Gospel Story Finder

The sun was setting when Mikel and his little sister, Ainhoa, drove the cows home from the mountain pasture. The days were shorter now with a nip of fall in the air. It would get colder in the Pyrenees Mountains as winter approached.

“There’s our house!” shouted Ainhoa, waving her stick.

Although other Basque homes were built similarly, Mikel thought their house was the most beautiful one in the village. The house was of whitewashed concrete, two stories tall, with a red roof and green shutters at the windows. The sign written in Basque above the door said, “May Peace Be in This House.”

Their dog Eguzki barked at the heels of the cows until they were all in the pen and the gate shut behind them.

“Patxi said he might take me to market tomorrow!” Ainhoa said excitedly as they reached their house. “He was gone so long in the mountains with the sheep, I almost forgot what he looked like!”

Mikel walked slowly to the door. He wanted to go to market tomorrow, too, but someone had to stay and watch the cows. He wondered if anyone would remember his birthday. No one had said anything about it for the past week. Everyone had been too excited about seeing Patxi, Mikel’s older brother, who had been with the sheep for four months in the high mountain pastures.

Inside the house the family was gathering for dinner. Patxi, with his broad smile and white teeth, his sunbrowned face and twinkling brown eyes, was sitting in the dining room talking to his father. His mother and sister Garbiñe brought in platters of bread, cheese, and roasted lamb from the kitchen.

After dinner Ainhoa put her arms around Patxi’s neck. “Will you take me to market tomorrow, Patxi? You said I might go with you to sell our fat pig and some cheeses. You will take me, won’t you?”

“Of course,” Patxi said. “I never forget a promise.” Garbiñe put a plate of butter on the table and sat down near her big brother. “My friend Mirentxu has been waiting to see you since you left last May, Patxi,” she said. “She will be at the market tomorrow too. Don’t forget to say hello to her.”

“I won’t,” Patxi promised.

Mikel pulled off his jacket and beret. He sat on the hearth of the fireplace next to Amama, his old grandmother, who was mending a torn pair of pants. She nodded at him and smiled.

Amama always understood what Mikel was thinking. She said, “Tomorrow we will have three men in our family. Your father and Patxi and Mikel, who will be twelve years old.”

Mikel looked up at his grandmother and smiled.

In the morning when it was time to take the cows up to the pasture, Ainhoa watched Mikel put on his jacket and beret. She gave him the lunch his mother had packed. “I will get you some lemon drops while I am at the market,” she promised.

“If you want to,” Mikel said unhappily. Although he stumped out the door, his rope-soled abarcus (shoes) did not make much noise.

As he opened the cow pen, his father appeared with the two mules, ready to go to town. “I know you would like to go to market with Patxi, Son, but I hope you understand that you are needed here.”

“I understand,” said Mikel. He waved his stick, and Eguzki barked at the cows. They started, one by one, up the mountainside.

When Mikel reached the high pasture, he could see the roofs of the village far below. How he wished he could have gone to market with his big brother, Patxi.

From the cow pasture, Mikel could look up and see the shepherds’ huts high on the mountainside where Patxi had lived while he watched the sheep. It was lonely up there except when someone from the village brought food and supplies to the shepherds once a week.

Mikel patted Eguzki’s head. “Patxi is a brave man,” he said to his dog, “to live up in that hut through summer storms and heat. There are wild animals there too!”

Mikel didn’t mind spending time alone with the cows. He loved them and had a name for each one. They trusted him and followed him readily, so he rarely had to use his stick. He liked to sit in the shade of a beech tree or put his feet in the stream on hot days. But looking up into the high mountains now, he thought he might get a little lonesome if he couldn’t come home for dinner every night.

During the summer Mikel helped his father on the farm, and a man from the village watched the cows. However, these few weeks, Mikel and Ainhoa had to watch them until the men had stored enough fodder to feed the animals through the winter.

At midday Mikel ate his lunch—a ham sandwich, cheese, and some artichokes. Then, knowing that Eguzki was nearby to watch the cows, he lay down and took a nap. When he woke up, Mikel felt lonely on the mountainside and wished Ainhoa were with him. To occupy his time, Mikel sang a song Patxi had taught him about a captive bird.

In the evening as the cows walked slowly home, one by one, Mikel saw his entire family waiting by the cow pen. When they saw him coming, they shouted and began to sing a birthday song. Ainhoa handed him a bag of lemon drops when he met them, and Patxi gave him a heavy package. “I bought it for you in the market,” Patxi explained. “It is for you when you are in the high pastures and feel lonely.”

When Mikel was inside the house, he opened the package. There were three books—a Bible, a book by a man named Shakespeare, and Robinson Crusoe. “These will be good companions on the mountainside,” he said, holding them out.

Mikel’s father looked proudly at his son. “We have another man in our family now. Mikel is twelve years old today.”

“We need another man in our family,” Patxi said, “because I’m going to America. It will be your job to watch the sheep, Mikel.”

“When did you decide this?” Mikel asked. He knew that men sometimes went to America because they were better paid and that some of them had sent money back home. But few of them ever returned.

“We talked to a man in the market today,” Mikel’s mother said sadly. “America is still a land of opportunity. A young Basque sheepherder can make good wages there. Patxi will work for a man who lives in Idaho and who owns many more sheep than we do. Patxi will send money home to help us.”

“Then I will take care of our sheep,” Mikel promised.

“I wondered if you were old enough to do it,” Patxi said. “Then today when I saw how you stayed with the cows without complaining, I knew you were almost grown up.”

“Thank you,” Mikel said as he carefully placed the books in his knapsack. He looked over and saw Amama sitting by the fire, nodding and smiling at him.

One young man I’ll call Damon wrote: “Growing up, I struggled with pornography. I always felt so ashamed that I could not get things right.” Each time Damon slipped, the pain of regret became so intense, he harshly judged himself to be unworthy of any kind of grace, forgiveness, or additional chances from God. He said: “I decided I just deserved to feel terrible all the time. I figured God probably hated me because I wasn’t willing to work harder and get on top of this once and for all. I would go a week and sometimes even a month, but then I would relapse and think, ‘I’ll never be good enough, so what’s the use of even trying?’”
At one such low moment, Damon said to his priesthood leader: “Maybe I should just stop coming to church. I’m sick of being a hypocrite.”
His leader responded: “You’re not a hypocrite because you have a bad habit you are trying to break. You are a hypocrite if you hide it, lie about it, or try to convince yourself the Church has the problem for maintaining such high standards. Being honest about your actions and taking steps to move forward is not being a hypocrite. It is being a disciple.” This leader quoted Elder Richard G. Scott, who taught: “The Lord sees weaknesses differently than He does rebellion. … When the Lord speaks of weaknesses, it is always with mercy.”
That perspective gave Damon hope. He realized God was not up there saying, “Damon blew it again.” Instead, He was probably saying, “Look how far Damon has come.” This young man finally stopped looking down in shame or looking sideways for excuses and rationalizations. He looked up for divine help, and he found it.
Damon said: “The only time I had turned to God in the past was to ask for forgiveness, but now I also asked for grace—His ‘enabling power’ [Bible Dictionary, “Grace”]. I had never done that before. These days I spend a lot less time hating myself for what I have done and a lot more time loving Jesus for what He has done.”
Considering how long Damon had struggled, it was unhelpful and unrealistic for parents and leaders assisting him to say “never again” too quickly or to arbitrarily set some standard of abstinence to be considered “worthy.” Instead, they started with small, reachable goals. They got rid of the all-or-nothing expectations and focused on incremental growth, which allowed Damon to build on a series of successes instead of failures. He, like the enslaved people of Limhi, learned he could “prosper by degrees.”

Yu stepped out of cram school onto the busy sidewalk. His head was full of math facts from his after-school class. People hurried by with umbrellas. Fat raindrops were falling fast, and the street was soaked.

Yu’s friend, Lin, stepped out beside him. “You should call your dad to pick you up,” Lin said. “Mr. Zhang says it’s flooding in some parts of the city.”

“I can get home on my own.”

“But look at all the water!” Lin said, pointing to the water flowing swiftly in the gutter.

For a moment, Yu had a funny feeling. Was Lin right? Maybe he should call Dad to drive him home before the streets flooded. But he and Dad had an argument last night, and Yu was still angry. He didn’t want to ask Dad for help.

Yu unchained his bike and said goodbye to Lin. If I pedal hard, he thought, I can make it home before the streets flood.

He pedaled hard, but soon his hands were cold, his clothes were soaked, and he was exhausted. Once again, the thought came to call Dad. Was the feeling from the Holy Ghost? The missionaries who baptized him had said that the Holy Ghost could be his guide. Yu glanced at the sky. It was so grey that he couldn’t see the tops of the buildings. But he was still mad at Dad.

Yu ignored the feeling and kept pedaling. The water got so high that shop owners closed their stores. People moved belongings to higher floors. Yu saw a mother push her two children through the flood in a little plastic boat.

With the water now past his ankles, Yu could no longer pedal his bike. He got off and pushed. It was probably too late to call Dad now, and the rain was still coming down. Thunder boomed and lightning flashed above him. Yu felt afraid. And he was so tired! He looked ahead. Home was still far away. He shouldn’t have ignored the Holy Ghost just because of a silly argument.

Yu stopped to say a short prayer. He couldn’t hear his voice above the rain and thunder, but he knew that Heavenly Father could hear him.

“Heavenly Father,” Yu prayed. “Please help me get home safely.” When he finished, he felt enough strength to keep going.

At last, Yu could see his house on the hill. Cold, tired, and somehow missing a shoe, Yu trudged up the hill. He saw Dad waiting for him outside. Dad rushed down the hill to meet him, splashing water as he ran.

When Dad reached him, he put his arms around Yu. “I was so worried!” Dad said. “You should have called me!”

“I thought we were mad at each other,” Yu said.

“I am never too mad to help you,” Dad said. Then he took Yu’s bike and pushed it the rest of the way up the hill.

Even with thunder echoing between the tall buildings and heavy rain pelting down, a warm feeling filled Yu’s heart. He felt peace and safety as he followed Dad home.

On one occasion my wife expected to be away for the weekend and asked one of the sisters in our ward to teach her Relief Society lesson. The week following the session, that sister came to our home and returned the instruction manual. She also brought to my wife a freshly baked loaf of bread and a handwritten note that read, “I love you. You are a special person. Thank you for thinking of me.” She was grateful to have been asked to serve. She was full of the love of Christ.

Each year the young men try to make the upstairs spook alley even better than the year before. This year each of the quorums was in charge of a room. “It was pretty spooky,” one little clown was heard to say, “but you don’t have to go through it alone.” The young men make sure that one of their number or a young woman who isn’t busy at the moment accompanies each child through so that no scares are taken too seriously. And many children brave the alley not only because of their “big” friends who help them through, but also because if they don’t go through the spook alley, they don’t get to go down the cardboard slide. The Moffat brothers, Kayle and David, have always volunteered to build the slide. Kayle built it with David’s help for a couple of years, but now he is serving as a full-time missionary and David is handling it alone. David says that by the time he gets his call in a year or two, Kayle will be back and able to take over again.

And now that you’re older, life is a much more serious game. A few months ago, for example, I looked out the front door and saw my four-year-old son lying belly down on the sidewalk, using his tongue to lap water out of the gutter.

“Jonathan,” I yelled, “what are you doing?”
“Getting a drink, Daddy,” he answered. “I was thirsty.”

My boy could have been poisoned slurping sludge out of the gutter, so I told him not to do that anymore. The whole episode was kind of cute, really, and I got a kick out of telling it to friends. But when Jonathan gets to be a teenager, some of the things he may get into won’t be so cute because they’ll have long-lasting spiritual and physical consequences.

It was a beautiful shawl. Chi-wee could see that clear across the trader’s store. Dark blue on one side and glowing red on the other, and with a fringe of the same two colors, it looked warm and soft.
Chi-wee also saw the look in her mother’s eyes as she passed her hand over its surface. In Chi-wee’s heart a fierce little voice said: “My mother shall have that shawl.”
It was trading day for Chi-wee and her mother. In the early morning they had come in the wagon of Mah-pee-ti the sheepherder. They carried with them the pottery that Chi-wee’s mother had made to trade at the store for food and clothing.
It had been a long, bumpety ride from the high mesa town to the canyon store, a ride over the wide desert of many-changing colors, up and down sandy washes. But it was a ride that Chi-wee dearly loved and of which she never tired. There were many living things to see on the way: prairie dogs, lizards, horned toads, sheep, and sometimes, away in the distance, an antelope or a gray coyote. And then there was always the excitement of wondering whether Mah-pee-ti’s old wagon would hold together when they jostled down a deep wash and struggled up on the other side. But for as many years as Chi-wee could remember, the wagon had always made it.
Now Chi-wee came close to the shawl and felt it with her fingers. It was soft and very warm. “Will you buy it, Mother?” she asked eagerly, laying her cheek on the soft wool.
Her mother shook her head a little sadly. “No, my little one. We must trade today for food and not for the things we do not need.”
“But you do need a shawl—this shawl!”
“We will not speak of it anymore,” said her mother, turning away. “We have money for food only, my daughter.” Then Mother spoke to the trader of the flour, sugar, and grain that she needed.
Chi-wee stood looking at the shawl. Somehow, my mother shall have this beautiful shawl, she resolved. While her mother carried some of the food out to the wagon, Chi-wee went to the trader. “What is the price of that shawl?”
“Six dollars,” answered the trader with a kindly smile. “It is all wool and very warm.”
“Will you trade it to me for the necklace that I have on. See, the shells are the color of the sky when the sun comes up.”
The trader stooped and looked at it. “It is beautiful. I can give you two dollars for it. But I could not exchange the shawl for it. I’m sorry.”
Chi-wee felt her heart grow very heavy, and all the way home she had no eyes for the lizards, rabbits, and prairie dogs that scuttled out of the way, nor for the tumbleweeds and cactus or the faraway blue buttes. Her mind was busy with plans to earn money for the wonderful shawl. But how could she earn that much money before someone else bought it?
She could weave a little, but that took a long time, and it took money to buy the colored wools. She could try to make pottery, but she knew that she couldn’t make it well enough to sell.
When next they went to the trader’s, Chi-wee looked eagerly for the shawl. Hot tears stung her eyelids when she could not find it. “That beautiful shawl—has it been sold yet?” she asked the trader.
He looked at her for a moment with a puzzled frown on his face. “The shawl?” A look of remembrance came into his eyes as he answered her. “No, it’s still here. Do you want to buy it?”
“Yes,” she said quickly, looking to see that her mother was beyond hearing. “I want to buy it, but I have not all the money right now. Here!” and with trembling fingers she unclasped the little shell necklace and thrust it into his hand. “Could you keep the shawl a little while for me? I will bring more next time.”
“I will keep the shawl for you until the end of next month. If you can bring me the rest of the money by then, you shall have the shawl.” He turned to assist the other customers who had entered his store.
The next few weeks were busy ones for Chi-wee, happy ones too. Had her mother not been occupied with her own work, she might have noticed that Chi-wee made many trips into the desert for which she gave no explanation, and when she returned, she seemed to be hiding something. When the next trading day came, there was a bump under the little girl’s shawl that had not been there on other trips.
When they reached the trading post, she handed the trader a big jar of wild honey. Her heart was beating fast with excitement and happiness. She did not tell of the pain caused by the needle-sharp cactus quills that stuck her fingers or of the painful lumps on her arm from the stings of angry bees. There was just deep pride in her voice as she said: “I have brought this to pay on the shawl.”
There was a look she did not understand in the trader’s eyes as he took the honey. He turned quickly and spoke to a stranger standing nearby holding a parcel. Finally he turned back to her. “I’m sorry, little girl. I waited until the end of the month. When you didn’t come, well, I just sold the shawl to this gentleman. Wouldn’t you like any of the other shawls in trade for your bracelet and honey?”
To Chi-wee it seemed as if the world turned black. Her mother’s shawl had been sold to this stranger! She could not speak. Words would not come. Everything began to swim through the sudden rush of tears. She saw the stranger walk to the door with his bundle under his arm, and the trader turn to attend to those who waited at his counter. She stumbled out of the store and into the waiting wagon with a storm of anger and grief in her heart. But she did not cry anymore. She sat in silence all the way home.
When they reached home, Mother called her to help with the parcels in the wagon. “And take your package,” she said. “The stranger said that you bought it from the trader. With what did you buy it, little daughter?”
Chi-wee opened her eyes wide and stood as still as a statue while her mother placed the package in her arms. Then she tore off the paper. There was the shawl—her mother’s shawl! Attached to one corner was a little card. On it was written: “It is your love for your mother that has bought this shawl, little girl of the mesa. And it is my love for a little girl like you that gives you back your precious treasure.” And there, beside the shawl, wrapped in a bit of paper, was her pink shell necklace. Now Chi-wee cried hard—but the tears were tears of happiness as she gave the shawl to her mother.

I was six years old when my father brought Bimbo home. He was a tiny black and white fox terrier puppy, so small he could fit into my father’s overcoat pocket. Having a pet is fun, but it also requires work. My big brother, Alan, and I had the responsibility of feeding our puppy and giving him water every day. As Bimbo grew, bathing him was one of our jobs, and we were always just as wet as Bimbo before we were through. We loved our puppy and treated him like a member of the family.

That feeling of unity and understanding seemed to characterize the day. Most people were a bit surprised when Melissa Lane, 13, modeled her outfit as it was announced that one of her major goals was to become a member of the Church.
Melissa later explained, “My aunt is a member of the Church and I live with her now. She lets me go to church, and it really makes me feel good. I’m starting to read the Book of Mormon, and my aunt is letting me subscribe to the New Era. My special friends here have helped me with my testimony, and this conference has too.”

On one particular day I was a passenger on a supply flight to a research station near the emperor penguin rookery. When we landed, the dazzling brilliance of the snowfield about us seemed to belie the nineteen days of frozen horror suffered by the three men of Robert Falcon Scott’s party as they crossed this area in 1911. Determined to collect the first specimens of the emperor penguins’ eggs, produced only in midwinter, they had struggled on in total darkness, suffering temperatures of more than 109 degrees below freezing, pulling their supplies by hand and clad in insufficient clothing. After they had reached the penguin rookery on the farthest tip of the island, their primitive shelter was destroyed by the hurricane force of a winter blizzard, which can reach velocities of more than two hundred miles per hour along this coastline.
A few days later the very helicopter that had taken us to the rookery crashed into the mountains, killing two scientists. We were flying in the same area in another helicopter and so were able to help rescue the survivors.

Nelson and Dora Coila live on an island—not a typical island made of solid rock jutting up from an ocean or lake—but a tiny island they made themselves of nothing more than floating reeds on Lake Titicaca in Peru.
Building an island and making it your home takes faith. Only about four feet (1.2 m) of layered reeds suspends their family and the dozen or so huts on their island above the 50-degree (10°C) water, and the elements continually threaten to literally disintegrate their island home.
But for Nelson and Dora, their island represents physically what they are trying to build spiritually for their family: an island of faith that will hold together against the world.
What they have learned in the process is that the faith to build must always be followed by the diligence to maintain.
For the Uros people, who have built and lived on these islands for generations, the totora reed is an essential part of daily living. The reed, which grows in the shallows of Lake Titicaca, can be used as fuel for cooking fires. Its root can be eaten. Its husk can be used for medicinal purposes. And, of course, almost everything is made with the reed: their dwellings, their traditional boats, their watchtowers, the islands themselves, even their trash baskets.
The Uros build the islands by laying down layer upon layer of reeds. But as building materials go, totora reeds don’t last long. The sun dries them out during the dry season. Moisture during the rainy season hastens their decay. And the submersed bottom layers gradually decompose. The continual erosion of the Coilas’ island means that Nelson has to put down a new layer of reeds every 10 to 15 days.
“Building the island was just the start,” he says. “If I stop adding reeds, the island will slowly fall apart. But the more layers I put on, the stronger the island gets over time.”
Adding a layer of reeds is not complex or difficult, but it is work. Delaying it would be easy.
Procrastination, however, increases the risk of a family member putting a foot through a weak spot and ending up in cold water. That can be little more than a nuisance for adults, but it’s potentially deadly for little children such as the Coilas’ two-year-old son, Emerson.
So Nelson adds a layer of reeds today, knowing that the safety of each family member depends on it tomorrow.
It’s a lesson about diligence that has made a difference in the Coilas’ lives.
Through the Coilas’ experiences in maintaining their island of faith both literally and figuratively, they have found the rewards of diligence to be real. “Sometimes we get suffocated by the daily routine of working, cooking, and so forth,” says Nelson. “When we forget God, things get complicated. There are more problems, and things begin to fall apart.”
Nelson pauses to gesture toward a new layer of reeds he put down that morning. “If we are constant,” he says, “if we pray, study, fast, and hold family home evening regularly, we are going to become stronger.”

The note was written on blue paper with zigzags drawn around the corners, so even though Jeremy handed it to her, Melanie knew the note was from Rachel. Melanie glanced around. Reading time was over, and her classmates were putting away their books.
Melanie knew how the note would start: “Dear Best Friend.” She smiled to herself. She and Rachel had been friends since second grade. “We’re still best friends, even though we’re very different,” Melanie thought as she unfolded the note.
Dear Best Friend,
Do you smoke?
—Rachel
Melanie was surprised. “Rachel and I are together all the time,” she thought. “Doesn’t she know I don’t smoke?”
She wrote on the bottom of the paper:
No. I think it’s gross. Why do you want to know?
—Melanie
Melanie handed the note back to Jeremy. Soon he passed it back again. Melanie read:
I snuck a pack of cigarettes from my aunt’s house. Do you want to try some with me after school?
—Rachel
Melanie stared at the note. Then she wrote:
Rachel! Why do you want to smoke? It’s bad for you! I know you like to try new things, but I don’t want to see you get hurt.
—Melanie
Rachel wrote back:
A few cigarettes aren’t going to hurt me. I might not even finish the whole pack.
—Rachel
Melanie felt like she was going to cry. She wrote:
You’re my friend, and I love you. Don’t smoke.
—Melanie
Melanie watched Rachel as she read the note. Now Rachel looked like she was going to cry. She held onto the note for a long time. Then she wrote back. When Melanie got the note, she read:
Thanks. I love you too. I won’t smoke the cigarettes.
Melanie was grateful she had chosen to be an example. She felt relieved that Rachel had made the right choice.

While presiding over the Mexico City North Mission in the late seventies, we decided to open the work in an area called the Huasteca, where there was only one Latter-day Saint family in a vast area with several communities and small cities. After two years, there were 500 members of the Church in five branches and an organized district. This was done by a handful of nineteen- and twenty-year-old faithful missionaries and two wonderful couples, who gave of themselves to see that others of Heavenly Father’s children might know and understand.
After the missionaries had been in the Huasteca for about three weeks, we received a phone call from one of them, and we could tell that he was slightly discouraged, not having yet received any mail, being in a hot area with high humidity, and learning about a culture that was new to all of us. After we had talked for a minute or two, I reminded him that we had talked about the fact that it wouldn’t be easy. He said, “Oh, that’s right, President; that’s right. It wouldn’t be easy. I knew it wouldn’t be easy.” Well, he went ahead with great enthusiasm and concluded his very successful work there and was released to return home.
A couple of months later, while he was at BYU, he and some of his former companions called Sister Dickson and me at the mission home in Mexico City at 2:30 in the morning, waking us from a very sound sleep. After a short conversation, I mentioned the fact that it was wonderful to talk with them but that it seemed a little late at night to be calling. He said, “I know, President, but you knew it wouldn’t be easy.”

When I entered high school, I started going to seminary every evening after school. Beginning in my sophomore year, I became a student-body officer and member of the dance company, and I participated in other extracurricular activities. I had countless meetings and rehearsals and was bombarded with homework and reading assignments.
One day a meeting was held at the same time as my seminary class. The meeting was important, but seminary was much more important; it was an easy decision for me. I immediately told my classmate about seminary and, to my surprise, she got me excused from the meeting so I could go to seminary. After some time, my classmate began asking about seminary. She asked what we did there and what we were learning. I told her and invited her to attend. She was eager and excited. When the time came, she attended the class, where she gained more friends. I found it was really easy to invite my friend to seminary and that by choosing to put seminary first and standing tall, I was able to bring light to someone else.

Let me share another example of what it means to be a doer of the word and not a hearer only. Several years ago, I attended a stake conference in New Orleans, Louisiana. This was the weekend of the Super Bowl. There was great excitement about what was anticipated as a great football weekend. In my remarks in the Saturday conference meetings, I told of some experiences young people had had in determining what it meant to keep the Sabbath day holy. Of course, the football game was to be played on Sunday afternoon.
After the Sunday morning session, one of the brethren handed me a regular donation envelope, indicating there was a note inside that would explain an experience he wanted to share. A little later I opened the envelope and read:
“I was going to take my son to the Super Bowl game today. He has been looking forward to this for quite some time. After your talk to the young people and to the older people, we want you to take our tickets and keep them. This is our thanks to you for sharing with us.”
I learned from the stake president that the boy and the father had made the decision not to attend the Sunday game spontaneously, together. Not only did they not use the tickets, which had cost them $30 each, but they did not sell them, which they could have done for as much as $300 each. This was not only being doers of the letter of the word but also keeping the spirit of the word. Those two tickets are permanently placed in my scrapbook as a reminder of a father and his son who together, yet independent of each other’s thinking, decided they were going to keep the Sabbath day holy.

When the apostles tried to leave in August, the malaria that infested the low, swampy ground where they had settled along the Mississippi had disabled nearly everyone. Brigham’s description is typically simple and restrained, leaving us to imagine the physical and emotional suffering of this second dramatic departure: “My health was so poor I was unable to go thirty rods to the river without assistance. … I left my wife sick, with a babe only ten days old, and all my children sick and unable to wait upon each other.”24 His family was even without adequate clothing because of losses to the mob in Missouri; Brigham himself was wearing a cap made out of a pair of old pantaloons, and he took along a quilt because he had no overcoat until some Saints in New York made him one. He commented that he thus “had not much of a ministerial appearance.” But though deathly ill for a time, and literally carried from place to place as he and a few companions were shuttled by the Saints across Illinois, he gradually recovered strength and began to have experiences commensurate with his calling—even though he lacked the “appearance.”

I began school again and started dating. I could see that I was progressing, but I felt that I would always view my mission with a little bitterness. Then a friend of mine reminded me that the Savior’s Atonement can heal all pain and bitterness. With His help I could be happy when thinking about my mission.
I knelt down and prayed to my Heavenly Father. I told Him about my pain and my efforts to be healed and comforted. I asked if He would take away the bitterness I felt. After my prayer, the Lord opened my eyes to see my mission from His perspective. Both my service and early return were a part of the Lord’s plan to help make me into who He wanted me to be. I could see the miracles that He had provided since I came home. It has been a hard path, but now I can look back on my early return home with peace, knowing that God has my best interests at heart.

In another ward, the Relief Society sisters organized to help an ill woman while her husband was out of the home. She was a native of Thailand whose English language skills were limited. She had a disease that attacked every organ of her body. The sisters learned to operate the respirator. They bathed her, combed her hair, brushed her teeth, cleaned her house, and prepared meals as well. I heard this woman cry words of gratitude for the love and patience of those who served her.

Heidi Tuttle, now Heidi Kim, says her perspective has changed tremendously in 15 years.

“When I was 17, I didn’t see the whole picture,” she says as her toddler son, Kennan, dashes by in red overalls. She scoops him up and kisses the top of his head as he squirms away.

“After my mission to Korea and getting married, I realized the gospel and my family are what’s most important,” Heidi says, as she looks proudly at her husband who is singing Kennan a special song in Korean.

Ashley, would you please read Helaman 5:6–7 [Hel. 5:6–7]?” Sister Robins asked.
Ashley quickly opened her Book of Mormon, found the passage, and read: “‘Behold, my sons. … I have given unto you the names of our first parents who came out of the land of Jerusalem; and this I have done that when you remember your names ye may remember them; and when ye remember them ye may remember their works; and when ye remember their works ye may know how that it is said, and also written, that they were good.
“‘Therefore, my sons, I would that ye should do that which is good, that it may be said of you, and also written, even as it has been said and written of them.’”
“Thank you, Ashley,” Sister Robins said. “In this scripture, the prophet Helaman—he lived just a few years before Christ was born—is telling his sons, Nephi and Lehi, why he gave them their names. Can anyone tell me why?”
“Because Helaman wanted his children to remember what good things the first Nephi and Lehi had done,” Emily answered.
Ashley thought about the things she had read in 1 Nephi: Lehi listened to the Lord and left Jerusalem. Nephi obeyed his father and returned for the brass plates, and he built a ship, and preached to his brothers, and—
“And then they would do good things, too, and be righteous, too,” Samuel’s comment broke into her thoughts.
“That’s right,” Sister Robins said. “Names can sometimes help us choose the right. My first name is Camilla. My parents named me after the wife of one of our prophets, President Spencer W. Kimball. She was a wonderful woman who spent her entire life serving other people and building up the kingdom of God. I always remember her because of my name. It makes me want to obey the Lord and serve other people as she did. Are any of you named for a special person?”
“I was named for Daniel in the lions’ den,” Danny said.
“I was named for my great-great-grandmother,” said Emily.
Ashley shut her Book of Mormon and sat back in her chair. What about my name? Where does it come from? It isn’t in the Bible or the Book of Mormon. She couldn’t think of anyone in her family with her name.
She asked about it on the way home from church. “Mom, why did you and Dad name me Ashley?”
“We just thought it was a beautiful name, and you were such a beautiful baby girl that the name fit.”
“My name’s not in the scriptures, is it?”
“No, it isn’t, dear.”
“Is there anyone in our family, like a great-great-grandmother, whose name was Ashley?”
“No, I don’t think so. It’s just a pretty name,” Mom answered.
Dad asked, “Don’t you like your name, honey?”
Ashley mumbled an “Oh, yes. It is pretty.” But she thought, Pretty is not enough—there’s nothing special about it to remind me to be good. She thought about her sister’s and brother’s names. Rachel’s name is in the Bible. And Brian is named after Dad. Her eyes filled with tears. Why was I left out?
That night as she was lying in bed, Ashley thought about it again. It isn’t fair! I want a name that means something special. I know—I’ll change my name! She grabbed her writing tablet and a pencil. She said them aloud as she listed possibilities: “Elisabeth, Mary, Rebecca, Sarah. And Grandma’s name is Emma Jane.”
A knock came at the open door, and Mom asked to come in. She glanced at the tablet in her daughter’s lap. “What’s this, Ashley? Are you really upset about your name? Why, honey?”
“In Primary, we read about Nephi and Lehi, who were named after the first Nephi and Lehi, who were great prophets. Danny was named for a famous prophet, too. Emily was named for her great-great-grandmother. Rachel was named for the woman Jacob worked seven years to get to marry. And Brian was named after Dad. Why didn’t I get a good name?”
Mom reached over and smoothed Ashley’s hair. “You did get a good name. Don’t you know that?” She paused and looked at Ashley’s list. “Were you thinking of changing your name to one of these?”
“Yes. They were all great women.”
“Well, what do you think made them great?” Ashley thought for a minute.
“They were great because they were righteous people and served others.”
“Do you think their names made them great—or did they make their names great? Look at King Noah in the Book of Mormon. Although he had the same name as one of the greatest Old Testament prophets, he was a very wicked man. The people we admire made their names great by the kind of people they were.”
Mom pointed at the list. “These names were all probably held by other people before the ones who made them notable. And in Helaman, after Helaman told his sons that he gave them their names so that they would remember the first Lehi and Nephi and the good that they did, what did he say next?”
“He said that he wanted his sons to do good, too, so that when other people talked about them, it would be about the good his sons did.”
Mom smiled. “Well, what do you want people to think when they hear your name?”
“I want them to think that I’m a nice person and that I try to do what’s right.”
“I want them to think that, too. It’s nice sometimes when we are named for great people, but it’s more important that we make the name we have great. Just think—you have a brand new name to make great!”
“And maybe when people hear my name, they’ll remember that I’m a good person.”
“One more thing, Ashley. All of us who have been baptized have a special name. We say that we take this name upon us, which means that we choose to be named after and try to be like this person. Do you know what name I’m talking about?”
“Yes—it’s Jesus Christ.”
“So, if you want a name that will remind you to be good, just remember his name. Will that help?”
“Yes—I feel much better. Thanks, Mom.”
As her mom leaned over to turn off the lamp, Ashley crumpled the list of names and dropped it into the wastebasket.