Gospel Story Finder

Perhaps President Benson’s most challenging call came in 1946 at the close of World War II when he was appointed president of the European Mission. His specific assignment was to reopen missions and to ease the suffering among members of the Church in the war-torn countries of Europe. Overcoming incredible difficulties caused by lack of transportation and basic supplies, President Benson was able to facilitate relief efforts for many European Saints.

The children of the Calderón family started a great transition for their family. Jared, age 15, was the first to join the Church, followed a year later by his sister, Angie, 13. Their parents joined the Church three years after Angie’s baptism.
At first this family from Costa Rica had no idea how much the gospel of Jesus Christ would change their lives. They were introduced to the Church by a family member in 2002, and for many months afterward the Calderóns regularly invited the missionaries to their home so they could learn more. As they did so, the family experienced a transformation—a true conversion.
Before the family joined the Church, the Calderóns were concerned that Jared and Angie were having a hard time getting a moral and spiritual education in a world that downplays religion.
The gospel, the Calderóns found, had answers to the problems they were facing. “When we came to understand the gospel and started applying its teachings, that knowledge changed the way we lived,” says Brother Calderón. “We learned who we are and how we can return to our Heavenly Father. Because of what we found, we have lived a richer spiritual life.”
It wasn’t always easy to accept readily what they were learning from the missionaries, but as they tested gospel principles, they gained a testimony of them. “As we learned about gospel standards,” says Sister Calderón, “we tried to stay within the boundaries of worthiness. I gave up drinking coffee. (And I drank plenty of coffee before then!) We made goals as a family to not swear, to speak kindly to each other, and to keep other good principles.
“The main sacrifice we made was our pride,” she continues. “We had to learn to be humble, but as we’ve tried to learn and live with humility, we’ve received many blessings and experienced great progress as individuals, as a couple, and as a family.”

I recently observed from a distance a couple who at one time had faith in Christ but then decided to discard their belief. They were successful in the world, and they found pleasure in their intellect and the rejection of their faith.

All seemed well until the husband, still young and energetic, suddenly fell ill and died. Like an eclipse of the sun, they had blocked the light of the Son, and the result was an eclipse of hope. The wife, in her disbelief, now felt disoriented, painfully unprepared, unable to comfort her children. Her intellect had told her that her life was in perfect order until suddenly she could see no tomorrow. Her despair brought darkness and confusion.

The teaching of Mary Bommeli touched more than those women around the loom and the judge. My father, her grandson, talked to me during the nights as he approached death. He spoke of joyous reunions that were coming soon in the spirit world. I could almost see the bright sunlight and the smiles in that place of paradise as he talked about it with such assurance.
At one point I asked him if he had some repenting to do. He smiled. He chuckled softly as he said, “No, Hal, I’ve been repenting as I went along.” The doctrine of paradise that Mary Bommeli taught those women was real to her grandson. And even the doctrine Mary taught the judge had shaped my father’s life for good. That will not be the end of Mary Bommeli’s teaching. The record of her words will send true doctrine to generations of her family yet unborn. Because she believed that even a new convert knew enough doctrine to teach it, the minds and hearts of her descendants will be opened, and they will be strengthened in the battle.

The day the Laurels went camping along the Colorado River, I had an important announcement to make. I had decided to begin meeting with the missionaries.
As my new friends exclaimed in delight, I interrupted, cautioning them not to expect too much. “I’m not getting baptized or anything like that,” I told them. “I just need a more organized way to learn about beliefs.” My friends smiled at each other knowingly.
As the weekend progressed, I found that just being in an LDS environment was educational. The first thing I noticed was that Mormons prayed more than the members of other churches I had met—and in my search for religion, I had met members of many faiths. My friends’ prayers were different, too. They had no book of prayers, like the one my grandmother had owned. They just talked to God. And they lived what they learned in church. This was no Sunday religion. It was all day, every day, and I liked that.
In the evening, we spread out our sleeping bags and admired the brilliant stars in the sky. Some of the girls began asking me questions. How had I been introduced to the Church? Where had I gone to church before? How did I feel about what I was learning?
I didn’t know how to answer that last question. How could I describe my confusion without hurting their feelings? No other church had affected me this way. I had spent hours sorting through LDS doctrines, trying to guess which ones were true. I had always hated guessing. I wanted to know the truth. But there was no research method to prove the Church one way or another.
I sighed. “It’s hard,” I admitted. “Everything you teach is so different, and it’s going to take a while to know what’s true.”
“I know what’s true,” one girl said quietly. Then she bore her testimony, confidently, without embarrassment.
I felt that feeling again—the feeling I had felt when I was 10 and heard the story of the First Vision while visiting the Los Angeles Temple. It was also the feeling I felt when I heard an especially touching lesson. I didn’t know what the feeling meant, but I suspected it was important. Suddenly, more than anything, I wanted to know, to really know and not just to guess.
“You said you know these things. How do you know?” I asked.
“I’ve prayed about them. You’ve learned about Joseph Smith, haven’t you? About how he was searching for truth and went into the grove to pray?”
I nodded. “Yes, and I’ve tried to pray, but God isn’t going to come down and tell me the answers.”
“Well, probably not, but he doesn’t have to come down in person in order to talk to us. He talks to us all the time. All we have to do is learn how to listen.”
I sat up, interested. “I’ve prayed before, and other churches have told me God answers prayers, but no one ever told me how. You mean I can ask him if your church is true, and he will tell me?”
“Of course. That’s how I did it.”
I was amazed. “If it’s that easy, you would think everyone would join your church.”
My friends laughed. Then they began teaching me how to get a testimony. A few months later, I had my answers. And just after my 17th birthday, I was baptized. They were right. Heavenly Father did tell me. All I had to do was listen.

One evening as I drove to a friend’s birthday party, I turned down a secluded, dark two-lane road. Suddenly, I had a terrible feeling. The thought came to me that I should turn around. I rationalized that I was just being nervous.
The prompting, however, came again two more times. “Heavenly Father,” I said out loud, “there is no place to turn around. If I need to do so, please show me where.”
Immediately, I saw a driveway I had never noticed before during my many times driving this road. I quickly turned around and went home.
My friends were disappointed when I told them I wouldn’t be coming to the party. Thinking I had turned around because I didn’t want to be alone, they suggested that my husband join me on a return drive. My husband agreed. He dropped me off at the party and left for home.
Later, my husband called me. He sounded alarmed. He said that as he drove home, police officers stopped him to ask if he had seen anything suspicious. They said a truck had been forced off the road by gang members who then beat and robbed the driver. The police suspected that the gang had targeted the truck because no other cars were nearby at the time.
I was stunned! Earlier, I had been the lone vehicle on that same road. I realized that my prompting had been from the Holy Ghost and that I had been protected by the powers of heaven. As I contemplated what had happened, other incidents in my life came to my mind. I realized that what I had thought were mere coincidences were actually promptings from the Holy Ghost.

The power and influence one person can have is enormous. It was one Sarah Ann Meeks who paid what seemed to be her ultimate sacrifice as she stood alone on the doorstep of her home in far-off England nearly a century and a half ago. Her father met her there with a small bundle containing a few of her belongings and with these words, “You join that church and you must never set foot in my home again.” Unfortunately that was the last she saw of her family.

Alone? Very much alone! She could have bowed to that impossible, heart-wrenching rejection. But no—she loved the Lord. She had been touched by the Spirit and knew that the gospel of Jesus Christ had been restored to the earth in its fulness. She knew that she must stand as a witness to the truthfulness of this message. She knew that she could make a difference.

From that one stalwart woman has sprung a progeny of faithful Latter-day Saints difficult to number. Literally hundreds of her descendants have stood as witnesses all around the world testifying to the reality of the Restoration of the gospel—the same message she embraced as she stood alone. As one of those descendants I bear solemn testimony to all the world that God the Eternal Father lives, that Jesus is the Christ, the Savior of the world, and that leading The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints today is a living and loving prophet of God, serving with all the meaning that sacred title implies.

Recently Sister Oswald and I decided to teach our five-year-old twin granddaughters how to jump the rope. Jumping the rope is a children’s game in which participants jump over a rope as it passes under their feet and then over their heads. After receiving some simple instructions, both girls tried but failed on several attempts.
Just as we were ready to give up, two older neighbor children walked by, and we enlisted their help. Both of the neighbor girls were experienced rope jumpers and were able to show our granddaughters how to jump the rope. As they jumped the rope, I noticed that the neighbor girls sang a song that helped them jump to the rhythm of the swinging rope.
Once our granddaughters understood the principles of rope jumping and were shown how to jump the rope, the rest of the lesson was easy. With a little practice, both of the twins were well on their way to mastering the fundamentals of rope jumping.
During the rope-jumping lesson, another granddaughter, only three years old, was sitting quietly on the lawn observing. When someone asked her if she wanted to try to jump the rope, she nodded, came forward, and stood next to the rope. As we turned the rope, to our great surprise she jumped just as she had seen her sisters do. She jumped once, then twice, and then again and again, repeating aloud the same song the older children had sung.
All three granddaughters had observed that there was an art to jumping the rope. It was a simple thing that all of them could do after learning a few basic principles and being shown how. So it is with gospel teaching. When we learn a few fundamental principles about teaching and are shown how to teach, all of us can do it.

“I got started in eighth grade in Tucson, Arizona,” Richard Olson said. “I was in a math class with four friends. One day one of them brought a maze he had made and started a contest to see who could make the best maze. After a while the other four stopped making them, but I haven’t yet.
“I would make mazes at home and take them to school. Some of my friends got excited about them and started copying them, and that kept me excited about them.
“When I feel like doing a maze, I sit down and think of movies I’ve seen, books I’ve read, anything that might bring me an idea. I’ve taken art classes all through school, but I don’t have any particular tricks I use in drawing mazes, though I do like to continue a particular path a long way and then end it before I finally create the one good path. Usually, I just sit down and start drawing, and the idea works itself out as I go along.”
It was Richard’s father who first thought of publishing the mazes in a book to earn money for his mission. “I promised the Lord that all the money would go into my mission fund,” Richard said. “The books weren’t selling too well to begin with, but then we got more orders than books and had to have some more printed.” They have now published more than 1,000 copies.
Now Richard is serving in the Texas San Antonio Mission, and mazes have become less important. “In the mission field,” he says, “I don’t have time to draw one, because it takes about two or three hours. Besides, there are more important things to do.” When he returns home, though, he’ll probably go back to the drawing board again.

In my patriarchal blessing I was told to counsel with my mother and receive guidance from her. I found throughout my life that when I did so, I was blessed with wisdom beyond my own abilities. Likewise, when I was struggling with a health issue several years ago, I received a blessing in which I was told in clear language, “Listen to your wife.” I apparently didn’t do so very well, because six months later, in a similar blessing under the hands of someone else, I was told again, “Listen to your wife.” Being willing to receive her counsel was an important part of the healing process. On that second occasion I was prompted also to finally receive the counsel of my doctor. My stubbornness in thinking I could diagnose myself was not serving me well.

Life has many such occasions in which we need the intervention of others who have a clearer vision of things than we do. Our challenge is to be humble enough to receive what they have to offer.

Elder Carlos H. Amado of the First Quorum of the Seventy, who is originally from Guatemala, told me a story about Colonel Conde, a member of the Church who served in the Army in Guatemala. Although he had been a high ranking officer, and had served in the Ministry of Defense, he lived in a modest house, and could be described as living a poor and simple life; but he was known far and wide in the Armed Forces for being honest and incorruptible.

After his retirement from the Army, he was called to serve in the Presidency of the Guatemala Temple. One day, an Army truck pulled up to the Guatemala Temple, and the officer in charge came into the Temple.

The conversation went something like this; the officer said: "When you built this temple, you were allowed to bring in equipment duty free, because it was for a place of worship. 1 am representing the Customs Department to perform an official inspection, to ensure that the equipment for which you received a duty exemption is still here in the temple."

The temple worker at the door said: "But sir, this is a dedicated building, and no one is permitted to enter the temple unless he is a member of the Church, and holds the proper recommend."

"I am sorry about that," said the officer, "but I have my duty to perform, and 1 will need to come into the temple to inspect the equipment."

Just then, President Conde of the Temple Presidency came to the reception area. "What is it that you wish?" he said to the officer. The officer recognized him, and saluted. He explained to the former Colonel Conde what it is that he wished to do. President Conde said to him: "I certify to you that all that equipment is still here in the Temple."

"Then that is all I need," the officer said to President Conde, "Your word is good enough for me." And he went away, knowing that he could trust what the former Colonel Conde had said.

“Some things don’t happen right away. … But progress is progress, no matter how small.”
When Zyon’s parents got married, his mom was a member of the Church, but his dad wasn’t. After several years, his dad still hadn’t been baptized. Zyon’s siblings also struggled with their faith, and even Zyon sometimes felt overwhelmed trying to do what the Lord asked.
But he knew that no matter what, God loved them and could help them.
“He has an eternal love for us,” Zyon says, “and that love will never fade. No matter what we do, we can always come back to it. No matter how far we fall, we can always rise back up.”
Zyon decided that even though his family was struggling with their testimonies, he could strengthen his own. One way he did that was by determining to serve a mission when he’s old enough.
“Ever since it first clicked that I could someday serve a mission,” Zyon says, “I’ve seen so clearly how He has lined things up to help me prepare to serve.”
Since making that decision, Zyon began to see how the Lord was preparing not only him but also his family to receive great blessings. His dad finally decided to get baptized. Later, Zyon was sealed to his parents. His older siblings even started coming back to church.
Zyon says he learned an important lesson: “Even if we don’t see it, even if we don’t fully understand it, the Lord is always preparing us to do as He commands and to receive all that He can give us.”

Let me tell you the story of Laurie, a young BYU student who finally gathered the courage to visit the campus health center. She was always exhausted. Some days she couldn’t get out of bed at all. And she was having chest pain, shortness of breath and other physical symptoms of panic.
To her deep dismay, Laurie was diagnosed with depression and anxiety. The doctor gave her a comprehensive treatment plan and a prescription for medication. But as soon as Laurie got back to her apartment, she flushed the pills down the toilet. “I was embarrassed,” she told me. “I felt like this was a weakness that I could will myself out of.”
Laurie went on to have many difficult years—denying her symptoms and suffering in silence.
It wasn’t until her third child was born that she finally decided to do something about it. She reached out for help and started to feel better.

Emma ran into the living room. It was time for family home evening.
“Kyle is going to a new school,” Daddy said. “So I am going to give him a father’s blessing. I will give you a blessing too, Emma.”
“A blessing is a way for Heavenly Father to tell you things He wants you to hear,” Mommy said.
First it was Kyle’s turn. He sat in a chair. He folded his arms and closed his eyes. Daddy put his hands on Kyle’s head. Emma folded her arms too.
Daddy said Kyle’s full name. He said he was blessing him by the power of the priesthood. Then he said, “I bless you that you’ll be able to do well at school.”
What will Heavenly Father tell me? Emma wondered as she listened to the rest of the blessing.
Soon Daddy said, “OK, Emma, it’s your turn.”
He helped her climb onto the chair. She folded her arms. She closed her eyes tight. Daddy put his hands on her head. He said lots of happy things in the blessing. Emma felt like she was getting a big, warm hug.
“In the name of Jesus Christ, amen,” Daddy said. He took his hands off her head.
“What do you remember from your blessing?” Mommy asked.
Question for You
When have you felt Heavenly Father’s love?
“Daddy said that Heavenly Father thinks I’m special!” Emma said. She felt warm in her heart. She knew it was true.
Mommy smiled. “You are special,” she said. “And Heavenly Father loves you.”

Lindy burst through the front door. “Mom, I’m home! No more school for the rest of the week, and tomorrow is Thanksgiving!”

Mom smiled and gave her a big hug. That’s when Lindy noticed Dad and her older sisters sitting in the family room.

“Hi, Dad,” Lindy said. “Are you home early because of the holiday?”

“No, sweetheart. Come here and give me a hug, and then I’ll tell you all my news.” Dad smiled calmly. “I lost my job today. I know that’s a little scary, but I’ve already started to work on finding a new one. It may take a while, so we have to be patient and trust in the Lord.”

Lindy’s oldest sister Rebekah started to cry. “Will we have to move?” she asked through her tears.

“I’m going to try to find a new job here first,” Dad said.

“But even if we do end up having to move, remember the last time we moved?” Mom said. “We found great friends and activities here that we didn’t have before. The most important thing is that we go where the Lord wants us to go.”

“That’s right,” Dad said. “We’ll pray for the Lord to guide us, and we can talk about our choices as a family. I think right now the best thing we can do is have a family prayer.”

During the prayer Lindy felt a little better, but she was still scared. She thought a lot about her school, friends, neighborhood, and home.

The next day family and friends came over for Thanksgiving dinner. Most of the adults told Dad they would talk to people at work and see if there were jobs available. Lindy felt good to know there were so many people who cared about them and wanted to help, but she was still worried.

After their guests left, Lindy asked Dad if she could talk to him for a minute. “Are we going to have to leave our house since we don’t have any more money to pay for it?”

“Oh, Lindy,” Dad said, “you don’t have to worry about that. We have money put aside so we can pay for our house until I get a new job.”

A few days later, Lindy went into the room where Mom was ironing clothes. “Mom, you know how we’ve been eating leftovers every night? Well, I was just wondering if that was because … well, because Dad’s not working now.”

“You mean you wonder if we can’t go to the store to buy new food?”

Lindy nodded, looking at the ground.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Mom said, “we have money for food. We just have lots of leftovers from Thanksgiving dinner. Don’t worry—we will have money for food until Dad gets a new job.”

That night both Mom and Dad came to tuck Lindy into bed. “Lindy, how are you feeling now? Are you still worried?” Mom asked.

“I don’t know. My stomach feels sort of sick. It just feels strange.”

“Lindy, we don’t want you to worry about anything,” Dad said. “Do you remember our food storage in the basement?”

Lindy nodded.

“We have that because we obeyed the prophet when he told us to be prepared. And he didn’t just tell us to prepare by storing food—he told us to get a good education, put money into savings, and prepare spiritually to feel the Lord’s direction in our lives. We have tried hard to do all those things, so we’re prepared for a time like this.”

Lindy looked up at her dad. “Did the prophet really say all those things?”

Mom nodded. “When the prophet warned us to put our houses in order, Dad and I decided to follow his counsel. We don’t spend all the money Dad gets paid. We save some of the money every month for an emergency like this. We haven’t borrowed money to buy things we can’t afford.”

“So here’s our emergency, and we’re ready because we obeyed the prophet,” Dad said. He smiled. “Now we need to listen to the Spirit and trust in the Lord to keep guiding us.”

For the first time, Lindy started to relax. Her stomach didn’t feel strange anymore. She remembered the family home evening they’d had a few weeks before Thanksgiving, when they had talked about things they were grateful for. Even though a sad thing had happened since then, she was even more grateful!

“Dad and Mom, I didn’t really think about how the prophet helps us until now,” she said. “I’m glad you listened to him. I’m not going to worry anymore.”

Dad tucked Lindy’s blankets around her, and Mom sang to her while she snuggled into her bed. She fell asleep hoping it would snow so she and her sisters could build a snowman.

One of the first families that made an impression on me were longtime members in the branch I attended near my home in Malaysia. When they saw me at church each Sunday, they greeted me with big smiles on their faces. They also guided me through the classes and showed me where to go and even picked me up and drove me to church at times. Eventually they started inviting me to have dinner over at their place too. This family really embraced the gospel in their lives, and they showed their devotion to Jesus Christ through genuine care and love for me. Because of their ministering, we became close friends, and I felt so much more unified with the branch and like we were one big family.

I was born into a Catholic family, but at the age of eight I was baptized and confirmed a member of this church with my mother and father. It was a wonderful experience. I still remember the missionaries visiting our home and the bright enthusiasm they brought with them. From my eight-year-old perspective, their visits were fun, but for my father especially, they were also powerful and spiritually transformative. Although I did not fully grasp the plain and precious truths of the gospel at that time, I will never forget the feelings I had on the day of my baptism, especially as the missionaries placed their hands upon my head and granted the gift of the Holy Ghost with power and authority. It was a remarkably peculiar sensation that passed through my body as a wave of pure energy, from the crown of my head to the tips of my toes.

We regularly attended church and actively participated in church activities. A year later, Dad baptized my twin sisters, and all was fresh and new. However, a few years later, our activity in the Church waned, and while I was in middle school, my family stopped attending church altogether. I continued to participate in an LDS Scout troop and attended a few youth activities, but by the time I reached high school, religion wasn’t a significant part of my life.

From an early age, I have always had a keen interest in nature, so when high school began, I took as many science classes as possible, including honors biology, chemistry and physics, full-year courses in geology and astronomy, and full-semester courses in organic chemistry and general relativity. Immersed in science education, and largely isolated from religious experience, I began to question the existence of God.

Struggling with paradigms of science and religion, I remember asking an older coworker what he thought about God as we were cleaning carpets late one night.

I’ll never forget what he said: “I don’t know if God exists, but I try to live my life like He does, because if I live a bad life and God exists, I’ll be in trouble, but if He doesn’t exist, and there isn’t anything after this life, I won’t know what I missed.”

That seemed like a very reasonable answer, but it wasn’t entirely satisfactory. I needed to know whether God existed for myself. Knowing that I was unlikely to find the answer to my question in science textbooks, I decided to dust off my scriptures and start reading them during my senior year. Moreover, I started praying regularly again and even did some fasting. After several months of this, I returned home very late one Saturday night, and I really needed to know if God existed.

So I got on my knees and said—in one of the most earnest, if not desperate, prayers of my life—something like this: “Heavenly Father, if you are even listening—I don’t know if you even exist—please answer this prayer.” And at that moment I pleaded with God for a simple but very specific witness of His existence. In addition, I made this promise: “If you answer this prayer, I will attend church tomorrow, go on a mission, and serve you for the rest of my life.”

To my amazement, my prayer was answered as I awoke, but not only did God answer the prayer precisely as requested, but He also answered the prayer in His own way—a way that would make it very difficult for me to ever question the existence of God again.

It was a tender mercy.

A few hours later, I was sitting on the back row of the LDS chapel in Burlington, Iowa. Sacrament meeting that day was a transcendent experience. I felt the Spirit so strongly. Every word seemed to be directed at me, personally and forcefully. The final scheduled speaker ended early, so to fill the remaining time, the bishop called a few students to the stand to bear their testimonies—students who had just returned from a semester at Ricks College.

I don’t think I’d ever heard of Ricks College, but I knew I had to go there. Before leaving church that day, I made an appointment with the bishop and committed to a new path.

A few days later, I hesitantly told Dad I was considering attending Ricks College instead of a regional university. Expecting objections, I was dumbfounded by his response. He said, “That sounds like the best decision you’ve ever made in your life.” Despite his long absence from the Church, he had a strong testimony of the gospel, and he knew I would receive teachings more important than geology at Ricks College.

A few months later, he dropped me off in Idaho with a mountain bike, some fossils, and the desire to learn. Not only did I receive a stellar secular education from an amazing and caring faculty, but I was also blessed and prepared spiritually. I made lifelong friendships, met my future wife, and prepared to serve a mission, which I did at the end of that school year, but not before the greatest trial of my life.

Oh, My Father
I began today’s discourse with this $100 bill in hand. How often have I wished it had never come to me. The days immediately following my father’s untimely death were the darkest of my life. In the prayers before my mission, I pleaded with the Lord for primarily one thing: that my missionary service would be the instrument through which my father would return to the Church. And then, in an instant, on a morning in which he was not only going to attend church for the first time in many years but also send me on the Lord’s errand, he was gone. I miss him dearly. However, I am grateful for this trial of faith. In darkness, I found light. I witness that my earthly father lives and is continuing his eternal progression.

My father is a treasure in heaven.

This past spring two different bird families built nests in my yard. A small sparrow chose a rose tree on my patio for her nest. Time after time she flew back and forth, carrying blades of grass and small twigs in her beak. Carefully she manipulated her way through the rose thorns, depositing her building materials in the chosen spot. She worked without resting until the tiny nest was finished. I was amazed at how carefully the grasses were woven to make a strong and stable structure. I was almost moved to tears when I saw in the bottom of the nest four small pieces of cotton, placed in just the right spot to make a soft bed for her little ones.
The second bird, a robin, chose to build her nest in front of my house near the rain gutter, up high where ground predators could not reach it. Since she was larger, so was her nest, and in addition to being bigger, the outside of her nest was glued with mud, which kept the grasses and twigs together and held it in the crook of the rain gutter. Inside, single blades of grass were woven into a soft, cuplike shape that perfectly cradled the bird.
When the nests were completed, both birds laid their eggs and began the daily vigil of protecting and nurturing. Hour after hour, day after day these birds sat on their eggs. After the eggs hatched, the mothers worked full time to feed their hungry babies.
One particularly hot day I noticed the robin sitting on her nest, panting with her beak open. Obviously she was uncomfortable in the glare of the sun. I wondered why she stayed. Then I realized she was not sitting deep in the nest as she had when she was keeping her babies warm. Instead she was carefully stretched over the top of the nest, forming a protective shelter to keep her featherless babies from being sunburned.
I began to read about birds and the great pains they take to build homes for their families. Did you know that barn swallows make more than 1,200 mud-carrying trips in order to construct their nests? One single nest of a hooded oriole was found to contain 3,387 separate pieces of material. It seems to me that birds invest everything—their time, their energy, their means, their own comfort—to make a home and rear their young. It is not a priority that is given second place or avoided. It takes first place.
Since watching the birds in my yard, I have wondered who taught these birds what to do. How did they know how to build a nest and to shade their fledglings from the sun? Birds follow instincts to provide, protect, and nurture. These are God-given instincts, and pondering on them caused me, along with the Psalmist, to exclaim, “O Lord, how great are thy works!” (Ps. 92:5).

Just before my eleventh birthday, British and Australian troops and American paratroopers liberated us. Our property had been confiscated in the civil war between the Dutch and the Indonesians, so we had no home to return to. We stayed in a refugee camp, waiting for my older brother to recover from cholera. My father had needed immediate medical aid and had been shipped to Holland with the wounded Dutch soldiers. He lived only a short time after the rest of us reached Amsterdam.
My mother was left to find what work she could to sustain herself and her six living children. Penniless, we lived in a tiny apartment furnished with old wooden boxes. Life was not easy, and although my mother longed to make our existence more comfortable, she did not have the means to do so.
On my sixteenth birthday, as I was cleaning out a closet, I came across Pop Mientje, safely tucked away on the shelf. She was dirty; she had been a victim of my airsickness in a cargo airplane, and she had been in the mud under me as we sought cover when our truck was shot at by the Indonesians.
I decided to clean her up. As I scrubbed her with a brush, her clothes, which were sewn to her body, disintegrated. Unwilling to abandon her, I began the job of reconstruction. But as I reached into the stuffing, it yielded more than soft cotton. Pop Mientje spilled forth the treasure she had carried all these years: diamonds, rubies, pearls, jade, and various rings. How had my old rag doll been made the guardian of such precious goods?
The discovery of the jewels changed our lives. The proceeds from their sale first brought us warm clothing and furniture to make our lives more comfortable. Eventually they enabled us to obtain higher education. The training I received because of Pop Mientje’s treasures meant better employment and higher wages, both in Amsterdam and later in America.

Illustration by Allen Garns
My husband often has to work on Sundays, leaving me in charge of taking our four sons to church alone. One particular Sunday during sacrament meeting, my two toddlers were at odds with each other. If I got one of the boys interested in a book, his brother wanted it. I tried snacks, toys, and coloring, but nothing worked. I was overwhelmed with my boys, who just couldn’t seem to sit quietly for one hour.
I pulled a small toy out of my bag and handed it to my one-year-old. Immediately a scream came from my three-year-old, Tyson, as he pounced on his younger brother, trying to retrieve the toy. I was humiliated as I carried two screaming, fighting little boys out into the foyer.
My face was immediately wet with hot tears. Why did this have to be so hard? I was doing what Heavenly Father wanted me to do by bringing my family to church, right? But I couldn’t do it anymore. It was exhausting and embarrassing to fight my boys through sacrament meeting alone every week. I didn’t ever want to come back.
I sat with these thoughts for only about 15 seconds, and then a sister who I barely knew came out into the foyer after me. Her name was Sister Beus. She usually sat alone, as her husband served in the bishopric and her children were grown. She said, “You’re always here alone! I can see that you’re trying so hard. Could Tyson sit with me?” I couldn’t even think of a response! I just nodded as she took him by the hand and led him, now calm and happy, back into the chapel.
I wiped away my tears, picked up my baby, and humbly walked back into the chapel to enjoy the rest of the meeting in peace.
The next Sunday as we walked into sacrament meeting, Tyson searched for his new friend. At night he would pray, “Thank you, Heavenly Father, for Sister Beus. I love her so much!”
It’s been over three years, and Tyson still often searches the chapel for Sister Beus. Last year she was called to be Tyson’s Primary teacher. He was the happiest little boy alive.
I am so grateful for Sister Beus and her willingness to love and serve others. I know that we can bless the lives of others when we serve as the Savior did.