Gospel Story Finder

As I surveyed the elderly people assembled for the nursing home sacrament meeting, I was worried.
Several patients appeared to be asleep. One woman cried, over and over, “I want to go home.” Most of those who were awake stared vaguely through clouded eyes. I wondered why our Young Men and Young Women had even come to present this sacrament meeting. Other than giving them the opportunity to partake of the sacrament, why did we bother?
One of the Young Men conducted the service. It would be like any other sacrament meeting with an opening hymn, opening prayer, sacrament hymn, the passing of the sacrament, speakers, and a closing hymn.
As we sang “Come, Come Ye Saints,” I noticed that one frail sister who, until this moment, had remained perfectly still, staring off into space, sang every word from memory. When the sacrament was passed, almost every patient partook. I began to realize that the patients knew what was going on.
Following the sacrament, Shawna, the Laurel president, spoke on enduring to the end. I wondered how her words would affect people who had endured more than we could possibly imagine.
I was distracted from my thoughts by a very real presence in the room. I felt the Spirit as strongly as I’ve ever felt it before. Then I noticed that nearly every elderly brother and sister had their eyes focused on Shawna. The Spirit had linked us together as brothers and sisters, children of our Heavenly Father.
A scripture came to my mind: “And now abideth faith, hope and charity, these three; but the greatest of these is charity” (1 Cor. 13:13).
There may have been many reasons for that sacrament meeting, but the greatest of them was charity, the pure love of Christ.

Marie-Frédérique Carter, 15, is a member of the French-speaking Lemoyne Ward. She lives in a nice, suburban part of town, where she attends a large écolesecondaire (high school) named in honor of a Catholic monsignor. Her friends know her as an aspiring violinist. They also know her as a Latter-day Saint who keeps her standards.
“I got into quite a discussion with one of my friends concerning the law of chastity,” Marie-Frédérique explains. “She thought I was really old-fashioned. She didn’t agree with my standards at all. But she finally saw I was going to stick to my principles no matter what. I want to be a good member of the Church, and I know that obedience now will bring blessings later on.”
Just the same, it isn’t always easy. “It’s hard when you get to a certain age, and you see your friends who aren’t LDS start dating and having boyfriends, and your desire is to remain faithful to the Church and to the standards that have been given to us by a living prophet. At first, I found that difficult. But not anymore. I find that I am happy doing what’s right and knowing that I’m blessed by my Heavenly Father.”

As I sat restlessly in sacrament meeting one Sunday afternoon listening to a returned missionary speak, I entertained myself by watching two children play peek-a-boo across the back of the bench. Sunday meetings seemed a meaningless ritual. None of my friends went to church or observed the Sabbath, and I sat there grumpy, determined to be miserable.
Then I casually looked over my right shoulder and saw my parents with tears in their eyes. I looked around the room and noticed that many others had tear-stained cheeks. As I turned my attention back to the recently returned elder, I heard him say, “… and I know that my Father lives.”
That was a statement I had heard many times, especially in sacrament meetings. I had always asked myself, How could they possibly know that there is a God? The thought occurred again, and as the closing prayer was said, I felt a little guilty for my thoughts.
Later that evening my family sat down together for family scripture study. We were in the 30th chapter of Alma, and my older brother Jim was reading about the anti-Christ Korihor telling Alma there was no God. In verses 43–44, he read, “And now Korihor said unto Alma: If thou wilt show me a sign, that I may be convinced that there is a God, yea, show unto me that he hath power, and then will I be convinced of the truth of thy words.
“But Alma said unto him: … The scriptures are laid before thee, yea, and all things denote there is a God; yea, even the earth, and all things that are upon the face of it.” [Alma 30:43–44]
That night I lay very still and pondered the words of Alma. I thought about all the creations on the earth, about the flowers and the trees and the animals—and about me. How magnificent the creation of the human body is! I lay there thinking a very long time until the words of a song I had learned in Primary entered my head: “Whenever I touch a velvet rose or walk by our lilac tree, I’m glad that I live in this beautiful world Heavenly Father created for me.”
Tears fell down my face, and I said a prayer to Father in Heaven asking his forgiveness and thanking him for the beautiful world he created for me. I know now that my Father lives.

“Don’t forget Bullet’s hot dogs, Mom,” Janey called upstairs as she picked up her books. Bullet sat by the front door, waiting to say good-bye to Janey. She stooped over and gave the dog a big hug. “You do your best today, Bullet. The kids are counting on you.” Her arms just barely reached around the big dog’s bulky frame. He had a fold of loose skin around his neck like a collar. The black-on-tan markings that distinguish a German shepherd were streaked with gray, and his eyes were watery and a little droopy. He was nine years old. While Bullet rested his head on Janey’s shoulder, she gave him another squeeze, then ran out the front door into the May sunshine and down the street to the bus stop.
Dawn Marie, Janey’s best friend, was waiting for her at the corner. Several other kids stood around waiting for the bus.
“Is your mother bringing Bullet over?” Dawn Marie asked.
“Yes, about two o’clock. I hope he does all right. He’s getting so tired.”
“He’ll do fine,” Dawn Marie said encouragingly. “He always does.”
Nearby a big sixth grader named Jeremy laughed. “Don’t tell me that you’re bringing that dumb old dog to school again this year.”
Janey turned away and looked at Dawn Marie, ignoring Jeremy. She heard him say loudly to his friend Cecil, “Can you believe that she’s bringing that dog again? We’ve seen all his dumb tricks a hundred times.”
“He’s so fat that I don’t think he can even roll over this year,” another boy chimed in.
Dawn Marie touched Janey’s arm. “Don’t listen to them,” she said. “Everybody else loves to see Bullet’s tricks.”
Janey felt miserable. Maybe she had brought Bullet to school too many times. Before she even went to school, her big sister, Caroline, had taken him every year.
“The school year wouldn’t seem complete without Bullet,” Dawn Marie said. Janey smiled at her. She was faithful, just like Bullet. They had both played with the dog since they were little girls. They used to put an Indian blanket around him and pretend that he was Chief Sitting Bull. Sometimes they had tied him to their wagon and he pulled them. Not only the school year wouldn’t seem complete without Bullet, life wouldn’t either.
At two o’clock Janey’s mother knocked softly on her classroom door. Mrs. Hadley opened it, and Janey rushed up to take Bullet on his leash, along with the plastic bag full of hot dog chunks.
The old dog waddled obediently along by Janey’s side, undisturbed by the fourth graders’ cheers, and settled down by Janey’s desk.
When their history lesson was finished, Mrs. Hadley asked Janey to come up front with Bullet. Janey put a chunk of hot dog on the floor in front of the big dog. As he lowered his head and sniffed it, she said, “Wait! We have to have the blessing.” Bullet lowered his head even more and waited. After a minute Janey said, “OK, you can eat.” Bullet snatched up the piece of hot dog, chomped twice, and swallowed it. After that he rolled over, sat up and barked, and played dead, with his big old paws up in the air. The children roared their approval. When he had finished his tricks—each time being rewarded with a chunk of hot dog—he went up and down the aisles and solemnly shook hands with each child.
“You and Dawn Marie may take him to the other classrooms,” Mrs. Hadley said.
“Thank you,” Janey said. “I’m not going to take him into sixth grade this year, so we won’t be gone as long.”
Mrs. Hadley raised her eyebrows. “It’s up to you,” she said, “but I think that they’ll be disappointed.”
The kindergartners squealed with delight and clapped after Bullet did each of his tricks. In the resource class, children didn’t just shake hands with Bullet; some hugged him, and others planted kisses on his big old head. One girl didn’t want to let go of him, and the teacher finally had to gently release the girl’s arms from around his neck. Bullet stood patiently, enjoying all the attention.
The first and second graders enjoyed him just about as much, clapping and yelling, “Hurray for Bullet!”
When they were through, Janey and Dawn Marie returned to their classroom. They were finishing up some artwork when Mr. Linstrom, the sixth grade teacher, poked his head into their classroom. He looked around and spotted Janey, with Bullet sleeping by her desk.
“Hey,” he said, “you forgot us. My kids won’t settle down. They’re waiting for Bullet.”
Mrs. Hadley looked at her questioningly.
“All right,” Janey said. “I have some hot dogs left.”
To Janey’s surprise, the sixth graders cheered too. Even Jeremy strained his neck to see Bullet wait for permission to eat his hot dog. Actually he wasn’t very hungry by now, so it wasn’t hard for him to wait. When Janey gave him permission, though, he ate it with gusto.
As Janey left the sixth grade room with Bullet, she heard Jeremy whisper to a classmate, “He won’t last another year,” and a cold fear gripped her heart. Bullet plodded slowly down the hall. It was only when he was performing for the kids that he seemed to be his old self.
That night after dinner Dawn Marie came over, and she and Janey lay out on the front lawn on an old blanket. Bullet came over, crowded himself between the two girls, and soon fell asleep. The late spring day had been warm and summery, but now as the sun sank to the horizon, Bullet’s warmth was pleasant and welcome.
“He sure sleeps a lot these days,” Dawn Marie commented. Janey felt again that tightening feeling of fear.
“Do you think that Bullet will die soon?” Janey asked slowly. It helped a little just to finally say it out loud.
Dawn Marie looked thoughtfully at the old dog. He twitched occasionally in his sleep and made sort of snuffly, growly noises.
“I guess he could, Janey. Not many German shepherds live much longer than he has.”
Janey was glad that her friend was honest and hadn’t said something just to make her feel better. She lay her head on Bullet’s side. He raised his head, then fell back to sleep.
“What will I do if he dies?” she asked.
Dawn Marie thought again. “You could have a funeral. All the kids in town would come. My mother said that that’s about all you can do to comfort yourself when someone dies. I remember that she said that when her older sister died.”
A funeral would be nice, Janey thought. That way everyone could kind of say good-bye.
Janey looked at Dawn Marie. “I’m glad that people live longer,” she said. “I hope that we can be friends our whole lives.”
“So do I. And I think that we will be.”
The girls heard footsteps on the sidewalk and looked up to see Jeremy coming by. Janey sat up, tense, wondering if he would say something mean. Jeremy stopped on the walk. He looked behind him and all around. Then he looked at Bullet.
“He’s not a bad old mutt,” he said. “I’ve always wanted a big dog like that.” He turned quickly and went on walking.
Dawn Marie and Janey looked at each other and smiled.
“Let’s go in and get warm,” Janey said. “Bullet can sleep out here on the blanket.”
When the girls got up, Bullet lifted his head to look at them, then lowered it and slept again. When Janey pulled a corner of the blanket up over his back, he left it there.

“Beat you to the gift shop!” Andrea said, running as fast as a cheetah past her older brother, Michael.
They were exploring the zoo with their parents. It was one of their favorite places, but for different reasons. Michael was fascinated by reptiles, like lizards, snakes, and crocodiles. Andrea was amazed by colorful birds, like parrots and toucans. She especially loved flamingos because pink was her favorite color.
As they got close to the shop, Michael put on a burst of speed, like a gazelle. He got to the shop first and held the door open.
“You’re as slow as a sloth!” he said with a smile.
“But fierce as a lion,” Andrea growled as they walked inside.
Michael knew exactly what he wanted to buy. He went straight to the reptile area and picked up a book called Awesome Facts about Alligators. With the money he had earned this summer, he would have just enough to buy it. He was about to head to the cashier when Andrea called his name. She was in a section that looked like a giant princess party.
“Come here!” Andrea said, excited as a chimpanzee. “I want to show you something!”
Michael shook his head. “No way. I’d rather stay with the reptiles.”
“Please? Just for a second. I need your help.”
With a sigh, Michael walked across the aisle. He felt like a goldfish out of water surrounded by the fluffy feather boas and sparkly jewelry.
“That’s what I want to buy,” Andrea said, pointing to a book on a high shelf out of her reach. “Can you get it down for me?”
Michael stretched tall like a giraffe and grabbed the book. It was full of stickers of people in fancy ballroom costumes.
“Why do you want that?” he asked. “It doesn’t have anything to do with the zoo.”
Andrea flipped open the book. “It has a page with animals. See? Unicorns!”
Michael rolled his eyes. Of course his sister would pick the one book at the zoo with the pretend animals in it. Then he noticed the price. “Do you even have enough money?”
When Andrea saw the price tag, her eyes got wide like an owl, and her smile disappeared.
“Sorry, sis,” Michael said. “Maybe you can find something that costs less.”
“But this is the only thing I wanted,” Andrea said. “Oh well.” She handed the book to Michael so he could put it back. Then she tried to smile again. “What did you find?”
Michael looked at the two books in his hands. Then he made a decision. “Nothing,” he said. “That is, nothing I need right now. Wait here for a second.”
Quick as a rabbit, Michael returned his book to the reptile section. When he got back to Andrea, he handed her the sticker book she wanted, along with some of his money.
“Here. Now you should have enough to buy it.”
Andrea looked as confused as a chameleon on a rainbow. “But why would you spend your money on that?”
“Because it’s important to you,” Michael said. “We might be as different as a python and a peacock, but that’s OK. God still wants us to show love to each other.”
Andrea gave him a big bear hug. “Thank you so much! You can use the stickers whenever you want!”
“Well, they’re not really my style,” Michael said. “But it might be fun!”
Then they walked to the cashier together, as happy as two frogs in a pond!

Suddenly Mark had an idea. He remembered the note his Primary teacher gave him to thank him for giving a talk in Primary last week. Her note made him feel warm and happy inside.
“I know!” Mark said. “Let’s write thank-you notes for our project this year.”
“How many would we write?” Caleb asked.
“We could all write one note a day,” Mark said.
“Let’s see.” Dad put down his fork. “Ellen’s birthday is in 23 days. If we each write one note a day from now until then, that would be … 115 notes!”
Caleb did some math in his head. “That’s 120 happy people! Because the five of us will be really happy after writing all those notes too.”
For the next 23 days, Mark and his family tried hard to notice helpful things people did for them. The first week, they wrote thank-you notes to their grandparents and school and Primary teachers.
The second week, Mark wrote to his friends, his coach, and the garbage collector. Caleb wrote to the bishop, the bus driver, the people at his favorite bakery, and the school janitor. Abby wrote to her doctor and the grocery store clerk who gave her a sticker.
One afternoon, Abby stared at her paper. “This is getting hard,” she said. “I don’t know anybody else!”
“It’s fun!” Mark said. “There are so many people to thank.”
The last week, Mark wrote to his dentist and his piano teacher.
Caleb wrote to his coach, a playground teacher who helped him when he got hurt, the librarian, and the road workers fixing holes in the street.
Abby wrote to cousins and to Mom, Dad, Mark, and Caleb.
On November 23, the family wrote thank-you notes to Ellen. Abby looked at the sky. “I said thank you to baby Ellen for helping me so much.”
“How has she helped you?” asked Mom.
“She showed me how many people do nice things,” Abby said.
“This is my favorite Ellen Project so far!” Mark bounced on his toes. “It makes me want to help people more, even if I never get a thank-you note.”

It was wintertime when the family reached Helsinki, Finland, and Milo would never forget the first time he took a sauna bath with the boys in his school. They sat on little benches in the bathhouse while the heat seemed to soak out every bit of dirt and grime from their pores. Then the boys tingled their skin softly with willows, ran outside, and jumped in the snow. The cold snow closed the pores in their bodies very quickly. Milo learned to enjoy taking the sauna baths, and when his family left Finland he said to his friends, “Now I know why you have so much courage and fortitude. It’s those sauna baths you enjoy.”

Observing the clock, I fold the notes that I have prepared and place them in my inside pocket. But let me take just a moment to mention a little incident that made an impression upon me when I was a boy. This came to my mind when it was mentioned that there are with us this afternoon a large group of dedicated people who teach our youth.
It was on a summer day early in the morning. I was standing near the window. The curtains obstructed me from two little creatures out on the lawn. One was a large bird and the other a little bird, obviously just out of the nest. I saw the larger bird hop out on the lawn, then thump his feet and cock his head. He drew a big fat worm out of the lawn and came hopping back. The little bird opened its bill wide, but the big bird swallowed the worm.
Then I saw the big bird fly up into a tree. He pecked at the bark for a little while and came back with a big bug in his mouth. The little bird opened its beak wide, but the big bird swallowed the bug. There was squawking in protest.
The big bird flew away, and I didn’t see it again, but I watched the little bird. After a while, the little bird hopped out on the lawn, thumped its feet, cocked its head, and pulled a big worm out of the lawn.
God bless the good people who teach our children and our youth, I humbly pray, in Jesus’ name. Amen.

Then she put the old flatiron on the stove, drew a chair close to mine, and told me about temple work—how important it is to be able to go to the temple and participate in the sacred ordinances performed there. She also expressed her fervent hope that someday her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren would have the opportunity to enjoy these priceless blessings.
These sweet memories about the spirit of temple work were a blessing in our farm home, our little rural ward of three hundred, and the old Oneida Stake. These memories have returned as I have performed the marriage of each of our children and grandchildren—my mother’s grandchildren and great-grandchildren—under the influence of the Spirit in the house of the Lord.

In the spirit of the thought in that verse, I determined a few years ago that I would no longer put off a visit with a dear friend whom I hadn’t seen for many years. I had been meaning to visit him in California but just had not gotten around to it.
Bob Biggers and I met when we were both in the Classification Division at the United States Naval Training Center in San Diego, California, toward the close of World War II. We were good friends from the beginning. He visited Salt Lake once before he married, and we remained friends through correspondence from the time I was discharged in 1946. My wife, Frances, and I exchanged Christmas cards every year with Bob and his wife, Grace.
Finally, at the beginning of January 2002, I was scheduled to visit a stake conference in Whittier, California, where the Biggers live. I telephoned my friend Bob, now 80 years old, and arranged for Frances and me to meet him and Grace, that we might reminisce concerning former days.
We had a delightful visit. I took with me a number of photographs which had been taken when we were in the navy together over 55 years earlier. We identified the men we knew and provided each other an update on their whereabouts as best we could. Although not a member of our Church, Bob remembered going to a sacrament meeting with me those long years before when we were stationed in San Diego.
As Frances and I said our good-byes to Bob and Grace, I felt an overwhelming sense of peace and joy at having finally made the effort to see once again a friend who had been cherished from afar throughout the years.

Open Anna Sterligova’s copy of the Book of Mormon, and you’re in for a surprise. It is filled with brightly colored illustrations—illustrations she created herself.
Anna is a 15-year-old art student in Moscow, Russia. She wanted to record some of her own feelings and emotions about the Book of Mormon as she studied it. So in addition to underlining, cross-referencing, and putting notes in the margins when she read about a scriptural event that had particular meaning to her, she illustrated it.
“It made the stories come to life for me,” she explains.
The stories, of course, were already alive for her, powerfully so. Anna loves the Book of Mormon. She studies it on her own and at family home evening, reads it at meetings of the Pokrovsky Branch, and masters its verses for seminary. She particularly likes to share her testimony of it with friends.
And that’s where Zenaida Akimova comes in. An older woman in the neighborhood, Zenaida was a friend of Anna’s mother, Alla, and was quickly becoming a friend of the entire family (which also includes Anna’s father, Konstantin, and her brother, Aleksander, also known as Sasha). Zenaida knew they were members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, but she wasn’t sure exactly what they meant by that.
“Keep learning more about it,” Anna invited, “and you’ll see what we mean.”
Zenaida thought about what she already knew. For example, this family treated each other well.
“They were always kind and courteous to each other,” she says. “But most of all they genuinely cared about each other.”
She knew—and had personally witnessed—how important the Church is in their lives. She knew about family history, since Alla had told her about the hundreds of names she has researched. She knew the Sterligovs went on trips to a sacred place called a temple. She knew about Konstantin’s commitment to service as president of the Moscow Russia East District.
Soon Zenaida was meeting with the missionaries, praying, coming to church. She was asking more and more questions, getting more and more answers. Thanks in part to Anna’s constant comments about the Book of Mormon, Zenaida longed to read and understand that holy scripture.
But there was a problem. Zenaida is legally blind. She can’t see well enough to read. She doesn’t know Braille, and even if she did, there is no Braille edition of the Book of Mormon in Russian.
So Anna and Alla developed a plan. Each evening they would read aloud and record several chapters from the Book of Mormon. The following morning, they would deliver the audiocassette to Zenaida. She was thrilled as she learned about Lehi, Nephi, and other prophets. Tape by tape, week by week, her testimony became firmer and clearer. Like the colorful pictures in Anna’s copy of the Book of Mormon, the stories came alive in Zenaida’s mind.
When Anna was busy, Alla recorded. When Alla was busy, Anna recorded. Sometimes Sasha or President Sterligov read into the tape recorder. But every day, verse by verse, chapter by chapter, the tapes were prepared.
“I wanted Sister Akimova to have the same experience with the Book of Mormon that I had,” Anna explains. “The first time the elders showed me the book, I knew it was true. I had no trouble believing it, no doubts. So it was easy for me to tell her how I felt about it and easy to record it for her, since I read it every night anyway.”
Now it is one week before Zenaida’s baptism. She has come to meet with the missionaries once again in the Sterligovs’ apartment. There is a feeling of happiness and hope in the air.
“I am ready to be baptized,” Zenaida says. “I am looking forward to the day. This family has been so great to me. I have my Book of Mormon tapes because of them, and I can listen whenever I want to. I have their example and their love, and with that, I’m ready to begin a new life. I may not be able to see clearly enough to read, but thanks to Anna and Sasha and President and Sister Sterligov, I am starting to see exactly what the gospel means.”
And Anna? She’s still sharing the Book of Mormon with friends. Of her more than 60 pen pals, four have an interest in the gospel. She has sent them copies of the book.
“One young woman lives in a little town in Siberia,” Anna says. “There are no missionaries there, and she is far from the closest branch of the Church. I write to her about the things we learn in the missionary discussions, and she likes that. She knows about the Bible, and I told her we study the Bible, too. But I told her the Book of Mormon, Another Testament of Jesus Christ, makes the Bible more complete. She said to send her a copy so she could see what we mean.”

My friends and I started to play video games a little each day. Soon we were playing two hours a day. When we talked to each other during the games, things that normally wouldn’t be said were said. I decided that every time my friends would play video games, I would make better use of my time by doing something else. I soon found that I was a lot happier inside. Video games can be fun, but when they’re filled with vulgar language and violence, Satan can corrupt our minds.

Elder Richard G. Scott: “During the dedication of the Mexico City Temple, I had one of those singular experiences that readjusts the course of a life. It occurred during the eighth dedicatory session where many of the men and women leaders of Mexico and Central America were present. When unexpectedly asked to speak, I attempted to convey the strong impressions that poured into my heart. I spoke of those beyond the veil who, in fulfillment of prophecy, had served, suffered, and given greatly to form the foundation which permitted the opening of a new era of the work.

“I expressed a feeling to plead in behalf of former prophets who had prepared and protected the sacred records of the Book of Mormon. I sensed that they were saddened as they see us walk from place to place with unopened Book of Mormon under our arm or see it kept in homes where it gathers dust and is not read, pondered, nor its contents applied. …

“I witnessed that it is not sufficient that we should treasure the Book of Mormon, nor that we testify that it is of God. We must know its truths, incorporate them into our lives, and share them with others. I felt an overwhelming love for the people and an urgent desire that all would comprehend the value of the Book of Mormon” (General Conference, October 1988).

Here I recall a pioneer example of faith, commitment, and courage by some young men just about the age of our missionaries. A few months before the Prophet Joseph Smith was murdered at Carthage, some of his enemies plotted to kill him. As part of their plan, they sought to enlist others in their conspiracy. Among those they invited to a meeting in Nauvoo were two young men still in their teens, Robert Scott and Dennison L. Harris. Dennison’s father, Emer, was the older brother of Martin Harris, one of the Three Witnesses to the Book of Mormon. Being loyal to the Prophet, these young men immediately reported the invitation to Dennison’s father, who advised the Prophet Joseph and sought his advice. Joseph asked Emer Harris to request that the young men attend the meeting, pay strict attention to what was said, make no commitments, and report the entire matter to the Prophet.

As events proceeded, there were three meetings. They began by denouncing Joseph as a fallen prophet, proceeded to considering how Joseph could be overthrown, and concluded with specific planning to kill him. All of this the two young men reported to the Prophet Joseph after each meeting.

Before the third meeting, the Prophet foresaw what would happen and told the young men this would be the last meeting. He warned them that the conspirators might kill them when they refused the required oath to participate in the murderous scheme. He said he did not think the conspirators would shed their blood because they were so young, but he called upon their loyalty and courage in these words: “Don’t flinch. If you have to die, die like men, you will be martyrs to the cause, and your crowns can be no greater.” He renewed his original caution that they should not make any promises or enter into any covenants with the conspirators. Then he blessed them and expressed his love for their willingness to risk their lives for him.

As Joseph had foreseen, the third and final meeting required all present to unite in a solemn oath to destroy Joseph Smith. When the two boys refused, explaining that Joseph had never harmed them and they were unwilling to participate in his destruction, the leaders declared that since the boys knew the group’s plans, they must agree to join them or they must die on the spot. Knives were drawn.

Some protested killing the boys, especially since their parents knew of their presence, so their failure to return would cast suspicion on some of the conspirators. By the barest margin, the cautious course was chosen, and those who opposed killing prevailed. The boys were threatened with certain death if they ever revealed what had transpired in the meetings or who had participated, and they were then allowed to leave unharmed.

As the boys passed beyond the view of the guards, they were met by the Prophet, who was anxiously watching and praying for their safe return. They reported everything to him. He thanked and praised them, and then, for their safety, counseled them not to speak of this to anyone for 20 years or more.

Illustration by Guy Francis
I was 15 when I learned a truth about my talents—or more precisely, my lack thereof—in one particular area: I couldn’t sing.
I’d tried out for a community play, and my a cappella solo sounded so bad that halfway through an accompanist came up and started playing along out of pity. After that, I vowed nobody would hear me sing again. It was time to move on and find another hobby because one humiliating experience was plenty.
However, my big brother Dan, who was an incredible singer, had other plans. Months after my audition, he asked why I was so terrified of singing lately.
“I’m horrible,” I told him. “I can’t sing.” Dan didn’t believe me. Despite my protests, he convinced me to sing something right there. I was nervous.
I can’t recall what I sang, but it was short, barely audible, and seemed proof that I had no discernible singing talent. What Dan said next, I’ll remember the rest of my life. “There,” he told me, “I knew you had a good voice. You just have to practice.”
In Doctrine and Covenants 38:25 we are taught to “let every man esteem his brother as himself.” If Dan had made fun of me and my singing, as many older siblings might have done, he certainly would have ensured my singing silence, perhaps for a lifetime. Instead, Dan lifted me up. He encouraged me.
In the end, I followed his advice and practiced. To my surprise, I gradually improved. Singing became a great joy in my life. I sang in many choirs throughout high school and then in college and beyond. Singing remains one of my deepest joys.
The Savior taught: “Behold, do men light a candle and put it under a bushel? Nay, but on a candlestick, and it giveth light to all that are in the house” (3 Nephi 12:15). I’ve been able to let that light shine, enjoying and sharing music for many years now, but I never could have done it without the encouragement of my brother Dan.

Several years ago, Sister Pearson and I were called to preside over the Washington Tacoma Mission. The call was a complete surprise. With some trepidation I met with the chairman and the CEO of the company where I was employed and informed them of my mission call. They were visibly upset with my decision to leave the firm. “When did you make this decision, and why didn’t you discuss it with us earlier?” they demanded.

In a moment of clarity, a profound answer came into my mind. I said, “I made this decision as a 19-year-old boy, when I made sacred covenants with God in the temple to follow the Savior. I’ve built my entire life on those covenants, and I fully intend to keep them now.”

Several days before our ward was scheduled to travel to the Aba Nigeria Temple, the bishop called and asked me to lead our group. I agreed, and on the morning of our trip, we offered a prayer and boarded a bus to begin our journey.
On our way, we sang hymns. Joy beyond measure filled the air. We were making good time on our 10-hour journey, but just before noon, our bus developed a problem none of us could fix.
I ran to a nearby petrol station and found an attendant. I asked if she could direct me to a mechanic.
Without delay, she called two mechanics. They soon arrived and got to work. They discovered that the fan belt was defective. They worked for hours until they had exhausted all their knowledge. Then they called another mechanic.
He appeared confident when he arrived and said sarcastically, “What’s wrong with the fan belt that you could not fix?”
He worked for a while and then said, “What has happened here is beyond ordinary.” He picked up his tools and left. The other mechanics continued to search for a solution, but our situation seemed hopeless.
I turned to my fellow Saints and saw sadness on almost every face. As I thought about what to do next, a thought came to me: “Have you prayed over the problem?”
Immediately, I called the group together. We stood in a circle and prayed to our Heavenly Father to give the mechanics the knowledge they lacked. In less than five minutes, one of the mechanics came to see me.
“We have done it!” he said, beaming.
We rejoiced and thanked the Lord. I soon noticed that the other mechanic looked discouraged. I tried to congratulate him, but he said, “Are you congratulating me for taking six hours to fix one fan belt? I fixed two fan belts before I came here. What happened here is beyond explanation.”
I told him God had intervened following our prayer.
“You prayed over it?” he asked.
“Yes, about five minutes ago.”
“Oh, that is wonderful of you!” he said.
I paid the mechanics and they left. We all entered the bus and continued our journey. We finally reached the temple several hours later, grateful that Heavenly Father hears and answers our prayers.

I hesitated, then I said, “Four years ago, my dad and I took a trip to the beach. We played all day in the sand and waves. When it was almost time to go, he took my hand and we walked along the shoreline. He told me to look for the prettiest rock I could find. After looking and looking, I picked this one. It was round and smooth and had this sort of green spot that reminded me of a heart. See it?”
I pointed it out to Ray. He nodded.
“Dad asked me if the rock would change much if I kept it a hundred years. ‘Of course not,’ I said. He said, ‘Love is like that. It lasts forever.’ Then he told me he was going away and wouldn’t be living with us anymore. He said I should always keep this rock and remember that”—I couldn’t keep the tremor from my voice—“he loves me.”

It was Halloween, and I was sick. While all my friends were hoarding and consuming pounds of candy, I was giving myself insulin shots, munching on set amounts of sugar-free candy, and moaning because I could no longer eat my favorite candy bar. My life as a 10-year-old couldn’t have been worse. But now, 12 years later, I realize it couldn’t have been any better.
On 10 October 1991 I stared blankly at my doctor when he said, “You have type 1 diabetes.” He didn’t say, “You have a virus that will go away in a week” or “Here are some antibiotics for your infection.” He was telling me I had diabetes and that I would have it for the rest of my life.
That very moment my life changed forever. I went from barely thinking about what I ate to giving myself shots, testing my blood-sugar levels, and eating limited foods in limited amounts. I quickly learned that everything from exercise to stress affected my blood sugar, and I couldn’t go anywhere or do anything without monitoring it. I had to be responsible 100 percent of the time, a skill that didn’t come quickly.
But behind all of the physical tasks, I found something deeply spiritual. I found that when I was obedient, I was blessed. Whether I chose to indulge in double-fudge brownies instead of sugar-free pudding had effects that could last up to five or more hours and eventually five or more years. I soon learned that by sticking to short-term restrictions, I was freed from long-term complications. I felt more awake and energetic, and my confidence even increased as I chose to make wise decisions regarding my health.
Because type 1 diabetics only make up about 0.3 percent of the population in the United States, it’s easy to feel alone. But there are many in the Church who are pulling through, anchoring themselves in the gospel, and finding joy in the journey they call diabetes. I know, because I talked with a few of them.
Chris had a hard time with his diabetes when he was a teenager. Living the lifestyle of a teenager—eating out at 2:00 a.m., having a crazy sleep schedule—was hard on his body. For most of his teenage years, he tried to deny that he even had a disease.
At college, a good friend helped Chris make some big changes in his physical and spiritual health. “Up to that point,” Chris says, “I had never really taken the gospel or my life seriously. As I started to read the Book of Mormon for the first time, I felt my whole life changing. Not only did I feel the enlightening effects come into my life that one feels when reading the Book of Mormon, but I also started to feel more concern for my body and my life.”
Chris says his decision to read the Book of Mormon led to other decisions that helped him become healthier. For the first time in his life, he started testing his blood-sugar level not just several times a week like he used to, but several times a day. He says, “I began to feel so much better as I started to take care of myself.”
After Chris finished reading the Book of Mormon and received an answer that it is true, he decided to serve a mission. “Serving a mission can be tough,” Chris says. “Every day brought something new for me and my diabetes to try and conquer.” But he believes the Lord blessed him to maintain control. “Constant fluctuations in schedules, modes of transportation, and eating would lead most diabetics to out-of-control blood sugars, but the Lord was watching over me as I served my mission.” Since Chris started taking better care of himself, his health has been almost perfect.
Chris is grateful that he was not only able to serve a mission but that he was able to serve with all of his strength. “The work never suffered as a result of my having diabetes. I saw God’s hand in my missionary work every day, and I still see it now.”
For a girl who directs high school plays, sews costumes, memorizes Shakespeare, studies Russian, and performs on her school’s dance team, it’s a wonder she finds time to do anything else—especially take care of her diabetes. Adrienne was diagnosed with diabetes when she was 11, but she hasn’t let that get her down.
“There’s really no point in being sad about it,” Adrienne says, “because it’s not going to change it. You might as well make the best of the situation and do things a normal kid would do.” She makes sure to take care of herself physically and spiritually. She tries to do constructive things that make her happy. “If you do all you can, pray, and have faith in Heavenly Father,” she says, “then He’ll help you accomplish the rest.”
Adrienne has been a resource to many around her. Before moving to Utah, she was asked to teach a class on diabetes at a science museum in Minnesota. “It’s fun being able to bring something exciting out of a trial like this,” she says.
She’s also discovered that the gospel is a strength. “The Savior went through a lot more than I did. And I know that He always understands. You try your hardest, and if that’s all you can do, then don’t stress.”
Fourteen-year-old Matt Anderson from Bountiful, Utah, is one tough character to shake. Matt was diagnosed with diabetes on a Saturday. He spoke in church the next day. His mom explains, “When the bishop called and asked if Matt still wanted to speak, Matt’s reply was, ‘Sure, Bishop, it’s already written!’” Matt’s talk was on gratitude.
Matt’s positive attitude and strong testimony of the gospel are anchors in his life. “Now I’m just thankful for every day,” he says. “I’m thankful for the power of prayer.”
After receiving a blessing in the hospital, he remembers waking up during the night. “The hospital was all quiet, and I felt this real peace come over me. A true peace. And I wasn’t scared.” Matt says the priesthood blessing gave him strength to give himself shots and to start testing his blood-sugar level.
“This trial has been a blessing in my life,” Matt says. “It has made me conscious of the gospel more than ever. It has brought me closer to my mom and dad and my sister. I play sports just as much as I did before, and I’m still really close to my friends. I know we have trials for a reason.”
Emily had just returned from a choir tour with BYU–Idaho’s Vocal Union and was planning on spending some time at home in Colorado. “During the trip I just didn’t feel myself,” Emily says. “I was so thirsty. I was drinking at least 20 glasses of water every day, and I was wondering what was wrong. After I was hospitalized, they gave me insulin, and I thought, ‘I’m myself again!’”
Emily’s optimism, along with her family and new husband, has helped to keep her going. “I really try to focus on what I can eat rather than what I can’t, and then I’m fine,” she says.
“After I got home from the hospital I was so grateful not to be thirsty anymore,” Emily says. “Then I thought about Christ and how He is the Living Water. I realized that there are so many people who are so thirsty that they drink and drink, but it goes right through them. And I was so grateful to know that I have the living waters.”
People often ask me how I got diabetes. The truth is, no one really knows. I just believe it’s part of this earthly test. The Lord knew there was no better way for me to learn that sacrifice brings blessings, and self-discipline even greater freedom. I know that if we take care of what we have, the Lord will bless us even more. I have a testimony that this gospel is true and that it connects all that is physical to all that is spiritual. I have a testimony that it is through Jesus Christ, our Savior, that we are able to overcome all things. He, our Master, our Lord, and our Redeemer, is the Rock upon which we are sustained.

I feel to express thanks to my Heavenly Father for His countless blessings to me. I can say, as did Nephi of old, that I was born of goodly parents, whose own parents and grandparents were gathered out of the lands of Sweden and Scotland and England by dedicated missionaries. As those missionaries bore humble testimonies, they touched the hearts and the spirits of my forebears. After joining the Church, these noble men, women, and children made their way to the valley of the Great Salt Lake. Many were the trials and heartaches they encountered along the way.
In the spring of 1848, my great-great-grandparents, Charles Stewart Miller and Mary McGowan Miller, who had joined the Church in their native Scotland, left their home in Rutherglen, Scotland, and journeyed to St. Louis, Missouri, with a group of Saints, arriving there in 1849. One of their 11 children, Margaret, would become my great-grandmother.
While the family was in St. Louis working to earn enough money to complete their journey to the Salt Lake Valley, a plague of cholera swept through the area, leaving death and heartache in its wake. The Miller family was hard hit. In the space of two weeks, four of the family members succumbed. The first, on June 22, 1849, was 18-year-old William. Five days later Mary McGowan Miller, my great-great-grandmother and the mother of the family, died. Two days afterward, 15-year-old Archibald passed away, and five days after his death, my great-great-grandfather, Charles Stewart Miller, father of the family, succumbed. The children who survived were left orphans, including my great-grandmother Margaret, who was 13 years old at the time.
Because of so many deaths in the area, there were no caskets available, at any price, in which to bury the deceased family members. The older surviving boys dismantled the family’s oxen pens in order to make caskets for the family members who had passed away.
Little is recorded of the heartache and struggles of the nine remaining Miller children as they continued to work and save for that journey their parents and brothers would never make. We know that they left St. Louis in the spring of 1850 with four oxen and one wagon, arriving finally in the Salt Lake Valley that same year.
Others of my ancestors faced similar hardships. Through it all, however, their testimonies remained steadfast and firm. From all of them I received a legacy of total dedication to the gospel of Jesus Christ. Because of these faithful souls, I stand before you today.