play. The church was decorated with lots of Christmas trees, lights, and ribbons. Everyone wore red and green.
Terry hardly felt nervous anymore. He liked being with the other kids, even the ones he didn’t know before!
During the play, Terry felt good. And when it was his turn to speak, he said his lines loud and clear.
After the play, Terry found his family.
“Great job!” Dad said.
Mom smiled. “You looked like you had a lot of fun.”
“I did! I’m glad I was brave enough to do it,” Terry said.
Terry couldn’t have done it without Mom, Dad, Hailey, and Heavenly Father. Praying for help and being brave was totally worth it!

It was among those few that the message of the restored Church began to take root. The Bamandla family of Hyderabad were already Christians when they first encountered the missionaries. Anita, 14, tells of how her brother first met the elders as they were looking for water for a baptism. When they came to her home and taught the family, Anita says simply, “I was very happy.”

After the elders came to the Bamandla home, the family began to have all sorts of problems. “That was Satan trying to stop us from coming to Christ,” says Anita. The branch president, the members, and the elders provided encouragement, the Spirit provided strength, and “we took baptism and we come to church regularly.” Interestingly enough, the Bamandlas had not been very active in their former church because it was so far from their home. But where the Hyderabad Fourth Branch meets is even more distant. Now, distance doesn’t keep them away.

“We are blessed very much,” Anita continues. “I can’t express the blessings. Our Father in Heaven is so good. I love my Father. I love my Jesus Christ.”

Now it’s the day after our report on Finland. Yeah, I know about humility, and I know you shouldn’t take pride in worldly kinds of things, so I’ll just say this once: Joe and I were stupendous. By the end of our presentation, everyone was spooning our fruity kisseli, reading literature from the Finnish Embassy, and enjoying Greg’s slides. Even crusty old Mr. Barnes stood up at the end and said we did a good job. I can see the A on my report card now.
Things are quiet tonight in the Grundy household. I am still basking in the glow of our social studies triumph. Life is sweet right now.
The phone rings. Philip answers it. “It’s for you, Ben. It’s a girl.”
All activity in our household—except for breathing—comes to a stop as every Grundy focuses on me. A girl calling Ben Grundy. This is history.
I slowly rise and stiffly walk to the phone. Destiny beckons. I fumble for the receiver and croak, “Hello?”
“Ben … hi, this is Margaret Gromo. I know it’s late to be asking, but if you aren’t going to the dance, I was wondering if you would want to go with me?”
My mind goes blank. I mean, the blackboard of my brain is wiped clean. Several long, difficult seconds pass. Then one thought comes blasting through the gray matter.
What’s the cool thing to do?
I draw a deep breath. Time for the new version of Ben Grundy to take over. “I haven’t been asked. And I think we’ll have a good time …”
* * *
And Margaret and I do have a good time. I keep thinking about what is cool. Cool really doesn’t have a lot to do with how you talk or how you dress, whether you drive a sports car or a station wagon, or who you’re seen with and where. Cool is how you treat people. Whether you help make them feel good or bad about themselves, if you’re a friend or not. If you remember every one of them is a child of God and treat them the way they should be treated, that’s totally cool. Take it from someone who has been around a lot of cool lately. Cool Ben Grundy.
Has a nice ring to it. And I think it’s entirely within my reach.

As I casually peered out the window, an unexpected stomach spasm began at the sight of an all-too-familiar car pulling into our driveway. It shot from the pit of my stomach, tickling its way upward, stopping briefly to flip-flop my heart, then climaxed in my throat with a delighted scream. Matthew Conally was here! Actually here at my house! He was only the most coveted hero on campus. And he was actually here!
I began to run to the door, but just as I realized it wouldn’t look cool, I tripped, falling flat on my face, and from my now horizontal position, I had a horrifyingly realistic view of our living room floor. It was covered with blocks, Lincoln logs, doll clothes, doll furniture, a dollhouse, and among other things, that rotten Tonka truck I had just tripped over.
As I picked myself up, another unexpected spasm began. Only it began in my throat, draining all the moisture, and dropped downward until it landed with a painful thump in the pit of my stomach. The living room was a total disaster area! What kind of an impression would it make? Grabbing up an armful of coats, newspapers, and books, I relocated them into the next room. Next, I began kicking anything else that would fit into and under the sofa and then threw the cushions back into their natural position on top. As I ran past the window, I could see that Matthew was having a hard time climbing over the tricycles in the driveway. I dumped another quick load down the hall just as the doorbell rang. A final glance around the room revealed that I had cleared out most of the clutter.
Putting on my calmest smile and trying to concentrate all my 16 years into a look of maturity, I opened the door. Then there we were, face to face, Matthew Conally and me, his biggest fan.
“Well hi!” I said in my sweetest, most surprised voice.
“Hi. How are you?” came his refined reply.
“Just fine. Won’t you come in?” I most invitingly smiled back.
Matthew strolled through the door and handed me a book.
“Well, I just dropped by to bring you back your book. You left it in the car the other night. You know, the night I brought the gang home.”
“Oh, really? Gee, thanks for bringing it by. I was beginning to wonder where I had left it.” That was my coolest response yet, but I was letting my cool go too far. I knew darn well that I had left it on purpose as an excuse to see him again.
But of all times, why had he chosen this day to return it! The whole house was such a mess because I was in charge. Mother was in the hospital with a new baby. It was very evident that I wasn’t as organized as she. I watched Matthew’s puzzled expression as he looked around the room and into the kitchen. That was the worst spot in the whole house! Nothing in the kitchen was in its proper place. Aside from every dish, pot, and pan piled high in the sink, every box, package, mixing bowl, and canister was stacked on the counters.
With a crush like I had on Matthew, I knew enough about his life history to write a book. He was an only child, and it didn’t take much to know he’d never seen a mess like this one. Matthew was suddenly aware I was watching him. He calmly lifted his eyebrows and tried to explain.
“Oh, I, I was just wondering if, if I could have a drink of water.” He seemed pleased at his quick response.
“Sure,” I said, “but you’ll have to excuse the mess.” This seemed like the only natural thing to say. I reluctantly led him into the kitchen and was even further embarrassed to find that there weren’t any clean cups. Quickly I grabbed a clean bowl and filled it. Then I handed it to him with an apologetic smile.
“You’re lucky today,” I chuckled encouragingly, “sometimes it gets down to plates!” Matthew didn’t say anything. I was going to explain about Mom and the new baby and me being in charge of eight younger brothers and sisters, plus the house, when Kent and Steve came running into the kitchen chasing each other. They made it around our legs twice and over the kitchen table, throwing chairs for barricades. After they had made two more laps, I was furious and, without thinking, handed the baby I had rescued from the floor to Matthew and excused myself.
I ran after the boys, even though their size was in their favor. They darted around the furniture in the bedroom—over, under, through, and between. I finally caught two handfuls of hair and found, much to my delight, a brother attached to each. After threatening them with the termination of their lives, I returned to the living room, panting. There I found Matthew still holding little Jerry in the same position. He hadn’t moved an inch. It was obvious he didn’t know what to do with the baby. When he saw me, he quickly handed him back, giving Jerry a nasty little smile.
“What in the world is he wearing?” he asked.
“Oh … ah … it’s a towel. We’re all out of clean diapers.”
We sat down as I tried to explain about the circumstances.
“You see, the washing hasn’t been done yet. My mom is in the—” Again my explanation was interrupted. Matthew’s eyes suddenly grew terrified, and he opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something. Quickly I grabbed Jerry, prying his teeth away from Matthew’s arm. Little Jerry was teething and happened to like the feel of flesh against his sore little mouth. But Matthew didn’t understand.
“I think he likes you,” I told him reassuringly.
“And I think you’re right,” he replied as the baby once again squirmed his way back onto his lap. But this time, very much to Matthew’s relief, Jerry sat quietly, beaming his toothy grin. Then into the room came Kent and Steve and Lori and Cathy, dancing and singing, “Ginnie’s got a boyfriend! Ginnie’s got a boyfriend!” One glance at the look on my face, and they knew it was time to leave.
My anger and embarrassment were suddenly forgotten as I heard Matthew’s terrified voice announce, “I think he’s wet!” Again I quickly rescued Jerry from his lap. Jerry wasn’t wearing plastic pants and, boy, was Matthew soaked!
“Where’s the bathroom?”
“Gosh, I’m sorry about all this.”
Matthew followed me down the hall. Then as I opened the door I found myself staring at another embarrassing mess! I had forgotten I had hung flannel sheets in place of towels on the racks. Again I was apologizing.
“I used all the towels as diapers!”
“What kind of a madhouse do you live in?” I was surprised to find his good looks fading away with his anger. “This place ought to be condemned!”
Matthew stomped into the bathroom and slammed the door behind him as I began to apologize. The doorbell rang. I slowly walked down the hall back to the living room and sank down onto the sofa. I just couldn’t face anyone now.
The bathroom door swung angrily open. Out charged Matthew with a huge wet spot on his pants. It looked terrible. He said nothing, just stormed out of the house.
“My mom had a baby,” I quietly called after him. “It was a girl.”
The front door had been left open and in through it came Charlie. Good old Charlie Miller, the best piggyback-ride-giver and sidewalk-snow-shoveler in the neighborhood, with a smile big enough to make a pumpkin jealous.
“Hi, Ginnie! I rang the bell, but nobody answered. Hey, what’s wrong? What was Matthew Conally doing here?”
He sat down and listened as I told him about the whole horrible mess. Suddenly I was surprised to hear the sound of laughter. Charlie thought it was funny! And then I was laughing, too. We howled until we thought we’d break. The tears were rolling down my face from pure delight. How come everything suddenly seemed so funny?
Charlie had come over with a pie his mother had baked. But it was after he had changed Jerry’s diapers and was helping with the dishes that I realized he was truly something special. Quietly I slipped my name bracelet into his coat pocket—just in case he needed a reason to come back over.

Jared was excited when Mom and Dad brought his new brother home from the hospital. Jared liked to play with his sister, Catherine, but he was glad that now he’d have a brother to play games with.
When he first saw David, Jared could hardly believe his eyes—the baby was so tiny and wiggly! Jared had forgotten that he and Catherine had been little and wiggly too.
“How long will it be until David can play ball with me?” Jared asked his mother.
“It will be a few years yet,” she answered. “But don’t worry—there will be plenty of things to do with your brother before then.”
David grew bigger every day. He and Jared did find a lot of things to do together. They often played computer games. David would watch and clap his hands as Jared’s “good guys” chased the “bad guys” across the monitor. Sometimes they played army men. David would sit in his swing, chewing a soldier, while Jared made battle sounds with the other soldiers. Sometimes Jared would lie down with David to help him go to sleep. Jared was always very careful because David was still small.
Whenever it was Jared’s turn to say the family prayer, he thanked Heavenly Father for David, and he asked Him to bless and protect David.
When fall came, Jared started first grade. He wasn’t sure he wanted to go to school, because he would miss playing with David.
Mom knew how much Jared would miss David, so when Jared came home from school, David would be sitting in front of the picture window, looking out. As soon as he saw his big brother, David would wave his arms excitedly.
One day Mom took David to Dr. Karp. David was always having earaches, and she and Dad wanted the doctor to find out why. When he finished looking at David, Dr. Karp told Mom and Dad to take David to the hospital for some tests. To help him discover what was wrong with David, Dr. Karp called Dr. Filopovich. She was a special kind of doctor who helped children fight diseases.
Before taking David to the hospital, Dad and their home teacher laid their hands on David’s head. Dad blessed David that he would get better.
David was in the children’s hospital about two weeks. The house was very quiet with David gone. Everyone missed him, especially Jared.
Dr. Filopovich went to the hospital and looked at David. She asked Mom some questions, then took a little bit of blood from David’s arm. She took the blood back to her office and looked at it under a microscope. When she had finished studying David’s blood, Dr. Filopovich met with Dr. Karp and Mom and Dad. “David’s blood is not strong,” she told them. “It can’t fight off the diseases that attack him. He needs to have a bone marrow transplant. We need to find someone who has blood just like David’s, only stronger, and take some bone marrow from that person and give it to David.”
Before family prayer that night Jared asked, “Will David die if we can’t find someone who has the right kind of blood?”
Dad put his arm around Jared. “David won’t die,” he assured Jared. “I know this because the Lord witnessed it to me when I gave David his blessing. Maybe one of us has the right kind of blood.”
Jared felt better. But before going to bed, he prayed, “Please, Heavenly Father, make my blood be the same as David’s.”
The next day Jared and Catherine and Mom and Dad went to Dr. Filopovich’s office. She took a little bit of blood from each of them. A short time later she called to say that both Jared and Catherine had the same kind of blood that David did.
Mom and Dad talked to Jared. They told him that they thought Catherine was too young to understand David’s problem and that she would be too frightened to give David some of her bone marrow. They asked Jared if he would be willing to give some of his to David.
“Will it hurt?” Jared asked.
“Yes, it will,” Mom told him. “I wish I could tell you it won’t, but I think you’d rather I told you the truth.”
Jared watched David crawl across the rug. He said, “I want to help David. I asked Heavenly Father to make my blood be the same as David’s, and it is. So I’ll do it.”
Jared loved his baby brother, but as the time to go to the hospital came closer, he was as frightened as he was brave. Mom and Dad hugged him, and Dad gave Jared a father’s blessing in which he told Jared how proud he and Mom and Heavenly Father were of him. He blessed Jared with peace of mind and promised him that it wouldn’t hurt very long.
David was put in a special room at the hospital. Jared and Mom and Dad could just walk in and visit David, but the doctors and nurses had to wear masks and gowns before they could go into his room.
Jared’s room was in a different part of the hospital. Although he had two roommates, he had a dresser all his own, and he even had his own television. The first night he was there, he had wheelchair races with his roommates, and they watched a movie on a huge television down the hall.
When Jared went to bed, though, it was too quiet. His roommates quickly fell asleep, the nurses were busy in other rooms, and his parents had gone home. Jared was lonely and scared until he remembered the blessing Dad had given him. “I bless you with peace of mind,” his father had said. Jared had a contented feeling and soon fell fast asleep.
The next morning Jared got to ride in a wheelchair to the operating room. Dr. Filopovich was waiting for him there. She smiled at Jared and told him that he would go to sleep for a while. “When you wake up,” she said, “it will be all over.”
Jared breathed into a funny thing shaped like a cup and was soon asleep. While he slept, doctors took some bone marrow from his hipbone and sent it up to David’s room, where another doctor put it into David’s bloodstream. David’s heart would send it to different areas in his body, and in a few months David would have stronger blood.
Even before Jared woke up, his body knew that some bone marrow was missing. It began to make some more. In just a few days his body would make enough marrow to replace all that Jared had given to David.
When Jared awoke, Mom and Dad were there, smiling at him. A nurse gave him a Popsicle. Jared asked, “Is it over? Does David have some of my blood now?”
“Yes, it’s all over,” Dad said. “You were very brave and good, and we are very proud of you.”
Jared stayed in the hospital one more night. He hurt a little, but not as much as he’d thought he would. Dr. Karp called Jared on the telephone and told him that the transplant had gone well. He told Jared, “I think David will soon be well, thanks to you!”
Mom took Jared to see David the next day before going home.
“How long will David have to stay here?” Jared asked.
“Probably a few more months,” Mom answered, “until his blood is stronger. But you can come and visit him on weekends.”
Jared held David for a while. “Mom,” he asked, “do you think David knows what I did for him?”
“No, Jared, he doesn’t. But David knows that you love him. When he grows up, he’ll realize just how great that love is.”
The next day was Sunday. Jared’s Primary teacher gave a lesson about the Savior. She told the class that Jesus loved them and that He had suffered for them because He loved them. She smiled and added that they would understand His love better when they grew up.
Jared smiled back at her and said, “I think I understand already. I really do.”

President Spencer W. Kimball has recommitted us as a church to reach out to our Father’s other children.
We have been asked to lengthen our stride in two general areas. First is the need for every member of the Church to let his light so shine that others will see the gospel of Jesus Christ by example. The Lord tells us in the Doctrine and Covenants:
“And again, I say unto you, I give unto you a commandment, that every man, both elder, priest, teacher, and also member, go to with his might, with the labor of his hands, to prepare and accomplish the things which I have commanded.
“And let your preaching be the warning voice, every man to his neighbor, in mildness and in meekness.” (D&C 38:40–41.)
Every family in the Church is asked to friendship a nonmember family on a family-to-family basis.
Second, every able young man has been asked to prepare himself to serve a full-time mission. And again from the Doctrine and Covenants:
“Wherefore lay to with your might and call faithful laborers into my vineyard, that it may be pruned for the last time.
“And inasmuch as they do repent and receive the fulness of my gospel, and become sanctified, I will stay mine hand in judgment.
“Wherefore, go forth, crying with a loud voice, saying: The kingdom of heaven is at hand; crying: Hosanna! blessed be the name of the Most High God.
“Go forth baptizing with water, preparing the way before my face for the time of my coming;
“For the time is at hand; the day or the hour no man knoweth; but it surely shall come.” (D&C 39:17–21. Italics added.)
It is this last point I would like to enlarge upon. I had the honor recently of being assigned to visit the Samoa Apia Mission and attend some stake conferences in that country. I found the missionaries all well and the work progressing. One afternoon following our meeting, the mission president, Patrick Peters—who is a native Samoan—said, “Elder Dunn, there is something I’d like to show you.” We drove a few miles from the mission home and climbed the brow of a small hill to a place that was isolated by palm trees and other tropical vegetation. I suddenly realized that we were in a very old graveyard.
At the center of this graveyard was a plot that was surrounded by a cement wall low enough to step over. President and Sister Peters told me this was where some of the first missionaries in Samoa were buried. There were eight graves.
The thing that struck my interest was that out of the eight graves, four represented children under the age of two and one was a 21-year-old wife and mother. What role could these have possibly played in missionary work in Samoa?
During the next two days, when time would permit, I searched the history of the mission for an answer. While I was unable to gather information on all of the eight, I did discover the following.
In the early days of the Church it was common for young married couples to be called on missions, and some of these young couples were called to Samoa. The first person to be buried in that plot was Sister Katie Eliza Hale Merrill. She and her husband had only been on a mission for three months when she took sick and gave birth to a premature child. The child died the next day. The history says the following:
“An hour after the death of the child, the mother called Sister Lee (wife of the mission president) to her bedside and, after thanking her for waiting on her during the sickness, said that she was ‘going to die,’ that she ‘could not stay because they had come for her.’ She then talked with her husband, kissed him good-bye, and all was over. The mother and baby boy were buried in one coffin.” After his mission, Brother Merrill took the remains of his wife and infant son back to Utah for burial.
Elder Thomas H. Hilton and Sister Sarah M. Hilton were serving on a mission in Samoa where they lost three of their children between 1891 and 1894. Little Jeanette lived less than a year, George Emmett for only seven days, and Thomas Harold for a year and a half.
Of the death of Thomas Harold the record says: “On Sunday the 11th, he was not feeling very well. … For two days following he appeared to be improving, but on the morning of the 14th, his mother again became concerned about his welfare. From then until his death, on March 17, 1894, everything that loving hands could do was done for his recovery, but he grew rapidly worse. …
“Oh how loath we all were to believe that it was so! How sad to see our dear sister again bereft, and her so far from dear parents and friends who she has left for the gospel’s sake.
“Thomas Harold Hilton was about one and a half years old, a beautiful little boy and very dearly beloved by all the missionaries, as well as the natives who knew him. Much sympathy is felt for the bereaved parents and the blessings of the Lord are invoked upon them.”
At 29, Ransom Stevens was president of the Samoa Mission when stricken with typhoid fever, which was complicated by a heart problem. He died on April 23, 1894.
His widow, Sister Annie D. Stevens, started for home by steamer on May 23. She reached Ogden on Sunday, June 10, where she was met by President Joseph F. Smith and Elder Franklin D. Richards. On June 11, she had an interview with the First Presidency in Salt Lake City and then went on to her home in Fairview, Sanpete County, arriving at 6:00 P.M.
The history states, “The greetings by her friends were necessarily brief for Sister Stevens was ill and had to retire to bed early, and at 11 P.M., five hours after her arrival home, she gave birth to a nice boy.” She had gone through the whole ordeal in the advanced stages of pregnancy.
Another entry was Friday, March 2, 1900: “Little Loi Roberts was given up to die by Dr. Stuttaford at the sanatorium [in Apia]. The patient little sufferer was administered to daily, and each time he would get relief. …
His parents [Elder and Sister E. T. Roberts] were untiring in their efforts to allay pain and sufferings.”
Saturday, March 3: “Little Loi died at the sanatorium in Apia in the morning, making another sad day in the history of the mission.” Small wonder that the tombstone contained the words, “Rest sweet Loi, rest.” He was one and a half years old.
And that brings us to Elder William A. Moody and his bride, Adelia Moody. They were called on a mission from Thatcher, Graham County, Arizona, arriving in Samoa in November 1894. They must have had the same hopes and aspirations of any young couple just starting out. She gave birth to an eight-pound daughter on May 3, 1895. Three weeks later she passed away. The daughter, little Hazel Moody, was taken care of by local Saints while her father continued his mission. Finally, one year later we read the following about a steamer leaving for the United States, whose passengers included four returning elders and “also Elder Moody’s daughter, Hazel, one-year-old, who will be delivered to loving relatives in Zion.”
A price has been paid for the establishment of the gospel of Jesus Christ in the land of Samoa. It is interesting to note that much of that price was paid by little children. I suspect that there are many obscure cemeteries in many of the nations of the world similar to that little plot in Samoa. They are a mute witness to the trials and suffering that went into the beginnings of missionary work in this dispensation.
Because of advancements in the standard of living and medical technology, these kinds of trials are almost a thing of the past. In Samoa, for instance, I found the missionaries well. There are even health missionaries, including a young couple and their two children who are helping to improve the health standards of the members and looking after the health of the missionaries where needed.
The sacrifice today is mostly a sacrifice of time and money. A sacrifice of 24 months is asked of worthy young men to help move the cause of the Lord forward. Others gave their lives to get the work started, but the Lord only requires that we sacrifice some time and our means to keep his work moving throughout the world.
The story is told that toward the end of World War II an allied general came to the front lines one night to inspect his troops. As he walked along he would point out into no-man’s-land and say “Can you see them? Can you see them?”
Finally, someone said, “General, we can see nothing. What do you mean?” He said, “Can’t you see them? They’re your buddies; they are the ones who gave their lives today, yesterday, and the day before. They’re out there alright, watching you, wondering what you are going to do; wondering if they have died in vain.”
As members of this church we can ask ourselves the same question, “Can you see them?” They are the ones who paid, and some with their lives, that the gospel of the kingdom might be established in these, the last, days. They are the Hiltons, and the Robertses, and the Stevens, and the Moodys, and many others—people like you and me, who answered a call from God. I am sure they are allowed to look in on us from time to time to see how the work is going, to see what we are doing with their spiritual heritage, to see if they have died in vain.
I wonder, young man, how successful you would be in convincing a young father who had buried three of his babies in an obscure graveyard halfway around the world because of the gospel of Jesus Christ, that a mission is too much of a sacrifice because you want to buy that car or that stereo, or you don’t want to interrupt your schooling, or for some other reason.
As members of the Church, I wonder how convincing we would be in telling someone that we are just too busy and maybe just a little embarrassed to share the gospel with our neighbor, especially if that someone were a young father who had buried his bride while on his mission and sent his little girl home to be taken care of by relatives while he finished his service to the Lord.
Is it not time that we listen to a prophet’s voice? Is it not time that we lengthen our stride? Is it not time that we teach the gospel of the kingdom to the world, to our neighbor?

During the administration of President George Albert Smith, there lived in our ward an impoverished widow who cared for her three daughters, each of whom was an invalid. They were large in size and almost totally helpless. To this dear woman fell the task of bathing, feeding, dressing, and caring for her girls. Means were limited. Outside help was nonexistent. Then came the blow that the house she rented was to be sold. What was she to do? Where would she go? The bishop went to the Church Office Building to inquire if there were some way the house could be purchased. It was so small, the price so reasonable. The request was considered, then denied. A heartsick bishop was leaving the front door of the building when he met President George Albert Smith. After the exchange of greetings, President Smith inquired, “What brings you to the headquarters building?” He listened carefully as the bishop explained, but said nothing. He then excused himself for a few minutes. He returned wearing a smile and directed, “Go upstairs to the fourth floor. A check is waiting there for you. Buy the house.”

“But the request was denied.”

Again President Smith smiled and said, “It has just been reconsidered and approved.” The home was purchased. That dear widow lived there and cared for her daughters until each of them had passed away. Then she, too, went home to God and to her heavenly reward.

It had been a long, hard day. First the youth from the Ephraim Utah Stake had cleaned up an old cemetery. Then they had a picnic lunch and a water fight. Now they were on a two-mile hike to find the campground where they’d spend the night. Was there really time to stop and help the woman and children whose car had broken down on the side of the road?
There had better be. The people in the broken down car were part of the youth conference, put there to see if the youth were really learning their lessons. They were. Every group that came by offered to help.
The service-oriented youth conference also found the youth reseeding the ground cover, cleaning up trash, and making new trails in the area of a popular campground. Their service never stopped.

My aunt, Adena Nell Gourley, told of an experience from many years ago with her father—my grandfather, Helge V. Swenson, now deceased—that illustrates what I mean. She related:

Last week my daughter and I were visiting in my parents’ home. Along about sundown my mother asked if we would like to step out on the back porch and watch Father call his sheep to come into the shelter for the night. Father . . . is a stake patriarch, and you’ll understand and forgive me when I say he is the personification of all that is good and gentle and true in a man of God.
About a block and a half away from the edge of the back lawn, five . . . sheep were quietly grazing on the stubble of last summer’s wheat field. Father walked to the edge of the field and called, “Come on.” Immediately, without even stopping to bite off the mouthful of food they were reaching for, all five heads turned in his direction, and then they broke into a run until they had reached his side and received his pat on each head.
My little daughter said, “Oh, Grandmother, how did Grandfather get them to do that?”
My mother answered, “The sheep know his voice, and they love him.” Now I must confess that there were five sheep in the field, and five heads went up when he called, but only four ran to Father. Farthest away, clear over on the edge of the field, looking straight toward Father, stood [a] large [ewe]. Father called to her, “Come on.” She made a motion as if to start but didn’t come. Then Father started across the field calling to her, “Come on. You’re untied.” The other four sheep trailed behind him at his heels. Then Mother explained to us that some few weeks before this, an acquaintance of theirs had brought the [ewe] and had given it to Father with the explanation that he no longer wanted it in his own herd. The man had said it was wild and wayward and was always leading his other sheep through the fences and causing so much trouble that he wanted to get rid of it. Father gladly accepted the sheep, and for the next few days he staked it in the field so it wouldn’t go away. Then he patiently taught it to love him and the other sheep. Then, as it felt more secure in its new home, Father left a short rope around its neck but didn’t stake it down.
As Mother explained this to us, Father and his sheep had almost reached the [straggler] at the edge of the field, and through the stillness we heard him call again, “Come on. You aren’t tied down any more. You are free.”
I felt the tears sting my eyes as I saw [the sheep] give a lurch and reach Father’s side. Then, with his loving hand on her head, he and all the members of his little flock turned and walked back toward us again.
I thought how some of us, who are all God’s sheep, are bound and unfree because of our sins in the world. Standing there on the back porch, I silently thanked my Heavenly Father that there are true under-shepherds and teachers who are patient and kind and willingly teach us of love and obedience and offer us security and freedom within the flock so that, though we may be far from the shelter, we’ll recognize the Master’s voice when He calls, “Come on. Now you’re free.”

Another time when I was feeling aimless was during my final year of university. Life was tough. It was during the pandemic, so I was depressed while I was stuck at home finishing classes. There was such a lack of direction and connection in my life.
I even struggled with church at this time. I often had to make myself roll out of bed in my pajamas to listen to sacrament meeting online because that’s all the motivation I could muster.
During this dark period, I reached out to my family and friends and explained to them how aimless and depressed I felt. I didn’t feel like I had any hope for the future and didn’t know how things were going to work out. And that’s when they told me that they were praying for me and supporting me even though they were far away.
As I reached out to loved ones who have deep faith and as I prayed to Heavenly Father with just an inkling of spiritual motivation, I felt sustaining support and love.

Brigham’s search for a true religion was a long one. He, like Joseph Smith, did not join his parents’ religion. He visited the meetings of different churches and settled on being a moral, hardworking, loving husband and father. It seems clear however that Brigham was not able to be satisfied with merely a moral, hardworking life. He must have yearned for spiritual and emotional fulfillment, and for some response to nagging questions about life’s meaning. Wherever he lived he joined groups of independent seekers of truth, as did many early converts to the restored church. Brigham’s brother, Phineas was the leader of such a group and was given one of the first copies of the Book of Mormon by the Prophet’s brother, Samuel Smith. Because Phineas felt responsible to his little religious society to expose any such things “invented to lead people astray,” he read it carefully. But he could not find the errors he expected, and when he appeared before the group the next sabbath, most likely with Brigham present, he “had not spoken ten minutes in defence of the book when the Spirit of God came upon me in a marvelous manner, and I spoke at great length on the importance of such a work, quoting from the Bible to support my position, and finally closing by telling the people that I believed the book.”

Phineas lent his copy of the Book of Mormon to his father, who thought it “the greatest work he had ever seen,” then to his sister Fanny, who declared it “a revelation.” Fanny passed it on to Brigham Young who was more reserved.

Many years ago, as a bishop, I worried about any members of the ward who were inactive. Such was my thought one day as I drove down the street where Ben and Emily lived. The aches and pains of advancing years had caused them to withdraw from activity to the shelter of their home. Isolated, detached, shut out from the mainstream of daily life and association, Ben and Emily had not been in our sacrament meeting for many years.

Ben, who had many years before served as a bishop in another ward, loved to sit in his front room reading the New Testament. I was en route from my uptown sales office to our plant. For some reason, I had driven down First West, a street I never had traveled before to reach the destination of our plant. Then I felt the unmistakable prompting to park my car and visit Ben and Emily, even though I was on my way to a meeting. I did not heed the impression at first but drove on for two more blocks; however, when the impression came again, I returned to their home. I approached the door to their home and knocked. Emily opened the door and, upon seeing me—her bishop—she exclaimed, “All day long I have waited for my phone to ring. It has been silent. I hoped that the postman would deliver a letter. He brought only bills. Bishop, how did you know today is my birthday?”

I answered, “Our Heavenly Father knows, Emily, for He loves you. I don’t know why I was directed here today, but He knows. Let’s kneel in prayer and ask Him.” Ben came into the room, and the three of us knelt in prayer. The reason for my visit was made clear as I felt impressed to invite both Ben and Emily to join us in our Church meetings, asking each of them to respond to a particular assignment. Each accepted and began regular attendance once again at Church, remaining active for the rest of their lives. That day of my visit with Ben and Emily, hearts were touched and souls saved.

Mary Rollins was 12 years old when she first learned about the Book of Mormon. She borrowed a copy and stayed up most of the night reading.
Mary was also excited for a new book called the Book of Commandments. It would have many of the teachings Jesus Christ had given to Joseph Smith.
But some people didn’t like the Church. One day, men broke into the building where the Book of Commandments was being printed. They threw the printing press out the window and scattered the pages into the street.
Mary and her younger sister, Caroline, hid and watched. Mary wanted to save the pages before they were ruined. Caroline was afraid, but they knew the pages had the word of God on them.
The sisters ran into the street and grabbed as many pages as they could. Some men saw them and yelled at them to stop. Mary and Caroline held the pages tighter and ran into a nearby cornfield.
Two men chased after them. Mary and Caroline dropped to the ground and hid the pages beneath their bodies. They listened quietly as the men searched for them.
Soon the men gave up. Mary and Caroline were safe! They had saved the pages. Today those teachings are in the Doctrine and Covenants.

This story took place in Brazil.
“Now we’ll have a talk by Sister Almeida,” the bishop said.
Gabriel took out a piece of paper and some pencils. He liked to draw while he listened to the talks. So did his sister, Alice.
This time Alice drew a lion. Gabriel drew a dinosaur. He gave it a long neck and a tail.
Then Gabriel looked up. A little boy was walking toward them.
“Oh no!” he whispered to Alice. “Here comes Christian.”
Christian was four years old. He couldn’t talk, and he didn’t sit still. He walked around the chapel during meetings. Sometimes he scribbled on Gabriel’s drawings.
Gabriel hid his pencils behind his back. He didn’t want Christian to get them.
Christian reached for the pencils.
“No! These are mine!” Gabriel whispered, pointing to Christian’s family. “Go sit down.”
But Christian didn’t seem to understand. He kept grabbing for Gabriel’s pencils.
When the meeting was over, Gabriel walked with Mom and Alice to Primary.
“Why can Christian walk around the chapel but I need to be quiet?” Gabriel asked Mom.
“Christian has a different way of thinking,” Mom said. “Walking around helps him feel calm and comfortable.”
“But he always bothers us,” Gabriel said.
Alice frowned. “He just wants to draw.”
“But he doesn’t know how!”
“Maybe we can help him,” Alice said.
The next Sunday, Gabriel sat next to Alice during sacrament meeting. After the bread and water were passed, he pulled out his pencils and paper to draw. Then he saw Christian walking toward them.
Gabriel started to hide his pencils, but he paused. Christian had a big smile on his face. Gabriel remembered what Alice had said. Maybe he could help Christian draw this time!
Gabriel smiled back at Christian. He scooted over so Christian could sit between him and Alice. Gabriel gave Christian a pencil and paper. Alice helped Christian hold the pencil. Together they drew a stick figure.
Christian laughed and clapped his hands. He looked excited. Gabriel was excited too. This time Gabriel helped Christian hold the pencil. Together they drew a dog. Gabriel grinned. Drawing with Christian was fun.
When the meeting was over, Christian had a whole stack of drawings. He hugged the drawings tight and pointed to his family’s bench. Gabriel and Alice led Christian back to his family. Christian showed the drawings to his mom with a big smile.
Gabriel was glad he could draw with Christian. And he was glad he had a sister who was a good example.
Who can you help at church?
Illustrations by Josh Talbot

One of my fondest childhood memories is the clicking of my mother’s high heels on the hardwood kitchen floor as she prepared our family for church. She was heavily involved in our ward and served for years as Relief Society president. I never dreamed anything would change.
When I was around 12 and she and I lived alone, she left the Church for reasons I didn’t understand. Although my mom—my role model—had decided to take a different path, I knew the gospel was true, and I continued to attend church. Even though she disagreed with my decision, Mom did drive me to and from church every week.
It was often emotionally difficult to attend church, especially sacrament meeting where, sitting alone near the back, I had a clear view of all the mothers, fathers, and children sitting together. Many times I sat with a friend’s family. I’ll always be grateful for my “Mormon family” and others in my ward who took extra care to include me during this difficult time.
My home teachers, for example, were faithful even though it was only me they came to teach and I lived farther away than most ward members. I looked forward to the opportunity to discuss the gospel and to feel the strength of the priesthood and the Spirit in my home.
Many ward members were people I had known all my life. With their familiar faces, welcoming smiles, and friendly conversation, they became my ward mothers, fathers, brothers, and sisters. Feeling a sense of belonging and love eased the heartache of attending church without my family.
How grateful I am for those who became my safety net, instilling in me a desire to do the same for others.

My friend Rachel Driggs has a book without any words or pictures. It looks like a real book on the outside, but on the inside the pages are empty. I laughed when she showed it to me the first time. I told her that even I could read a book like that, and I’m only five.
The other day Rachel showed me her book again. Now there are pictures of Rachel and her sister and brothers, and she has written something about them under their pictures. She also wrote about her vacation and school, and she even wrote about me!
Rachel is only six, so she does what you call dictating to her mother; then her mom writes it down and Rachel copies it into her book. Sometimes instead of writing she will draw pictures. She drew one of a birthday party she went to.
Rachel told me her book is called a personal journal—personal means that it’s yours and no one else should write in it unless they ask you. She said that our prophet, President Spencer W. Kimball, has asked everyone to keep a journal so we can leave our histories for others. Rachel’s brothers, who are ten and twelve, and her sister, who is sixteen, keep journals too.
Rachel’s mother does genealogy work. That’s where you learn about relatives and other people who have lived on earth. Rachel’s mom said if those people had all kept personal journals we could learn a lot more about them.
At first I thought Rachel’s empty book was kind of silly, but not anymore. Now it’s like a storybook all about her. I told my mom I want a journal, too, so I can write a storybook about me. She said she was glad that I wanted one and that it would be a treasured possession one day. Mom is even going to take dictation from me.
Hey! Why don’t you ask for a book with empty pages in it? I’ll bet you have a lot to write about too.

Elder Choules served in the Marine Corps during World War II. “When I returned from the service,” he said, “the bishop talked to me the first Sunday I went to church about going on a mission. As I thought about going on a mission, I thought that when I returned I might be too old to start college. As I look back on the day that I told the bishop that I would go, the things that motivated me the most were my father’s teaching and the fact that I had always planned on going on a mission.”

Sister Davidson was one of our extraordinary sister missionaries in Chile. When she finished her mission she returned to school at BYU and continued serving in her ward. One Sunday afternoon while crossing the street near her apartment, she was struck by a car and killed. She was on her way to a meeting and found herself on the way to a different meeting. I spoke in a memorial service for her a few days later. I don’t believe Sister Davidson knew she would be leaving the earth that day.

The fact is, none of us knows exactly when we will be departing this mortal sphere, so we should be ready always—never procrastinating the day of our repentance but repenting daily and keeping ourselves prepared to meet God.

John Newton was six years old when his mother passed away. She had raised him a believer, teaching and reading scripture with him. At age 11, his father, a sailor, took him to sea. Surrounded by profanity, blasphemy, and promiscuity, it did not take John long to drift from his faith. He would say, “I sinned with a high hand and made it my study to tempt and seduce others on every occasion.”
On one trip a storm suddenly came upon them. His crew began calling out to God to save them. At first, he mocked and scolded them, but when it became clear that their fate was inevitable, John cried out to the God his mother had taught him about.
He prayed something like, “God, if You are there, please save us. And if You do, I will dedicate the rest of my life to serving You.” The storm ceased, the waves calmed, and their lives were saved. True to his word, John dedicated the rest of his life to serving the Lord. He became a preacher, and as part of his ministry, he wrote poems. Many of these poems would be turned into hymns, such as his most famous one:
Amazing grace! (how sweet the sound!)
That sav’d a wretch like me!
I once was lost, but now am found,
Was blind, but now I see.
This hymn is John Newton’s story, but it is also our story, and it is likely your story. Each of us, in our own way and in our own moments of struggle, is seen by an omniscient Lord who, at just the right time, intervenes. He chastens us. He rescues us. He transforms us. And He creates in us an insatiable desire to live what Nephi once called “that life which is in Christ” (2 Nephi 25:27).