Gospel Story Finder

Raking leaves wasn’t as easy as Shannon had thought it would be. And it wasn’t as much fun as it looked. The rake was taller than she was and was hard to hold.
“Do you want me to help you?” her mother asked.
“No, thank you,” said Shannon. “I want to do it by myself to surprise Dad.”
The autumn air was crisp like the crunchy leaves crackling under her feet. But the sun shone brightly, and feeling hot from the exercise, she took off her sweater.
“Would you like a glass of lemonade?” Mom asked.
This time Shannon said yes.
“Dad will be pleased with your surprise.”
“I know.” Shannon finished her drink and hurried back outside. She wanted to be done before Dad got home.
She raked and raked and raked. Finally there was only a giant pile of colored leaves in the middle of the yard. She could hardly wait to show her surprise to Dad.
Mom called to her from the kitchen window. “Guess who I hear driving up.”
Shannon ran around the house and down the sidewalk to greet her father. A sudden gust of wind almost swept her off her feet, but Dad caught her and gave her a big hug. “I’d better hang on to you,” he said, laughing. “I don’t want my favorite daughter to blow away.”
“Come to the backyard,” she said, pulling him along. I have a surprise for you.”
Just before they got there, Shannon said, “Now close your eyes and don’t open them until I say so.” She led him the rest of the way, going slowly so that he wouldn’t trip. “My pile of leaves!” she cried. “It’s gone everywhere!”
Dad opened his eyes. “Don’t feel bad, honey,” he said after she had told him what had happened. “It was a wonderful surprise.”
“How could it be wonderful when it’s not there anymore?”
“Well, a pile of leaves isn’t really the surprise—it’s knowing that a special little girl worked very hard to do something nice for her dad. The wind can’t blow that away, no matter how hard it tries.”
Shannon brightened up. “Really?”
“Really,” Dad said and kissed her forehead. “I bet the two of us could rake up these leaves again in no time if we did it together.”
Shannon smiled. “I’ll get the rake.”

Many years ago it was my opportunity to serve as president of the Canadian Mission. There we had a branch with very limited priesthood. We always had a missionary presiding over the branch. I received a strong impression that we needed to have a member of the branch preside there.
We had one adult member in the branch who was a deacon in the Aaronic Priesthood but who didn’t attend or participate enough to be advanced in the priesthood. I felt inspired to call him as the branch president. I shall always remember the day that I had an interview with him. I told him that the Lord had inspired me to call him to be the president of the branch. After much protest on his part, and much encouragement on the part of his wife, he indicated that he would serve. I ordained him a priest.
It was the beginning of a new day for that man. His life was quickly put in order, and he assured me that he would live the commandments as he was expected to live them. In a few months he was ordained an elder. He and his wife and family eventually went to the temple and were sealed. Their children served missions and married in the house of the Lord.

When I was little and learning to read, it was really hard. But with my mom’s and Heavenly Father’s help, I learned to read. My best friend, Renzo, was also having a hard time learning to read.
One day I told him that I would give him a secret to help him learn to read because it worked for me. We went into the schoolyard. I taught Renzo how to pray, and he said a prayer to Heavenly Father, asking for help.
At the end of the school year, both Renzo and I received a medal of honor in reading because of Heavenly Father’s help. I know Heavenly Father answers our prayers.

It was my experience as a small boy to come under the influence of such a teacher. In our Sunday School class, she taught us concerning the Creation of the world, the Fall of Adam, and the atoning sacrifice of Jesus Christ.
One Sunday morning she announced sadly to us the death of a classmate’s mother. We had missed Billy that morning but knew not the reason for his absence. The lesson featured the theme, “It is more blessed to give than to receive.” Midway through the lesson, our teacher closed the manual and asked, “How much money do we have in our class party fund?”
Depression days prompted a proud answer: “Four dollars and seventy-five cents.”
Then she suggested, “Billy’s family is hard-pressed and grief-stricken. What would you think of the possibility of visiting the family members this morning and giving to them your fund?”
Ever shall I remember the tiny band walking those three city blocks, entering Billy’s home, greeting him, his brother, sisters, and father. Tears glistened in the eyes of all as the white envelope containing our precious party fund passed from the hand of our teacher to the hand of a grief-stricken father. We fairly skipped our way back to the chapel. Our hearts were lighter than they had ever been, our joy more full, our understanding more profound. A God-inspired teacher had taught her boys and girls an eternal lesson of divine truth: “It is more blessed to give than to receive.”

Tom Perry learned early to plan time to be with his family. When they moved to the eastern United States, they decided to buy a home closer to work rather than the “dream home” they’d found earlier because his traveling time to and from work would have been excessive. Later he turned down an attractive job offer because the firm couldn’t guarantee him his Saturdays off—the day of the week he devoted to his family.

Recently I visited the Missionary Training Center at Provo, Utah, where missionaries who have been called to serve throughout the world are devotedly learning the fundamentals of the languages spoken by the people to whom they shall teach and testify.
Vaguely familiar to me were the conversations in Spanish, French, German, and Swedish. Totally foreign to me and perhaps to most of the missionaries were the sounds of Japanese, Chinese, and Finnish. One marvels at the devotion and total concentration of these young men and women as they grapple with the unfamiliar and learn the difficult.
I am told that on occasion when a missionary in training feels that the Spanish he is called upon to master appears overwhelming or just too hard to learn, he is placed during the luncheon break next to missionaries studying the complex languages of the Orient. He listens. Suddenly Spanish becomes not too overpowering, and he eagerly returns to his study.
There is one language, however, that is understood by each missionary: the language of the Spirit. It is not learned from textbooks written by men of letters, nor is it acquired through reading and memorization. The language of the Spirit comes to him who seeks with all his heart to know God and to keep His divine commandments. Proficiency in this language permits one to breach barriers, overcome obstacles, and touch the human heart.
The Apostle Paul, in his second epistle to the Corinthians, urges that we turn from the narrow confinement of the letter of the law and seek the open vista of opportunity which the Spirit provides. I love and cherish Paul’s statement: “The letter killeth, but the spirit giveth life.” (2 Cor. 3:6.)
In a day of danger or a time of trial, such knowledge, such hope, such understanding bring comfort to the troubled mind and grieving heart. The entire message of the New Testament breathes a spirit of awakening to the human soul. Shadows of despair are dispelled by rays of hope, sorrow yields to joy, and the feeling of being lost in the crowd of life vanishes with the certain knowledge that our Heavenly Father is mindful of each of us.
The Savior provided assurance of this truth when He taught that even a sparrow shall not fall to the ground unnoticed by our Father. He then concluded the beautiful thought by saying, “Fear ye not therefore, ye are of more value than many sparrows.” (Matt. 10:29–31.)
We live in a complex world with daily challenges. There is a tendency to feel detached—even isolated—from the Giver of every good gift. We worry that we walk alone.
From the bed of pain, from the pillow wet with the tears of loneliness, we are lifted heavenward by that divine assurance and precious promise, “I will not fail thee, nor forsake thee.” (Josh. 1:5.)
Such comfort is priceless as we journey along the pathway of mortality, with its many forks and turnings. Rarely is the assurance communicated by a flashing sign or a loud voice. Rather, the language of the Spirit is gentle, quiet, uplifting to the heart and soothing to the soul.
At times, the answers to our questions and the responses to our daily prayers come to us through silent promptings of the Spirit. As William Cowper wrote:
God moves in a mysterious way
His wonders to perform;
He plants his footsteps in the sea
And rides upon the storm. …
Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,
But trust him for his grace;
Behind a frowning providence
He hides a smiling face.
(Hymns, no. 48.)
We watch. We wait. We listen for that still, small voice. When it speaks, wise men and women obey. We do not postpone following promptings of the Spirit.
To address such a sacred subject, may I refer not to the writings of others, but to the actual experiences of my life. I testify to their truth, for I lived them. I share with you today three cherished examples of what President David O. McKay identified as “heart petals”—the language of the Spirit, the promptings from a heavenly source.
First, the inspiration which attends a call to serve.
Second, the gratitude of God for a life well lived.
Third, the knowledge that we do not walk alone.
Every bishop can testify to the promptings which attend calls to serve in the Church. Frequently the call seems to be not so much for the benefit of those to be taught or led as for the person who is to teach or lead.
As a bishop, I worried about any members who were inactive, not attending, not serving. Such was my thought as I drove down the street where Ben and Emily lived. They were older—even in the twilight period of life. Aches and pains of advancing years caused them to withdraw from activity to the shelter of their home—isolated, detached, shut out from the mainstream of daily life and association.
I felt the unmistakable prompting to park my car and visit Ben and Emily, even though I was on the way to a meeting. It was a sunny weekday afternoon. I approached the door to their home and knocked. Emily answered. When she recognized me, her bishop, she exclaimed, “All day long I have waited for my phone to ring. It has been silent. I hoped that the postman would deliver a letter. He brought only bills. Bishop, how did you know today was my birthday?”
I answered, “God knows, Emily, for He loves you.”
In the quiet of the living room, I said to Ben and Emily, “I don’t know why I was directed here today, but our Heavenly Father knows. Let’s kneel in prayer and ask Him why.” This we did, and the answer came. Emily was asked to sing in the choir—even to provide a solo for the forthcoming ward conference. Ben was asked to speak to the Aaronic Priesthood young men and recount a special experience in his life when his safety was assured by responding to the promptings of the Spirit. She sang. He spoke. Hearts were gladdened by the return to activity of Ben and Emily. They rarely missed a sacrament meeting from that day to the time each was called home. The language of the Spirit had been spoken. It had been heard. It had been understood. Hearts were touched and lives saved.
For my second example I turn to the release of a stake president in Star Valley, Wyoming—even the late E. Francis Winters. He had served faithfully for the lengthy term of twenty-three years. Though modest by nature and circumstance, he had been a perpetual pillar of strength to everyone in the valley. On the day of the stake conference, the building was filled to overflowing. Each heart seemed to be saying a silent thank-you to this noble leader who had given so unselfishly of his life for the benefit of others.
As I stood to speak following the reorganization of the stake presidency, I was prompted to do something I had not done before, nor have I done so since. I stated how long Francis Winters had presided in the stake; then I asked all whom he had blessed or confirmed as children to stand and remain standing. Then I asked all those persons whom President Winters had ordained, set apart, personally counseled, or blessed to please stand. The outcome was electrifying. Every person in the audience rose to his feet. Tears flowed freely—tears which communicated better than could words the gratitude of tender hearts. I turned to President and Sister Winters and said, “We are witnesses today of the prompting of the Spirit. This vast throng reflects not only individual feelings but also the gratitude of God for a life well lived.” No person who was in the congregation that day will forget how he felt when he witnessed the language of the Spirit of the Lord.
Finally, I testify that we do not walk alone.
Stan, a dear friend of mine, was taken seriously ill and rendered partially paralyzed. He had been robust in health, athletic in build, and active in many pursuits. Now he was unable to walk or to stand. His wheelchair was his home. The finest of physicians had cared for him, and the prayers of family and friends had been offered in a spirit of hope and trust. Yet Stan continued to lie in the confinement of his bed at the university hospital. He despaired.
Late one afternoon I was swimming at the Deseret Gym, gazing at the ceiling while backstroking width after width. Silently, but ever so clearly, there came to my mind the thought: “Here you swim almost effortlessly, while your friend Stan languishes in his hospital bed, unable to move.” I felt the prompting: “Get to the hospital and give him a blessing.”
I ceased my swimming, dressed, and hurried to Stan’s room at the hospital. His bed was empty. A nurse said he was in his wheelchair at the swimming pool, preparing for therapy. I hurried to the area, and there was Stan, all alone, at the edge of the deeper portion of the pool. We greeted one another and returned to his room, where a priesthood blessing was provided.
Slowly but surely, strength and movement returned to Stan’s legs. First he could stand on faltering feet. Then he learned once again to walk—step by step. Today one would not know that Stan had lain so close to death and with no hope of recovery.
Frequently Stan speaks in Church meetings and tells of the goodness of the Lord to him. To some he reveals the dark thoughts of depression which engulfed him that afternoon as he sat in his wheelchair at the edge of the pool, sentenced, it seemed, to a life of despair. He tells how he pondered the alternative. It would be so easy to propel the hated wheelchair into the silent water of the deep pool. Life would then be over. But at that precise moment he saw me, his friend. That day Stan learned literally that we do not walk alone. I, too, learned a lesson that day: Never, never, never postpone following a prompting.
As we pursue the journey of life, let us learn the language of the Spirit. May we remember and respond to the Master’s gentle invitation: “Behold, I stand at the door, and knock: if any man hear my voice, and open the door, I will come in to him.” (Rev. 3:20.) This is the language of the Spirit. He spoke it. He taught it. He lived it. May each of us do likewise, I pray in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Prior to my introduction to the restored gospel, I spent much of my time playing soccer, including games on the Sabbath day. Even though I had been brought up to have respect for the Lord’s day, it was through applying the principle after I came in contact with the Church that I gained an understanding of the doctrine and its blessings. Withdrawing from the Sunday league team was one of the significant sacrifices that led to my conversion. It helped me appreciate the value of the gospel in my life.
Three years later, when work commenced on building the Norwich chapel, I also withdrew from the Saturday league team so that I could make my contribution to the building project. The mist of self-interest that had previously restricted my vision was beginning to disperse, and a new panoramic view was emerging, bringing with it a deeper appreciation for and an increasing love of life.

A group of Laurels and priests in one Wisconsin ward also wanted the opportunity to have a formal dance with high standards. So in 2009 they invited youth from their stake and a neighboring stake for a formal dance at their ward building. The night was a success, and the stake leaders decided to hold it again in future years. They moved the location to a bigger venue, and it’s continued to grow. Last year, 250 youth from four stakes attended the dance.
Because of the less-than-wholesome environment at their school proms, many of the youth in the area now consider this prom as their only prom. Some even turn down invitations to school proms and instead invite their school friends to attend their prom.
Before attending the dance, all of the youth meet with a bishop and sign a dance card saying they will uphold the standards. No one has ever had a problem with this commitment.
Stephen P. says the prom was an amazing experience: “Being able to not worry about immoral music or dancing was an incredible burden off my shoulders,” he says. “It allowed my friends and me to just be able to enjoy ourselves. The leaders who helped plan it did a fantastic job making sure everyone was included and their needs were taken care of. I actually chose to go to the ‘Mormon prom’ instead of my school prom because I knew our prom would have a more positive environment and the Spirit would always be with us.”

I have a sweet feeling in my heart about President Spencer W. Kimball, who was the prophet when I was baptized. He was a great influence in my life. When I was a new member, he shook my hand in São Paulo, and I have never forgotten it. At one general conference he asked the members to stay out of debt, and I decided I would. In Brazil we have inflation and a lot of financial troubles, but I have never had debts. I am not a rich man, and my family has had many challenges. But we have always overcome them because we followed this wise advice.

“I’d like to bear my testimony and give thanks to my Heavenly Father for my many blessings.”
The voice came from the back corner of the chapel. To the regular ward members it was a familiar voice and one that was often heard at testimony meetings.
A visitor, turning to see who was speaking, saw a boy bent over a folding chair, supporting his gaunt body on his arms while his legs hung limp behind him. How could this obvious cripple be thankful for his many blessings? What blessings?
When he was four years old, a series of tests disclosed that Stephen Farrance had a type of muscle disease, which, if it progressed as it had been doing, would kill him by the time he was 12.
“The impact and finality of the doctor’s verdict didn’t really register with us,” recalled his mother. “Stephen could do so many things. We just encouraged him to be independent. He had his regular chores to do just like his brother and sister. Then later, when the tendons pulled his feet up and he had to walk on his toes, we withdrew some of his responsibilities but gave him others. He went to a regular school and made a niche for himself.
“I remember one teacher telling me that she called Stephen and a new boy up to her desk at the same time. When Stephen arrived, he braced his feet and placed a hand on her desk. The newcomer said, ‘Are you okay?’, and Stephen said, ‘My feet don’t like to stop walking, and it takes me a minute or two to convince them. But, thanks, I’m fine now.’”
Stephen had difficulty sitting. By the time he was 12, he knelt on his chair during class and got callouses on his knees. But he didn’t believe in missing anything that he could take part in. He figured out ways to be part of what the other kids did. The following year his class decided to learn square dancing, and the teacher apparently told Stephen that he could go to the library and read while the others danced.
“But I’d rather take part,” Stephen told her.
“Just how do you propose to do that?” asked his teacher, startled, because by now he walked hanging on to the wall and couldn’t balance himself.
“Well, I’ve thought about it and I’ve decided I could handle the record player, change the record, and watch how the steps are done. That’ll give you more time to be with the other kids on the floor,” he said. So he got to change the records and watch.
“ I have many blessings for which I am thankful …”
Like being basketball scorer in high school, managing one of the girls’ teams, working on the school newspaper, and being elected to various student council offices. When he ran for treasurer, he said in his campaign speech, “You have only to take one look at me to be sure I won’t run off with the funds.” He was elected.
He didn’t limit his time to school activities. His family had joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints when Stephen was eight, so he took an active part in Church programs. He went to Primary, was active in Cub Scouts, and moved on into Scouting. He advanced in the priesthood offices and served the sacrament until one day he tripped. That night he wrote in his journal: “Passing sacrament and tripped, nothing spilled, but maybe I’d better not risk it again. I think it’s too hard on the watchers.” So he switched to reminding the other deacons when it was their turn. As a teacher he helped prepare the sacrament in the little side room and was also secretary of the quorum.
Stephen got up at 5:30 A.M. five days a week for four years to go to seminary. He achieved two years’ perfect attendance and one year with one day absent. The other year he went to a drama festival with the winning play and couldn’t find an early morning seminary, so he missed four days.
“I’d like to thank Heavenly Father for my many blessings …”
While Stephen was making friends and doing new things, the disease was also progressing. His head bent back because his neck muscles couldn’t give him the support he needed. As he would inch his way along the corridors of the school, holding on to the walls, he would have to stop every few feet and rest, then look ahead to see what was in his way.
People made comments. Even some adults would come up and say, “How come you look like that?” or “What’s the matter with you?” Sometimes in a restaurant people would think he was just a bad-mannered kid and tell him to sit up properly or not take up so much room.
Did it bother him?
“No, not really. If they knew it wasn’t intentional, they wouldn’t feel like that,” said Stephen.
His older brother, James, started carrying him over his shoulder. They would make a game of it, and people never knew how serious it really was. Stephen would start home from school, and after half a block James would come along, scoop him up, and run on. Stephen would holler, and often the pair would beat the other kids to the house.
There were times in shopping centers when James would carry Stephen and be told by the security men that that type of thing wasn’t allowed. After awhile Stephen became friends with most of the security men, and they would find carts that he could drape himself over.
“Stephen became friends with people because he took time to notice them. I remember one day at the shopping center he said to me, ‘Hey, Mom, let’s go over there, I want to speak to that guy.’ He went over, and he congratulated the man on his promotion and asked what his new duties entailed. The man explained, and they chatted away. Later, I asked Stephen how he knew the man had had a promotion. ‘If you look at the sleeves of their uniforms, you’ll see they have some gold braid on the cuffs. That guy only had one stripe on last week, and this week he has two, so I figured it must mean a promotion.’”
Stephen’s awareness of people as human beings with triumphs and problems was well known. A fellow student sums up this quality: “Even through junior high you could always go to Steve with your troubles. He was always more interested in other people’s problems than his own.”
Another friend says, “He was always happy and unimportant to himself. He thought it was more important to help other people, which he did every day. He was only important to himself as far as he needed to be to return to Heavenly Father. What a beautiful, fantastic person. He had the attitude, ‘I’m not going to let me get me down.’”
“I’m thankful, Heavenly Father …”
He followed his sister and brother in drama. While they were actors, Stephen became a director, a sound man, and a dabbler in lighting. He did this at high school and with the roadshows.
No one thought of him as a cripple. At home it was understood there were certain things he couldn’t do. As his sister explained to one of her friends, “Stephen can’t run, I can’t draw, and James can’t sing.” Living with Stephen taught the other Farrances compassion, not just for him but for all people.
Stephen sailed through school getting straight A’s until the last couple of years of high school when the toll of just living and moving took a great portion of his energy. He ended with a B average. He was voted Citizen of the Year by the student body and received service awards every year of high school. His last year he won the Soroptimist Youth Citizenship Award and a school bursary. He also ran an hour-long morning radio broadcast at school.
He spoke at church on a regular basis and held various church positions. Ward members loved him and gave him strength, while drawing courage from watching him. He served as secretary in the Aaronic Priesthood MIA and was vice-president of his institute class.
He was a staunch supporter of the missionary program and invited the elders home as often as possible. Stephen was thrilled the day his brother, James, received his mission call. He enjoyed the preparations and being able to travel to Salt Lake City to take James to the Missionary Home there. Stephen firmly believed he would serve a mission too, and he studied diligently to prepare himself for it. His patriarchal blessing stated that he would go on a mission. He didn’t expect to do such a great thing as tracting, but he was sure there was a place for him.
Each day found him a little weaker. His body grew more and more distorted until he was bent almost double and spent his time, awake and asleep, draped over a chair. He didn’t complain; he accepted things the way they were.
Writing and directing the New Westminster Ward roadshow was his last big venture. The Vancouver British Columbia Stake produced the combined roadshows from all the wards. When the judges came back with their verdict, Stephen’s roadshow had won “Best All-Round Entertainment.”
As the applause died down, the stake MC approached the microphone. “Stephen Farrance, writer and assistant director of the winning roadshow, died this morning. We’ve kept this sad news until now we didn’t want to influence the judges. We’d like to congratulate the cast and crew for going on tonight, with special mention to Stephen’s family, who did such a fine job. We dedicate the roadshows to Stephen.”
“How could his family be here tonight?” someone asked, and the reply was, “After living with Stephen, what else could they do?”
“I’d like to bear my testimony and thank Heavenly Father for my many blessings … thank him for the sure knowledge that I will receive a perfect body in the resurrection, for my knowledge that God lives, that Jesus is the Christ, and that Joseph Smith was a prophet. I’m thankful for my membership in this church …”
Stephen had the blessing of a keen mind, a lively sense of humor, and the ability to see problems for what they were. He put all these things together and accomplished a full life, all 18 years of it. But he was not superhuman, neither a paragon of virtue nor a saint, but a warm, loving, normal human being with ups and downs, likes and dislikes.
About the time when many young LDS men are entering the Missionary Home in Salt Lake City at the start of their two-year missions, Stephen Farrance completed his mission here on earth. Did Heavenly Father send him out from the realm of pure love to give us an example to follow? Are we not all, to some extent, crippled in mind, if not in body, and in need of each other’s strength? Was this his mission?
In a letter to Stephen’s brother, James, their former stake president wrote: “Stephen had such a great desire to follow you into the mission field. Now he has received his call. He is eminently prepared to preach the gospel and will yet fulfill a great mission. But on his mission he will not have the heavy burden of his affliction. His spirit now stands straight and tall, and he can walk forth to preach the gospel with power and conviction, even as you are doing. Be of good cheer, Elder. Your brother is about his Father’s work, even as you are.”
A memorial service was held for Stephen at the Vancouver stake center in British Columbia. Instead of sending flowers, friends contributed to a fund in his name set up at his former high school. Each year a graduating student who has “shown outstanding contributions in the area of helping other young people—one who has gone above and beyond the call of duty in the spirit of a true humanitarian”—will receive $100 bursary and the “Super Steve Humanitarian Award.”
The Vancouver British Columbia Stake has inaugurated a “Stephen Farrance Memorial Sportsmanship Award” to be presented to the seminary team that shows the most concern for each other, attention to rules, sincere effort, and good sportsmanship during the annual scripture chase.
At the memorial services, members and nonmembers gathered to remember Stephen. A School friend spoke on Stephen’s contributions to the school and to his fellow students. He spoke of his many talents, his desire to serve, and his example to the student body. His priests adviser talked about Stephen’s Church accomplishments, his enthusiasm for any outing, even if he knew he couldn’t participate, and his concern for the priesthood brethren. And the bishop spoke about Stephen’s spiritual achievements. He reminded those gathered of the great, strong testimony he had, and how he had made use of every opportunity to bear it. He talked of Stephen’s desire to serve the Lord in any capacity he could. For the first time members and nonmembers, brought together through love of Stephen, became aware of many sides of Stephen’s remarkable character.
Stephen lived 18 years. He achieved much, and he was a great example to many of us. Although he lived with a crippled body and suffered much pain, he died in the manner that the Savior has promised to the faithful: “Those that die in me shall not taste of death, for it shall be sweet unto them.”

I didn’t think the dog belonged to anyone as I stooped to pet him. Panting in the noonday heat, he sat in a shady spot afforded by the walls of the Rotterdam train station. My missionary companion and I had stopped for lunch at a food stand outside the station. People were pushing by each other, each frantically trying to catch a train.
“Poor guy has to wear a fur coat in this heat,” I mumbled to the gold-colored dog. His fur was dirty, and the hair around his ears was tangled and matted. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a pair of dusty black shoes stop next to the dog and then a wrinkled, dirty-fingernailed hand join mine in petting the dog.
I looked up into the dirty, bearded face of a street beggar. He smiled. His teeth needed dentistry, and the dirt on his skin collected around the crow’s feet by his eyes. His left temple was scarred.
I was a little taken aback. But I smiled and asked him in English if this was his dog. He answered in French. I tried speaking in Dutch, but to no avail. All I could remember from the French lessons I took in high school was how to say my name. So I introduced myself using the best French accent I could imitate from the movies.
The man’s smile widened with his eyes, which I noticed were a beautiful blue. He started talking French very fast. I didn’t understand him. Sensing my confusion, he pointed to himself and replied, “Jacque.” I offered him my hand. He seemed surprised but shook it while lowering his head.
My companion and I got our lunch order and started off for our appointment, thinking we could save time by eating on the way. Jacque smiled again as we passed him and his dog. A scripture came into my mind: “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me” (Matt. 25: 40).
Just seeing Jacque smile and feeling for the circumstances he was in, my heart was touched. The Spirit opened my eyes, and for a moment I had thoughts of how much Heavenly Father must love this individual.
So I offered Jacque my lunch. His mouth opened slightly, and he lowered his head again. It was obvious he was very hungry. “Take it. Please,” I prodded, feeling, on the one hand, love for this individual but, on the other, pride for how “giving” I was being.
Then he did something I will never forget. He taught me the full meaning of the scripture I thought I had been demonstrating. He took the sandwich gratefully and broke it in half. Then, while stroking the dog’s head, he gave him one of the halves, talking softly to him. The dog gulped it down and licked his chops repeatedly in trying to catch every last crumb.
Jacque smiled at me, then took a bite. Again the Spirit touched me deeply at seeing this poor man offer half of what he had to his best friend. I never saw Jacque again, but I have never forgotten the example of sharing and love that he set for me that day. I fed him once. But he fed me for a lifetime.

Many years ago it was my privilege to provide a blessing to a beautiful 12-year-old young lady, Jami Palmer. She had just been diagnosed with cancer. She learned that her leg where the cancer was would require multiple surgeries. A long-planned hike with her Young Women class up a rugged trail was out of the question, she thought.
Jami told her friends they would have to hike without her. I’m confident there was disappointment in her heart.
But then the other young women responded emphatically, “No, Jami, you are going with us!”
“But I can’t walk,” came the reply.
“Then we’ll carry you to the top!” And they did.
None of those precious young women will ever forget that memorable day when a loving Heavenly Father looked down with a smile of approval and was well pleased.

Many lives have been blessed by the success of the Philippines Area’s “I Will Go, I Will Serve: 4600” initiative. Aside from the inspired vision of the Area Presidency, the support of the local priesthood leaders and the efforts of youth leaders, the miraculous success of the campaign was also boosted by the catchy theme song performed by Loredel “Daday” Ducena-Baluyot.
Composing the popular anthem with her husband Justin was a labor of love. After the first Area Presidency fireside premiered on Facebook on May 16, 2021, Daday and Justin felt the spirit and were inspired to write the song. After a few weeks, they presented the song to the Church area production team and offered its use to help sustain the momentum of the campaign. The song was reviewed and approved, and by July they were recording it with some help from Brio Divinagracia on the arrangement and background vocals. The song was officially launched during the follow-up Area Presidency fireside on November 21, 2021.
Aside from the 2021 youth theme song “A Great Work,” Daday’s “I Will Go, I Will Serve,” became popular after being part of youth, YSA, and FSY conferences all over the country. It was also listened to and sung along with the 2022 youth theme song “Trust in the Lord.” Recently, the couple rewrote the song as part of the November 20, 2022 Area Presidency fireside launching a heightened and more comprehensive “Come Unto Christ: I Will Go, I Will Serve” initiative.
“We were so honored when the Area Presidency requested that we rework the song so it can still be part of the relaunched campaign,” shares self-taught musician Justin. “He immediately took a leave from work and we spent an entire weekend brainstorming and working together on the song,” discloses Daday.
April 2020 MTC batchmates, the couple drew from their mission experiences when they first wrote the song. Justin served under the Philippines Bacolod Mission while Daday labored in the Philippines Urdaneta Mission. Upon returning from her mission, Daday was tapped to represent the country in the 2021 Youth Music Festival and eventually became a host of the monthly online program “Hear Him through Music.” They got reacquainted when Justin arrived home from his mission, and the whirlwind romance led to their wedding at the Manila Temple on February 3, 2022.
On working on the song again, they expressed gratitude for the emphasis placed on the temple because it is their favorite place. “As a young couple facing many of life’s challenges, the temple is our safe haven where we receive strength and guidance,” says Justin. “I agree,” adds Daday. “We live far from the temple, but we are always excited to go there and feel the Spirit of the Lord.”
With their love for each other strengthened by their love for music, missionary work, the temple, and the Lord, the Daday and Justin consider themselves very lucky to have found each other along their journey on the covenant path.

When I was attending Brigham Young University, I learned what it truly means to be a queen. I was given a unique opportunity, along with a small group of other students, to meet the prophet, President David O. McKay. I was told to wear my best dress and to be ready to travel early the next morning to Huntsville, Utah, to the home of the prophet. I will never forget the experience I had. As soon as we entered the home, I felt the spirit which filled that home. We were seated in the prophet’s living room, surrounding him. President McKay had on a white suit, and seated next to him was his wife. He asked for each of us to come forward and tell him about ourselves. As I went forward, he held out his hand and held mine, and as I told him about my life and my family, he looked deeply into my eyes.

After we had finished, he leaned back in his chair and reached for his wife’s hand and said, “Now, young women, I would like you to meet my queen.” There seated next to him was his wife, Emma Ray McKay. Although she did not wear a crown of sparkling diamonds, nor was she seated on a throne, I knew she was a true queen. Her white hair was her crown, and her pure eyes sparkled like jewels. As President and Sister McKay spoke of their family and their life together, their intertwined hands spoke volumes about their love. Joy radiated from their faces. Hers was a beauty that cannot be purchased. It came from years of seeking the best gifts, becoming well educated, seeking knowledge by study and also by faith. It came from years of hard work, of faithfully enduring trials with optimism, trust, strength, and courage. It came from her unwavering devotion and fidelity to her husband, her family, and the Lord.

On that fall day in Huntsville, Utah, I was reminded of my divine identity, and I learned about what I now call “deep beauty”—the kind of beauty that shines from the inside out. It is the kind of beauty that cannot be painted on, surgically created, or purchased. It is the kind of beauty that doesn’t wash off. It is spiritual attractiveness. Deep beauty springs from virtue. It is the beauty of being chaste and morally clean. It is the kind of beauty that you see in the eyes of virtuous women like your mother and grandmother. It is a beauty that is earned through faith, repentance, and honoring covenants.

We have been taught that “the gift of the Holy Ghost … quickens all the intellectual faculties, increases, enlarges, expands and purifies all the natural passions and affections. … It inspires virtue, kindness, goodness, tenderness, gentleness and charity. It develops beauty of person, form and features.” Now, that is a great beauty secret! That is the beauty I observed in the home of a prophet. That day I learned that the beauty I saw in Sister McKay was the only beauty that really matters and the only kind of beauty that lasts.

I witnessed commitment when I visited with a sister in her home in the Philippines. She had nothing by the standards of the world. Her family of eight children lived clustered in a two-room nipa hut that stood on stilts. After climbing the ladder to the door, I was taken immediately to a corner where on a small table sat a portable sewing machine. This was not a new model with 320 stitches, bells, whistles, and a serger. It was a machine older than my mother’s! But she was not showing off a possession; she was sharing her commitment. For two years, she had sewn for others on that simple machine to earn the money to take her family to the temple so that they would be sealed together. The last child, she said with a smile, was born under the covenant.

“When we got on the plane,” Brother Naga says, “I had 102 New Zealand dollars in my pocket. That was all our money. We didn’t know how we were going to pay our living expenses for the two weeks we would be in New Zealand.”
But Church members met the Nagas at the airport, arranged for lodging in a member’s home, and provided food and transportation.
“After we came back from the temple, the Lord blessed us,” Brother Naga says. “Not only were we able to buy furniture, we were able to extend our house.”

As soon as Sister McKee was well, we started sharing the presentation with some of the people we were teaching as a supplement to the discussions. Our most spiritual experience was with the Aranda family. The Arandas wouldn’t commit to baptism even though they were praying and reading and asking questions. We decided to make a final effort. We would share our presentation about the Savior with them.
So began one of the most unforgettable experiences of my mission. As we gave the presentation, Sister McKee and I could hardly read our parts because our emotion was so great. When it was over, no one dared to break the silence and interrupt the peace that had filled the room. Brother Aranda had his head down. When he finally spoke, his eyes were filled with tears. “I don’t know what it is that I am feeling here”—he pointed to his chest—“but it is so strong, so wonderful, that I can’t express it.”
When we returned a few days later, the Arandas had decided to be baptized.

As we left Anchorage with the 24-foot river boat in tow and the bed of the pickup truck full of camping gear and food, the heavy rain clouds common during Alaskan summers were gathering over the mountains. It was July 1974. I had just met my 14-year-old son Craig and one of my university colleagues, Dr. Robert Whitmore, at the airport, and now we were headed for the Yukon River to undertake another research project.
We would head down the mighty Yukon, beginning at the point where the Trans-Alaska pipeline crosses this wild and magnificent river. In 1970 and 1972 I had surveyed parts of this region by helicopter in order to gather information on the falcons prior to the pipeline construction. Other portions of the Yukon River had been explored, but this part of the river was virtually unknown as far as the status of falcons was concerned. We would now have a chance to complete a check of the region by boat.
The salmon had just started their run upriver from the sea; they would continue their journey another 800 miles or so before spawning and dying. The July days were normally calm and sunny while the nights were crisp and cool. It is a lonely but satisfying feeling to stand around a crackling fire on a northern midnight, when it is still light enough to read a newspaper, and listen to the distant loons uttering their frenzied and maniacal calls. Sometimes, however, we were forced to remain in our tents for most of the day while the blustering winds whistled up the river and across the gravel bars where we camped. At one of our camps we found a small creek unnamed on the geological survey map, and we called it Molly Creek after my colleague’s baby daughter.
As the next three weeks passed, we visited cliff after cliff where there was evidence that falcons had at one time nested. Yet what we saw tore at our emotions. Based on the nature of the habitat, our previous years of knowledge from other portions of the Yukon River in Alaska and the Yukon Territory, and scattered information from other reports, we judged that about a dozen pairs of falcons should have been nesting on this stretch of river. Almost surely there were that many a decade ago. Now just half that number were present, and of those only two pairs had young. Some pairs still occupied their breeding places in silent splendor—but they were not producing young. Some pairs produced eggs so fragile they broke before hatching; others were not even producing eggs.
One nest we knew about had been continuously occupied for several decades. However, as we landed the boat beneath the nesting cliff, a sudden tightness gripped me, for a strange quietness seemed to surround us. Only the lap of water on the shore, the whisper of a light breeze through the ragged spruce trees, and the occasional twitter of some small bird along the river’s beach could be heard. Fearful of what we might find, we raced up the hill, scrambling over the broken talus beneath the cliff, and climbed up onto the nesting ledge. Except for a few old feathers, it was empty and lifeless. As we sat overlooking the great river flowing noiselessly beneath us and the wide expanse of the forest beyond, the outlines of two falcons came into view. Their high call, usually evoking in us a sense of the wild and the free, now seemed to carry with it a feeling of mournfulness and melancholy. They were giving the distinctive and peculiar wailing call that one soon learns to associate with deserted nests. We watched now as the two birds drifted slowly off into the arctic summer’s twilight, and all was silent again. The gallant, vigorous, and noisy defense of the nesting cliff, typical of the peregrine as it makes swoop after swoop at the intruder, was not here. Cold stones alone remained along the ledge where once there had been birth and life, low wails where once there had been loud calls of affection and anger, and only ghostlike shadows glided off into the sunset.

It was early morning when Joey and his brother and sister stumbled into the living room for scripture study. His older sister, Candice, collapsed on the sofa with a moan. His baby brother, Keith, curled up in the middle of the floor and pulled his blanket over his face.
“Good morning!” Mother chirped, and Father joined in with a cheery “Rise and shine!”
A groan arose from the sofa; a soft snore from the living room floor.
“Hi,” Joey yawned. He opened his Book of Mormon to Second Nephi, where they had left off the day before. He tried to follow along as Father read something about Lehi, but his eyes kept closing. They opened wide, though, when he heard his own name.
“What?” he asked groggily. “Was Lehi talking about me?” He sat up and tried to look more alert. After all, if he was in the scriptures, he must be pretty important.
His mother smiled. “Not Joey, dear—Joy. ‘Men are, that they might have joy.’ It means that we’re all supposed to be happy.” [2 Ne. 2:25]
Joey frowned thoughtfully. His mother might be right, but he knew deep down inside that this was still his scripture. He was thinking about it later that morning when a new idea popped into his head. His eyes widened. If this is my scripture, maybe it’s my job to do something about it—to help people have joy.
The next morning he put his plan into action. “Candice is that she might have joy,” he whispered softly to himself as he gave his sister a big smile during scripture study.
“What’s your problem?” she growled, scooting away. “Nobody should be that happy this early in the morning.”
This set Joey’s plan back a bit, but he was determined to succeed. He smiled at Candice all during breakfast and gave her a good-bye hug as she left for school. She looked puzzled at him and said to a friend that she was glad to be going to school to get away from her funny little brother. But he thought he saw a smile on her face as she hurried out the door.
Half an hour later, he went to school himself. He smiled at Mother as he left. (Moms are that they might have joy, after all.)
At school, he smiled at his teacher and his friends. “What do you think you are, a jack-o’-lantern?” his best friend, Tony, asked.
“I’m just happy today, I guess,” Joey replied, grinning.
He smiled at the lunchroom ladies, the playground monitors, and the crosswalk guards. They all smiled back at him and then at the next person they met as well.
By lunchtime, his jaw ached from smiling so much. He had never realized how much work it was to follow the scriptures. Still, he stuck to his plan. He smiled when he opened his lunch and realized that he had a tuna fish sandwich. He didn’t like tuna fish.
He smiled during music, even though he didn’t get to use one of the tambourines. He smiled especially hard when Tracy Gilbreath pushed in front of him at the drinking fountain. She stared at him in amazement, then stepped to the back of the line, looking guilty.
By the end of school, Joey was exhausted. It was a relief to go home.
Mom is that she might have joy, he thought as he helped set the table for dinner.
Dad is that he might have joy, Joey thought as he carried his father’s briefcase into the house for him.
Baby brother is that he might have joy—and strained peas, Joey thought as he spooned green glop into Keith’s mouth at dinner.
That night Joey lay in bed, thinking about his day. Mom is that she might have joy. Dad is that he might have joy. Candice is that she might have joy. Keith is that he might have joy. Teachers, librarians, friends, crossing guards, and everyone in the whole world—all are that they might have joy. It was a big idea, and he thought about it a long time.
Joey was tired after a hard day of smiling. But, remembering all the smiles he had received in return, he couldn’t keep a new smile from growing on his face. He yawned and snuggled into bed.
He had one last thought before falling asleep: Joey is that he might have joy.

I’m from Nigeria, an English-speaking country, so when I was called to serve in the Benin Cotonou Mission and realized I would be speaking French, I became nervous. How was I going to teach the gospel? As I expected, I struggled to learn French while in the missionary training center in Ghana. Many times I felt almost hopeless.
Then, in my first area, I was asked to bear my testimony to the branch in French! Everyone sat in silence as I slowly walked to the pulpit. I reached into my pocket for the short testimony I had written down. But I could not find it! Fear gripped me instantly!
When I looked out at the beautiful faces before me, my eyes filled with tears. I had so much I wanted to share, but I didn’t know how to say it. I said the only thing I could in French: “I know that God lives.”
I sat back down and during the rest of the meeting, I prayed in my heart. I told Heavenly Father that I really wanted to speak French, and that if He would help me, I would serve Him with all my heart.
Three months later a new missionary couple from the United States visited the branch. They were also asked to bear their testimonies. The sister walked to the pulpit, said a few words in French, and then stopped. Tears fell down her face. The chapel was silent. I walked up to her and asked if I could interpret for her.
“Oh, that would be wonderful, Elder,” she said. I felt the Spirit as she spoke English, and I interpreted her testimony, word for word, in French.
After the meeting the branch president’s wife said to me, “I remember how long it took you to say, ‘I know that God lives’ when you first arrived. Yes, God really lives and He has touched your tongue.”
I know that God understands every language and every problem we face. He is there to help us if we put our trust in Him, and He blesses our efforts when we try. Because He answered my prayer, I have been able to teach the gospel in French and my life has been blessed.