Gospel Story Finder

Third checklist item: Live the commandments. Never feed the foxes! What does that mean? Breaking commandments is like feeding foxes. In England where we live, my wife and I had heard that foxes were right in town. We wanted to see a fox. A neighbor told us that if we left food for the foxes we probably would see one. Our butcher gave us some bones. Each night we would place some bones out in the backyard. Soon a fox came to eat. Then a few more. Now we have at least five foxes racing through our flower garden, digging up the lawn, and leaving a shambles every night, sort of like a furry Jurassic Park.

What started out as a curiosity is now a problem, and sin is much the same. An indiscretion can begin a process that can make a mess of a whole life. Remember, if you don’t start feeding the foxes, they will never tear up your yard. If you avoid making the seemingly small and harmless mistakes, your life will be free of many larger problems later on. Be a courageous young man by living straight. Create happy memories for yourselves and those around you.

When he recalls the rigorous years he spent at Harvard Business School, Elder Robert D. Hales of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles says of his graduate program, “I was stretched to my capacity.”
About this time Elder Hales received a call to be elders quorum president. He was concerned about the added pressure such a call would create on his schedule. “It was one of the few times in my life I didn’t say yes on the spot,” he explains. “I went home to my wife and said, ‘I will probably fail in school if I accept this calling.’”
Sister Hales responded, “Bob, I would rather have an active priesthood holder than a man who holds a master’s degree from Harvard.” She then put her arms around him and added, “Together we will do both of them.”
They knelt in prayer and then went to work. The ensuing months were difficult, but they managed to “do both of them.”

“Since I was 23 when I joined the Church I thought I’d be too old to go on a mission. But I went to a Young Adult conference in Brisbane, and after talking with some friends there I was motivated to go. I worked as a civil servant before my mission, and I had saved enough money to support myself as a missionary.
“My mission has changed my life, too. I used to be shy, almost embarrassed to talk about the Church. That shyness has left me and I feel now that I can talk about it with anyone. When I told my parents I was going to go on a mission they were quite upset—they were concerned about my job. But when I received my call they were really happy for me. So in a period of about six weeks there was a real transition in my family’s attitudes. And now they are actually having a friendship with the missionaries at home. I don’t know if they’re being taught or not, but there was a time when they wouldn’t even let missionaries in the door.”

When I was almost 12, I was so excited to go to the temple. My family and I talked about what it was going to be like inside, and I looked at pictures of the inside of temples as well.
A few weeks before I went to do temple baptisms, my family had a special family home evening. We listened to great stories about some of our ancestors and learned about where they lived and what their lives were like. I even found out that my great-great-grandpa was struck by lightning and survived! Some of my ancestors were from England, so my little brothers and I colored pictures of the English flag. I felt like I made a little connection with my ancestors.
The temple was as beautiful inside as it was outside. Everyone there was so nice, and there was a warm and peaceful spirit there. It was different than anything I had felt before. Everything was exactly perfect. My aunt brought names of some family members who hadn’t been baptized yet. As we were waiting, my mom and aunt and I imagined what these women were like when they lived on earth 300 years ago. It was special to have my dad baptize me for them.
Seeing everyone in white made me feel like I was surrounded by angels. The temple is like heaven on earth.

Although some of the rules of good etiquette change over the years, there are some that will likely always endure simply because of their practicality and effectiveness. Do you know what they are—and why they are important? Priest adviser Steve Stewart from the Monument Park 12th Ward, Salt Lake Monument Park Stake, decided his quorum should be able to answer “Yes!” to both questions. Remembering his feelings of inadequacy at a dinner at the home of his mission president, he wanted to give his quorum the opportunity to learn, discuss, and practice some of the more universal aspects of etiquette.
“It was New Year’s Day and I was serving as a missionary in the Central Atlantic States Mission,” he recalled. “The mission president and his wife had invited some of us over for dinner. It was delicious, but my enjoyment of it was hampered some when I realized I lacked knowledge of formal etiquette. For example, I wasn’t sure when I was supposed to stand or even when it was appropriate to take my napkin. It’s not that the procedures were difficult, they were just unfamiliar to me.”
Brother Stewart’s desire to help his priests avoid similar situations was greeted enthusiastically by the quorum. His approach included a quiz on the young men’s existing knowledge of etiquette, with a discussion afterward, and a formal dinner for the priests and Laurels. The class exercise was well received, and the dinner turned out to be one of the best-attended activities of the year. “I thought the dinner would be fun but that I wouldn’t really learn anything new,” admitted Buster Child, first assistant to the president of the priests quorum. “But I was wrong. I really have learned a lot.”
Printed invitations were sent to each of the priests and Laurels in the ward, and the priests were assigned to escort the Laurels. As a result, shortly before 7:30 on a calm, clear, spring night, the Stewart sidewalk began filling up with beautiful young women in long, colorful dresses and handsome priests in coats and ties. Inside, several tables had been covered with fine cloths and set with china, silver, and goblets. Placecards indicated where each guest was to sit, and the tantalizing aroma of baked ham and scalloped potatoes floated into the dining room from the adjoining kitchen.
The young people spent the first part of the evening mingling, talking, and eating hors d’oeuvres of sausage-filled mushrooms and chips with dips. Such whispered comments as “I ate before I came so I wouldn’t stuff myself when I got here” and “Is it all right to pick up a mushroom with my fingers?” could be heard amidst talk of school, ward activities, and the approaching summer vacation.
Soon, however, it was time for dinner to begin. After a short welcome and a blessing on the food, Brother Stewart encouraged his guests to feel comfortable and to ask as many questions as they wanted. And they did. Throughout the evening the room buzzed with questions. “How do I butter my roll?” asked one, and from someone else, “Do I pass the food to my left or to my right?” Brother Stewart also brought up some points for discussion. Some of the answers were obvious: “Should you leave some food on your spoon or fork to be waved about during conversation?” brought spontaneous laughter from the group. But the answer to another question, “Is it considered proper to butter a whole ear of corn at once?” (the answer is no; butter and eat only a few rows at a time) was greeted with disbelief, and the consensus was that perhaps this is one area that should be left up to personal taste.
When the evening was over, however, the group generally agreed that understanding etiquette and practicing good manners are just as important today as ever before. “Once you learn the basics, you can relax and enjoy yourself without wondering if you are going to make a big mistake,” said Mike Bonnelli. And Sharon Matsen added, “It’s being courteous, but it’s more than that, too. It’s a way of showing others you want them to feel comfortable. For example, I really like my date to open the car door for me. Even though it might be considered a little thing, it makes me feel that he thinks I’m someone special.”
And that’s what etiquette is really all about—showing our friends, family members, and associates that they are special to us and that we want to treat them in the very best way possible. As well as passing the beans in the right direction and not blowing your nose at the dinner table, good manners mean returning everything you borrow and following through on everything you say you will do. It is being patient when the clerk at the grocery store charges you too much, cheerful when you have to do the dishes twice in a row because your sister is sick, and appreciative when your father takes your paper route so you can go to Scout camp. It is helping a stranger who has slipped on the ice and offering the last piece of pie to your Uncle Harvey when you really wanted to eat it yourself. The following quiz includes true-false questions covering a variety of different situations. See how many you can get right:
1. If there are more than eight persons seated at one table, it is all right to begin eating as soon as you are served.
True. Otherwise the hot food could begin to get cold and the cold food could begin to get warm.
2. Used silverware should be left on the table with the tips resting on the side of the dinner plate.
False. Only unused silverware should be left on the table. Lay your used utensils crosswise across the plate so that when it is removed, the silverware won’t fall off.
3. At a formal dinner party you should take your napkin as soon as you are seated.
False. Take your napkin when your hostess takes hers.
4. If you always add salt to your food, it is all right to salt and pepper it before you taste it.
False. Wait until you taste it to avoid offending the cook—or ruining the flavor!
5. When you are passed the butter plate, you should take however much you need and place it on your plate rather than directly onto your roll, corn, potato, etc.
True. This keeps the butter moving around the table and also keeps the butter knife from touching any food.
6. If you take a bite of a piece of gristle or something else that you do nor want to eat, you should swallow it anyway.
False. Roll it with your tongue onto your fork or spoon and place it back onto your plate.
7. If you feel a sneeze coming and haven’t time to reach for a handkerchief, you should pinch your nose with your fingers and turn your head away from the table.
False. Cover your nose and mouth with your napkin instead.
8. The most correct way to eat spaghetti is to wind it around your fork.
True. Many chefs do not like their guests to cut the pasta!
9. If someone burps at the table, spills his water glass, or does something equally unacceptable, you should stop talking and stare at him so he will know he blew it.
False. One of the most important rules of etiquette is to keep from adding to the embarrassment of others.
1. It is best to keep your date waiting at least five minutes but not more than ten.
False. There may be times when you are unavoidably delayed, but these should always be exceptions.
2. It is still important for a boy to help a girl with her coat, open doors for her, guide her down dark theater aisles, or do any other such things.
True. Such respectful attention will never be out-of-date. It makes both the boy and the girl feel good about themselves and each other.
3. If your date wants to see an R-rated or other unacceptable movie, you should accept his suggestion, especially if he is paying.
False. He wants you to have an enjoyable time, too, and you won’t if you are doing something you know you shouldn’t. Pleasantly say that you would prefer not to see that particular show and suggest an alternate plan. Good manners don’t include going along with everything your friends may want to do.
4. A proper way to ask a girl for a date is to say, “What are you doing Saturday night?”
False. Instead describe what you have planned and ask her if she would like to go with you.
1. If you are invited to a party and cannot attend, there is no need to respond. They’ll know you can’t make it when you don’t show up.
False. It is very difficult for a hostess to plan refreshments and entertainment when she doesn’t know how many will be attending.
2. After dialing a wrong number on the telephone, it is all right to ask, “What number is this?”
False. Instead say something like, “Is this 333-3333?” If it is not, you will know you have simply misdialed and can try again.
3. Even if you thank someone verbally, you should still send a written thank-you note for a gift.
True. It shows you appreciate the time they took to remember you and that you are willing to do the same.
4. It is all right to leave a meeting just before the closing prayer.
False. President David O. McKay once said, “It is the height of rudeness, excepting in an emergency, to leave a worshiping assembly before dismissal.”
5. If you call someone on the phone and don’t recognize the voice that answers, you should say, “Who is this, please?”
False. Since you have invited yourself into their home by calling them, you should identify yourself to whomever answers the phone, and ask to speak to the person you wanted to talk to.
6. If someone cuts in front of you in line, you are justified in glaring at them.
False. Why be rude just because someone else is rude?
7. When speaking to children or those younger than ourselves, there is no real need to say “please” when asking them to hand us something, bring in the mail, or help in other ways.
False. What better way to develop good feelings between all ages and create harmony in your home than by treating everyone, equally, with respect?
Well, how did you do? Did you learn anything? We hope so. And by the way, if you are still wondering which way the vegetables should be passed, they should usually be passed to the right. Have fun.

Last October when my teachers quorum was learning about becoming more Christlike, we served some families in our ward. During the Duty to God lesson that month,* we talked about the many examples of service in Christ’s life. We also read Doctrine and Covenants 20:53, which says that one of a teacher’s priesthood responsibilities is to watch over and strengthen the Church. Together, we thought of some ways we could do this through service.
For example, as a quorum we mowed our bishop’s lawn. We also visited an elderly man in our ward, which was fun because he told us stories about his life and shared some lessons he’d learned. Both of these experiences made me feel great. As a quorum, we also completed the “Serve Others” section in the Fulfilling My Duty to God booklet. I felt like an instrument in Heavenly Father’s hands, and I felt like I was coming closer to Heavenly Father as we served.

One Sunday morning, we were sitting on the veranda when my oldest daughter, who was three years old, asked me a question that caught me by surprise. She saw some of her friends going to church in their nice clothes. “How come we don’t go to church?” she asked. At that time we weren’t attending church because my wife and I belonged to different churches and neither wanted to join the other’s church.
My daughter’s question really made me think. I was troubled because before I was married, I always went to church. That night I was inspired to kneel and seek divine guidance. I recall even saying that I would offer my life to serve the Lord.
A few days later, two young men knocked at our door and introduced themselves as messengers of the Lord. When I saw their calling cards, I remembered some things I knew about the Church. When I was young, I used to read western novels that talked about Mormon pioneers and settlements. I had also read about some members of the Church in American magazines. When we started talking about the doctrines of the Church, I was surprised to find that I already believed most of its teachings. I had read the Bible and knew that God the Father, Jesus Christ, and the Holy Ghost were three separate beings, and I felt that there must be prophets and revelation.
The elders continued to teach me for several months, but somehow I could not gain a testimony of Joseph Smith and the Book of Mormon. I had read the passages in the Book of Mormon that the missionaries marked for me, but I had trouble accepting their challenge to read the whole book.
I enjoyed having them in our home, but I had the feeling that they were getting discouraged with me. One day when they challenged me to read and pray, I felt that it would be the last challenge. I didn’t want to lose their visits, so I decided to read. This time before starting, I prayed with a real desire to know if the book was true. A miracle happened: instead of getting bored as usual, I was so interested that I couldn’t stop reading.
That night, after reading many chapters, I knew that this was the word of God. With a strong testimony of the Book of Mormon, it was then very easy for me to accept Joseph Smith as a prophet. When the missionaries returned and asked me if I wanted to be baptized, I said yes. I was baptized in November 1964. I felt the Spirit of the Lord so strongly during my baptism that I really felt reborn. Besides the covenant of baptism, I made a private covenant that I would serve the Lord all my life.
I am very grateful to be a member of the Church. I hope that you children of the Church will learn through prayer and study that the gospel and the Book of Mormon are true. My wife and I have eight children whom we have raised in the gospel. I am grateful that my oldest daughter, when she was a small child, asked me that important question. Because of her, I began to seek the truth and to serve the Lord and others. You can help your parents and families remember the Lord, as my daughter helped me.

It was a cold January day when I was asked to serve as Young Women class president. It was my first year in the Young Women program, and though I was not expecting to be the class president, I was overjoyed. I smiled and nodded.
I was then told to start praying about who my counselors should be.
My happiness quickly melted into worry. I worried that I would choose the wrong people, or even worse, that I wouldn’t be able to decide at all!
Later that night, I told my mom I was worried I wouldn’t be able to make a decision. She told me to go to my room, say a prayer, and read a few verses from the Book of Mormon.
I went to my room, still worried. I said a prayer, asking Heavenly Father to help me make the right decision. Then I opened the scriptures to where I had left off and read the first verse I saw. It said: “And Christ hath said: If ye will have faith in me ye shall have power to do whatsoever thing is expedient in me” (Moroni 7:33).
Once I had read that verse, I knew that Heavenly Father had answered my prayer. He was aware of me and wanted to help me. All I had to do was put my faith in Him, and He would help me know what to do.
I know that God is aware of us and that He will help us if we are willing to put our faith in Him.

I remember standing before the bier of a young man whose life had been bright with hope and promise. He had been an athlete in his high school, and an excellent university student. He was a friendly, brilliant young man. He had gone into the mission field. He and his missionary companion were riding down the highway when a car, coming from the opposite direction, moved into their path and crashed into them. He died in the hospital an hour later. As I stood at the pulpit and looked into the faces of his father and his mother, there came then into my heart a conviction that I had seldom before felt with such assurance. I knew with certainty, as I looked across his casket, that this young man had not died, but had merely been transferred to another field of labor in the eternal ministry of the Lord.

Agnes Caldwell thought that she had the smartest, thriftiest mother alive. Agnes knew that it was no easy task for her widowed mother, Margaret, to raise three boys and two girls by herself.
Just before Agnes was born, her father, William Caldwell, was lost at sea. A few years later, her mother had the enormous job of getting her family safely from Scotland to America and then to Salt Lake Valley.
In 1856, when Agnes was nine years old, she and her family boarded the ship Thornton and arrived in America seven weeks later. In Iowa, they joined the James G. Willie Handcart Company. Their company suffered greatly on their way to the Valley as they pushed and pulled their heavily-laden handcarts through terrible snowstorms and freezing temperatures. Agnes knew that her mother’s hard work and careful planning saved their lives many times.
One day when they had very little to eat, Agnes’s mother sold a quilt and a bedspread and used the money to buy food. She often traded trinkets and gifts to the Indians for dried meat, which proved to be a great help, especially when the cold wind was blowing and they couldn’t build a fire. On such days, she would give each of her children a piece of dried meat and some bread. Sometimes she took a small piece of meat and made a stew, thickening it with a little flour and some salt. It tasted so good on a cold night!
Agnes marveled as she watched her mother find a way to bake food out on the prairie. Mother dug a hole in the ground, placed the food in a heavy iron kettle with a tight lid, then set it in the hole and covered it with burning buffalo chips or small pieces of wood. She prepared many tasty meals in this way.
One day, while stopped in Laramie, Wyoming, she and others in the company visited an officer at a command post. She wanted to trade some jewelry and silver spoons for flour and meat. The officer said that he could not use any of these items but told her where she could make the trade. After Mother left, he told the others they were foolish to make this dangerous journey. He tried to persuade some of them to stay with him in Wyoming, but they insisted that they wanted to be with the other Latter-day Saints in the Rocky Mountains. When Mother returned, he gave them a large cured ham and wished them well in their adventure to Utah.
Agnes wrote of one incident that took place shortly before they got to Salt Lake Valley: “Just before we crossed the mountains, relief wagons reached us, and it certainly was a relief. The infirm and aged were allowed to ride, all able-bodied continuing to walk. When the wagons started out, a number of us children decided to see how long we could keep up with the wagons, in hopes of being asked to ride. At least that is what my great hope was. One by one all fell out, until I was the last one remaining, so determined was I that I should get a ride.
“After what seemed the longest run I ever made before or since, the driver, who was William Henry “Heber” Kimball, called to me, ‘Say, sissy, would you like a ride?’ I answered in my very best manner, ‘Yes sir.’
“At this he reached over, taking my hand, clucking to his horses to make me run, with legs that seemed to me could run no farther. On we went, to what to me seemed miles. What went through my head at that time was that he was the meanest man that ever lived or that I had ever heard of, and other things that would not be a credit nor would it look well coming from one so young. Just at what seemed the breaking point, he stopped. Taking a blanket, he wrapped me up and lay me in the bottom of the wagon, warm and comfortable. Here I had time to change my mind, as I surely did, knowing full well by doing this he saved me from freezing when taken into the wagon.”

His many personal experiences with the Brethren over the decades have endeared them to Elder Anderson. At the accession of President George Albert Smith in 1945, Joseph was asked to stay on as secretary to the First Presidency. He traveled widely with President Smith and learned that he was truly a “man of love.” He recalls that President Smith laid his own overcoat on a bale of clothing to be shipped to the Saints suffering in postwar Europe. Elder Anderson remembers going with him when he called on the presidents of the United States and Mexico. They kept former U.S. President Herbert Hoover waiting in the outer office while President Smith explained the Book of Mormon and bore his testimony to President Avila Camacho of Mexico.”

Sam looked sad.
“What’s the matter?” Jackie asked.
“There’s still no snow,” Sam said. “What fun is winter without snow?”
Jackie had an idea. She went into her room and shut the door.
“What are you doing?” Sam asked.
“You’ll see,” she called.
Sam waited. He heard crinkle, crinkle, snip, snip, snip. He was curious! So he knocked on the door. “What are you doing?” he asked again.
“Be patient,” Jackie said. “You’ll see.”
Sam was tired of waiting. He sat on a chair in the living room and read a book. After a while he felt something fall softly on his head. He picked it up.
“A snowflake!” he declared.
Then more snowflakes fell on him. He looked behind the chair.
“Surprise!” Jackie shouted. “It’s snowing!”
Sam laughed as he held up a snowflake. “This is the best kind of snow,” he said. “It never melts.”

“Daddy!”
The tremulous little voice in the quiet darkness was followed by muffled sobs.
“Daaaddy!”
This time the plea was louder and more fearful.
Footsteps hurried down the hall toward the voice. Then, click, the bedroom filled with light. Stevie’s dad stood squinting in the doorway, his hair awry. “Stevie, what’s wrong? Did you have a bad dream?”
Stevie nodded.
Dad sat on the bed and smoothed the boy’s hair, then gently wiped away the tears.
“You’re OK now, Son.”
“I dreamed”—Stevie tried to stop sobbing and catch his breath—“that you and Mom”—he sniffed—“were gone and that … I’d never see you again!” Stevie looked up into his dad’s brown eyes. “I was all alone.”
Dad wrapped his strong arms around Stevie in a loving hug. “You know, Stevie, there used to be another little boy very much like you. Once he, too, was afraid that he was all alone. Do you want to hear about him?”
Stevie nodded.
Carlos was just about your size when his parents sent him to Mexico to stay with his grandmother. Carlos’s family was moving to a different part of Colorado, and Carlos’s father told him that as soon as they had found a new house and moved into it, they would send for him.
Carlos’s Uncle Pablo drove him to Mexico. They traveled over hot, dusty roads and through deserts and mountains. Finally, in one little village next to the mountains, his uncle smiled at Carlos and said, “We’re here.”
As they pulled up in front of a tiny white adobe house, chickens scattered in every direction, flapping their wings and squawking at the car and its passengers.
An old lady came out of the house. She had dark brown skin and white hair. Carlos’s uncle threw his arms around her and kissed her cheek.
“Carlos,” his uncle said, “do you remember your grandmother?”
“Bienvenido (welcome), Carlos.” The woman smiled at him.
Carlos just stood there. He hadn’t been with his grandmother since he was a baby, and he didn’t remember her at all. Finally he looked up at his uncle. “Uncle Pablo, I don’t want to be here!” Carlos whispered, even though he knew his grandmother couldn’t understand English.
“Now, Carlos, remember that you agreed to give it a try here. It’s just for a little while,” Uncle Pablo said. “Here, see if you’re strong enough to carry this into the house.” Pablo took the old, battered suitcase out of the car and handed it to Carlos.
Carlos dropped the suitcase just inside the door. He walked through both rooms of the house. The wooden furniture looked strange to him, as did the pictures with beads hanging from them on the walls. In the middle of the larger room stood a tall, wooden machine with rows of yarn going up and down; on the floor around it lay several balls of colorful yarn.
Carlos walked out the back door and into the cooking shed, where black pots and pans hung on the wall and firewood was piled in the corner. He saw that his uncle and grandmother were still talking, and he decided that somehow he’d think of a way to get his uncle to take him back to Colorado.
Carlos went through the backyard to the other side of the house. He saw some boys playing in the street and walked closer to watch them. Suddenly a dog ran up and started barking at him. The boys stopped playing, and one of them called the dog. They all yelled a greeting to Carlos, but he couldn’t understand them. They called again, and when he still didn’t respond, they started to laugh.
Carlos turned and ran away from them. I can’t help it if I don’t understand Spanish! he thought.
Carlos ran through the village and didn’t stop until he’d climbed a small hill. From the top of the hill he could see his grandmother’s house. “Oh no!” he agonized. “Uncle Pablo’s car is gone!”
The sinking sun had turned the faraway clouds into a red, orange, and pink sunset before Carlos returned to his grandmother’s house. She was busy making dinner in the cooking shed. When she looked up and saw Carlos, she put down the bowl she was holding and grasped his shoulders. “Carlos!” she cried, then went on excitedly in Spanish. Carlos didn’t understand her words, but he understood that she had been worried about him and that he wasn’t to wander off again without telling her. Grown-ups are all alike in every language, Carlos decided.
During dinner Grandma tried teaching him the names of the things that she pointed to: mesa (table), plato (plate), tenedor (fork), pan (bread), frijoles (beans), arroz (rice), limonada (lemonade). Carlos just picked at his food. When his mother made Mexican food, it was always a treat, but now all he wanted was a hamburger with catsup and mustard and pickles.
After dinner Grandma worked at her loom by the dim light of a kerosene lamp, weaving fabric from the colorful yarns. As she worked, she sang softly and looked up every few minutes to smile at Carlos. Carlos sat on the floor watching his grandmother, wishing that she had a television set.
Grandma let Carlos sleep in the only bed in the house. She covered him with a sheet, let down the mosquito netting, then tucked its edges under the mattress. “Buenas noches (good night), Carlos.” She went into the other room and put out the lamp.
Darkness closed in on Carlos. Crickets chirped nearby. He turned over and looked out the window at a bright star and wondered if that same star was shining down on his parents. All day he had fought tears, but he couldn’t stop them anymore. Soon he was sobbing out of control.
Grandma lighted the kerosene lamp again and came into the room. Lifting the mosquito netting and sitting on the bed next to Carlos, she pulled him up into her arms. “Carlos, Carlos.” She put her soft cheek against his forehead and gently rocked back and forth, humming softly.
“I want my dad … and my mom,” Carlos sobbed.
Grandma got up, took his hand, and led him to a wooden chest in the other room. From the chest she took brightly colored fabric and soft-colored dresses and placed them aside. Then she took out what looked like a small, woven blanket with broad stripes of green, red, white, and orange. One of the corners was slightly burned. She held it out for Carlos to take. “Sarape (serape),” she said.
Then the old woman brought out something wrapped in white lace. She took off the lace, revealing a book. Smiling at Carlos, she opened the book so that he could see it. Black and white photographs filled each page. She turned the pages slowly, smiling at pictures of a bride and a groom and babies. Pointing to a picture of a young boy, she said, “Tu papi (your daddy).”
Carlos looked closely at the picture. It was like looking at himself. It was his father, standing with the same sarape over his shoulder. Also in the picture was a beautiful young woman with her arm around him.
Carlos ran his fingers over the coarse fabric of the sarape. His father’s fingers had probably felt this fabric the same way when they were the same size as Carlos’s were now.
He looked up from the picture at his grandmother. She wore her white hair pulled back in a bun—the same way it was in the picture—only then her hair had been black. She’s still pretty, Carlos decided.
As he looked at his grandmother, she smiled, but a tear ran down her cheek too. Suddenly Carlos understood that she loved his father as much as he did and that she was as lonely for him as he was.
“Grandma,” Carlos said simply, putting his arms around her.
Tears came to both their eyes, but this time they were tears of joy.
When Grandma had tucked Carlos back into bed, she placed the sarape on the end of the bed.
“Thank you, Grandma,” Carlos said, smiling up at her. “Everything is going to be good, I can tell.”
Grandma smiled at Carlos, then bent down and gently kissed him good night. “Te quiero mucho (I love you a lot), Carlos.”
Stevie snuggled down under the covers.
Dad gently brushed Stevie’s hair to the side of his face, then left the room. Soon he was back—with a brightly colored sarape that was slightly burned in one corner. He spread the sarape over Stevie. “Te quiero mucho, Stevie.”

As each person speaks, we come around the circle to Trevor, a young man with special challenges. He sits quietly, reluctant to participate in the discussion about testimonies. Spontaneously, one by one, his friends in the circle start telling good things about Trevor: how he is a good example, how he brings friends to church, how it is nice to know him and have him as a friend. It is a great moment. The kindness toward their friend is authentic. These teens have learned something special about treating someone with Christlike kindness. It is part of their testimonies. For them, having a testimony isn’t just something you talk about, it really is something you do. It is the way you live. It is the decisions you make. And these teens have found what it really means to have a testimony of Christ.

May I share a story of one of our dear sisters. She wrote:
“In our home were alcohol, drug abuse, two divorces. I was living in spiritual darkness with two tiny children, when ‘angels of mercy’ came one more time. Each month I peeked out my window as the visiting teachers tried to visit me. I hid myself quietly until they left. They never gave up, and I am so glad and thankful. I learned that God’s love never stops!”
This sister is now an endowed member in full fellowship and full of happiness and joy!

She stood suddenly and walked into the house. Christian picked up the bundle of food she had brought him and began walking toward the city of Drammen. The elders had told him there were other Mormons there. Light, powder flakes of snow were falling silently on the road.
After several weeks on the road, Christian had used all his money, and he was forced to beg for food. At night he slept against fallen trees in the woods, curled up, pulling his coat tight against the cold. He felt more alone and cold than he ever had in his life. The loneliness bit at his insides even more than his hunger did.
At last he reached Drammen, but he found no success, no work, and no one knew of any Mormons or they were unwilling to help him find them. For days he wandered, knocking on doors, asking for work and direction. A blackness of despair grew inside him.
While he was looking for shelter against a growing snow storm one evening, he saw a small cottage on the edge of the woods just outside of Drammen. He decided to knock on one more door. He told the woman who answered that he was looking for work. She smiled and told Christian that her husband was not home at the moment and that Christian should come back later and talk to him. She offered him slices of bread and cheese. He took them, thanked her, turned, and walked back into the woods. In the fading daylight he found a snow-covered brush pile with a hollow inside and crawled into it. His nose and fingers were numb with the cold, and inside he felt lost, without hope. A complete lassitude came over him.
The woman reminded him of his own mother, and he longed to be home. He remembered how, on cold nights like this one, his father would sit next to the fire, smoking a long-stemmed pipe, telling stories of the old days when Odin and Thor thundered in the heavens and brave men fought the demons of the mist. His thoughts became unclear and dreamy as a drowsiness came over him. He knew it was the cold and that if he went to sleep he would freeze. For a while he accepted the hopelessness and began drifting into a comfortable, warm sleep.
Then he remembered his grandfather’s words.
“There are steps in life that can change your entire future and the future of entire generations. Take those steps carefully, Christian, in the direction you believe to be right, no matter how difficult they appear to be, and God will be with you.”
Christian crawled from under the shelter. The snow was falling heavily.
“Surely,” Christian said aloud, “if God is my Father, he can help me. I know he will.”
Christian knelt in the fresh snow and began praying.
In the darkness a short distance away, a figure watched and listened. When Christian stood from his prayers, the figure approached him.
A tall man, Moen Hotvedtvien, stood looking at the slender boy.
He extended his hand. A tear fell on his rough, carved face and mixed with moisture from melting snowflakes.
“I am Brother Hotvedtvien, and I am also a Mormon,” he said. He led Christian back to the house where the woman had given Christian bread and cheese. The house was warm.
The Hotvedtviens had no children of their own, and they took Christian in as their son. Moen was a carpenter and cabinetmaker; he taught Christian his trade.

Some months ago, as Elder Spencer J. Condie and I were in the Salt Lake airport, we unexpectedly met a devoted and faithful couple who have been friends for long years. This couple has spent a lifetime of service, meekly, faithfully, and effectively trying to build up the Church in many places in the world. Elder Condie noted, “Isn’t it remarkable what people with five loaves and two fishes do to build up the kingdom of God?” This kind of quiet, devoted service is surely a fulfillment of the word of God “that the fulness of my gospel might be proclaimed by the weak and the simple unto the ends of the world, and before kings and rulers” (D&C 1:23). Today I would like to speak of those of us who have only talents equal to five loaves and two fishes to offer the Savior to help feed the multitudes.
“When Jesus then lifted up his eyes, and saw a great company come unto him, he saith unto Philip, Whence shall we buy bread, that these may eat?
“And this he said to prove him: for he himself knew what he would do” (John 6:5–6).
Philip answered quickly that there was not enough money to buy bread for the multitude. Then Andrew, Peter’s brother, said, “There is a lad here, which hath five barley loaves, and two small fishes” (John 6:9).
“And when he had taken the five loaves and the two fishes, he looked up to heaven, and blessed, and brake the loaves, and gave them to his disciples to set before them; and the two fishes divided he among them all.
“And they did all eat, and were filled.
“And they took up twelve baskets full of the fragments, and of the fishes.
“And they that did eat of the loaves were about five thousand men” (Mark 6:41–44).
Subsequently their hearts were hardened in that they forgot the divine mission of Jesus, “for they considered not the miracle of the loaves” (Mark 6:52).
In our time, we seem to have forgotten the miracle of the five loaves and the two fishes in favor of the miracles wrought by the mind and hand of men. I refer to the marvels of modern transportation and the increasing sophistication of all scientific knowledge, including the new electronic highway. We have forgotten that this amazing knowledge comes to mankind only as God chooses to reveal it, and it should be used for purposes nobler and wiser than mere entertainment. This knowledge permits the words of the prophets of God to be bounced off satellites hovering over the earth so it is possible for much of mankind to hear their messages.
With this great knowledge has come also some skepticism about the simple and profound eternal truths taught in the miracle of the loaves and of the fishes—namely, that God rules in the heavens and the earth through his infinite intelligence and goodness.
We are also to understand and remember that we too, like the lad in the New Testament account, are the spirit children of our Heavenly Father and that Jesus is the Christ, our Savior, and the Redeemer of the world. We believe that in the centuries following the establishment of his kingdom upon the earth, the doctrines and the ordinances were changed, resulting in a falling away and the loss of the keys of priesthood authority from the earth. A miracle even greater than that of the loaves and the fishes was the vision of the Prophet Joseph Smith, who saw the Father and the Son in the Sacred Grove near Palmyra, New York. Subsequently the keys, the priesthood, and the saving ordinances were restored in their fulness, and Christ’s church was reestablished in our time. Thus God has again “fed” us and filled our “baskets” to overflowing.
It has been said that this church does not necessarily attract great people but more often makes ordinary people great. Many nameless people with gifts equal only to five loaves and two small fishes magnify their callings and serve without attention or recognition, feeding literally thousands. In large measure, they make possible the fulfillment of Nebuchadnezzar’s dream that the latter-day gospel of Christ would be like a stone cut out of the mountain without hands, rolling forth until it fills the whole earth (see Dan. 2:34–35; D&C 65:2). These are the hundreds of thousands of leaders and teachers in all of the auxiliaries and priesthood quorums, the home teachers, the Relief Society visiting teachers. These are the many humble bishops in the Church, some without formal training but greatly magnified, always learning, with a humble desire to serve the Lord and the people of their wards.
Any man or woman who enjoys the Master’s touch is like potter’s clay in his hands. More important than acquiring fame or fortune is being what God wants us to be. Before we came to this earth, we may have been fashioned to do some small good in this life that no one else can do. The Lord said to Jeremiah, “Before I formed thee in the belly I knew thee; and before thou camest forth out of the womb I sanctified thee, and I ordained thee a prophet unto the nations” (Jer. 1:5). If God has a work for those with many talents, I believe he also has an important work for those of us who have few.
What is the central characteristic of those having only five loaves and two fishes? What makes it possible, under the Master’s touch, for them to serve, lift, and bless so that they touch for good the lives of hundreds, even thousands? After a lifetime of dealing in the affairs of men and women, I believe it is the ability to overcome personal ego and pride—both are enemies to the full enjoyment of the Spirit of God and to walking humbly before him. The ego interferes with husbands and wives asking each other for forgiveness. It prevents the enjoyment of the full sweetness of a higher love. The ego often prevents parents and children from fully understanding each other. The ego enlarges our feelings of self-importance and worth. It blinds us to reality. Pride keeps us from confessing our sins and shortcomings to the Lord and working out our repentance.
What of those who have talents equal only to two loaves and one fish? They do much of the hard, menial, unchallenging, poorly compensated work of the world. Life may not have been quite fair to them. They struggle to have enough to hold body and soul together. But they are not forgotten. If their talents are used to build the kingdom of God and serve others, they will fully enjoy the promises of the Savior. The great promise of the Savior is that they “shall receive [their] reward, even peace in this world, and eternal life in the world to come” (D&C 59:23). The one who had only two talents was able to say, “Lord, thou deliveredst unto me two talents: behold, I have gained two other talents beside them.” Thus said the Lord, “Well done, good and faithful servant; thou hast been faithful over a few things, I will make thee ruler over many things: enter … into the joy of thy lord” (Matt. 25:22–23).
It is a blessing for some to be given minds and talents equal to fifteen loaves and ten fishes. They have so very much that they can contribute, but some become less than they might. They do not reach their potential of service, perhaps because they take so much pride in what they think they know and what they have. They seem unwilling or unable to yield “to the enticings of the Holy Spirit … and [become] as a child, submissive, meek, humble, patient, full of love, willing to submit to all things which the Lord seeth fit to inflict upon [them], even as a child doth submit to his father” (Mosiah 3:19).
During much of my life, a few journalists and dissidents have predicted the imminent downfall of this church. They have often pointed to the alleged disaffection of the youth of the Church. The lives and the dedication of our almost 50,000 young missionaries are testament enough of the faithfulness of many of our youth. In addition, during my lifetime, the Church has grown from 525,000 to about 8,500,000. I believe and testify that this is because of the restoration of the fulness of the keys and authority of the gospel of Christ to Joseph Smith.
Recently an out-of-state journalist used the phrase that there were appearing “cracks in the walls of the temple,” figuratively speaking, of course. By this I suppose he meant that the moorings of the Church were being shaken by a very few who do not fully sustain the leaders of the Church or keep their covenants. To dispel this perception of cracks in our members’ faith, we need only to observe the joyful people who worship in any of our forty-five temples worldwide. Many are couples clutching their little bags and holding hands, and many are the unmarried, seeking the peaceful blessings of the house of the Lord. Their countenances reflect much joy and satisfaction in their lives.
A major reason this church has grown from its humble beginnings to its current strength is the faithfulness and devotion of millions of humble and devoted people who have only five loaves and two small fishes to offer in the service of the Master. They have largely surrendered their own interests and in so doing have found “the peace of God, which passeth all understanding” (Philip. 4:7). I wish only to be one of those who experience this supernal inner peace.
In the listening audience today are Jeff and Joyce Underwood of Pocatello, Idaho. They are parents of Jeralee and their other five children. Jeff works on a building maintenance team that cares for some of our chapels in Pocatello, Idaho. Joyce is a mother and homemaker. One day last July, their daughter Jeralee, age eleven, was going door to door collecting money for her newspaper route. Jeralee never returned home—not that day, nor the next day, nor the next, nor ever.
Two thousand people from the area had gone out day after day to search for her. Other churches sent support and food for the searchers. It was learned that Jeralee had been abducted and brutally murdered by an evil man. When her body was found, the whole city was horrified and shocked. All segments of the community reached out to Joyce and Jeff in love and sympathy. Some became angry and wanted to take vengeance.
After Jeralee’s body was found, Jeff and Joyce appeared with great composure before the television cameras and other media to publicly express their profound thanks to all who had helped in the search and who had extended sympathy and love. Joyce said, “I know our Heavenly Father has heard and answered our prayers, and he has brought our daughter back to us.” Jeff said, “We no longer have doubt about where she is.” Joyce continued, “I have learned a lot about love this week, and I also know there is a lot of hate. I have looked at the love and want to feel that love, and not the hate. We can forgive.”
Elder Joe J. Christensen and I, representing the General Authorities, were among the thousands privileged to attend Jeralee’s funeral service. The Holy Spirit blessed that gathering in a remarkable way and spoke peace to the souls of all who attended. Later, President Kert W. Howard, Jeralee’s stake president, wrote, “The Underwoods have received letters from people both in and out of the Church stating that they prayed for Jeralee, and they hadn’t prayed in years, and because of this, they had a renewed desire to return to the Church.” President Howard continued, “We will never know the extent of activation and rededication this single event has caused. Who knows the far-reaching effects Jeralee’s life will have for generations untold?” Many have come into the Church because they wanted to know what kind of a religion could give the Underwoods their spiritual strength.
I mention the good coming from this tragic event with Jeralee’s parents’ full approval and encouragement. Their sweet daughter was like the lad who had only five barley loaves and two small fishes to give to the cause of the Savior, but by the power of God, countless thousands have been spiritually fed.
I testify that the gospel we teach is the “power of God unto salvation” for all who listen and obey (Rom. 1:16), regardless of their talents and abilities, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

I was born in Weonju, South Korea, sometime in 1958 and was later adopted by an American family. When I was fourteen, I joined the Church. A year later, concerned about what to do after high school, I decided to obtain my patriarchal blessing. I first talked to the patriarch, who advised me to fast and pray about the things I wanted to know. I did, and later received my blessing with good feelings about the promises in it. But one section puzzled me:
“You will have the great privilege of performing work for and in behalf of your family, the parents you have not known. If you will search for your family records, help will come from on high; the heavens will respond to your prayers if you fast and pray and if you will be faithful in giving of your time and talents.”
I knew I needed to do my genealogy work, but I couldn’t understand the part about “the parents you have not known.” I had no idea who my natural parents were or how to find out. As far as I knew, I was an orphan when I was adopted.
During my last semester in college, after sincere prayer and soul searching, I felt strongly impressed to serve a mission. I completed my missionary application and sent in my papers, but worried that I would be called to go to Korea. I did not particularly want to go there. A few weeks passed, and the call came to the “Korea Seoul West Mission.”
I struggled with accepting my call, but as the time drew near, I thought of the promise in my patriarchal blessing. How else could I do my genealogy work? I had to go to Korea.
After arriving at the mission home in Korea, one of the first questions the mission president asked me was, “Do you plan to do some of your genealogy work while you’re here?” Surprised and encouraged by his question, I answered, “Yes, I want to.”

When an earthquake struck Haiti in January 2010, Jean-Elie René raced home to make sure his family was safe. Upon arrival, he spotted one of his three sons crying in the street, and he could hear the screams of another son from beneath the rubble where the family’s home once stood.
The 32-year-old father followed the cries and dug through the rubble until he found his five-year-old son and the body of his pregnant wife, still sheltering their nine-month-old baby from the collapsed roof of their home.
Brother René serves as ward clerk in the Leogane Ward, Port-au-Prince Haiti Stake. Although he lost his wife, his unborn child, and his home, he doesn’t complain or get angry about his situation. Most days following the earthquake, Brother René could be found at the meetinghouse, with the baby on his lap and his two other boys at his side, helping the bishop coordinate relief to ward members and others who made the meetinghouse their temporary home.
The story of Brother René is touching, but it is not unique.

God uses another form of chastening or correction to guide us to a future we do not or cannot now envision but which He knows is the better way for us. President Hugh B. Brown, formerly a member of the Twelve and a counselor in the First Presidency, provided a personal experience. He told of purchasing a rundown farm in Canada many years ago. As he went about cleaning up and repairing his property, he came across a currant bush that had grown over six feet (1.8 m) high and was yielding no berries, so he pruned it back drastically, leaving only small stumps. Then he saw a drop like a tear on the top of each of these little stumps, as if the currant bush were crying, and thought he heard it say:
“How could you do this to me? I was making such wonderful growth. … And now you have cut me down. Every plant in the garden will look down on me. … How could you do this to me? I thought you were the gardener here.”
President Brown replied, “Look, little currant bush, I am the gardener here, and I know what I want you to be. I didn’t intend you to be a fruit tree or a shade tree. I want you to be a currant bush, and someday, little currant bush, when you are laden with fruit, you are going to say, ‘Thank you, Mr. Gardener, for loving me enough to cut me down.’”
Years later, President Brown was a field officer in the Canadian Army serving in England. When a superior officer became a battle casualty, President Brown was in line to be promoted to general, and he was summoned to London. But even though he was fully qualified for the promotion, it was denied him because he was a Mormon. The commanding general said in essence, “You deserve the appointment, but I cannot give it to you.” What President Brown had spent 10 years hoping, praying, and preparing for slipped through his fingers in that moment because of blatant discrimination. Continuing his story, President Brown remembered:
“I got on the train and started back … with a broken heart, with bitterness in my soul. … When I got to my tent, … I threw my cap on the cot. I clenched my fists, and I shook them at heaven. I said, ‘How could you do this to me, God? I have done everything I could do to measure up. There is nothing that I could have done—that I should have done—that I haven’t done. How could you do this to me?’ I was as bitter as gall.
“And then I heard a voice, and I recognized the tone of this voice. It was my own voice, and the voice said, ‘I am the gardener here. I know what I want you to do.’ The bitterness went out of my soul, and I fell on my knees by the cot to ask forgiveness for my ungratefulness. …
“… And now, almost 50 years later, I look up to [God] and say, ‘Thank you, Mr. Gardener, for cutting me down, for loving me enough to hurt me.’”5
God knew what Hugh B. Brown was to become and what was needed for that to happen, and He redirected his course to prepare him for the holy apostleship.