Gospel Story Finder

“It’s your turn to read, Papa,” Bernice said. She opened the scriptures. Maman and Papa sat next to her on the couch.
Papa read the first scripture. “I know that he loveth his children.”
“I know that he loveth his children,” Bernice repeated.
“Nevertheless,” Papa said, “I do not know the meaning of all things.”*
Nevertheless was a hard word. Bernice couldn’t read yet, and she didn’t know what all the words meant. But she loved repeating the words when her family read scriptures together.
The next day at scripture time, Papa had a surprise. “I have something special for you,” he said. He gave Bernice a book. It had a picture of people and a boat on the front.
“Is this for me?” Bernice asked. She hugged the big book in her arms.
“For you,” Papa said. “Look inside.”
Bernice opened the book. Her eyes got big. There were so many colorful pictures.
“What is it called?” Bernice asked.
Papa pointed to the words on the cover. “Book of Mormon Stories,” he said.
Bernice traced the words on the cover. “Book of Mormon Stories,” she said.
“It has the same stories we are reading about in the scriptures,” Maman said.
Bernice pointed to one of the pictures. “Who is that?” she asked.
“Hmm. Do you see the bow and arrows?” Maman asked.
Bernice nodded.
“Do you remember reading about someone who had a broken bow?” Papa asked.
“Nephi?” Bernice said.
“Yes, that’s Nephi,” Papa said.
Bernice smiled. “Thank you, Papa. Thank you, Maman. I love this book.”
Each night, Bernice read her scripture book with Maman and Papa. She pointed to the pictures. She learned to say some hard words. And she learned to read some easy words on her own!
Reading the scriptures made her feel happy. She was glad she could read them with Maman and Papa!
This story took place in the Democratic Republic of the Congo.
* 1 Nephi 11:17

Such was the case with the Fandiño family, who lived on the Caribbean coast in Ciénaga, Colombia. One day while visiting the local market, Margarita Fandiño found and purchased a used copy of the Book of Mormon. Accepting it as scripture, the family read and highlighted meaningful verses until Margarita’s daughter Kellys shared the book with her local youth Bible study group. To her surprise, the pastor seized the Book of Mormon and burned it. Only years later would missionaries enter the city of Ciénaga and teach Margarita and her family about their beloved book and the Restoration.

Photograph by Leslie Nilsson
I was raised in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, but I left the Church as a teenager after my family moved from Alabama. Later, I moved to California, where I worked and studied. That’s where I met Patrick. Six weeks later, we were engaged.
Once we got married and started having children, we knew it was essential that they understand the importance of faith and religion. We wanted that to be part of our family.
We became what we called “vacation churchgoers,” visiting lots of churches. We’d try this one over here and that one over there, but nothing ever felt right.
In 2012 we traveled to Alabama so I could reconnect with family members. We fell in love with the area where I lived as a child. So, we moved there in 2014, bought some land and animals, and started growing and selling produce.
One morning our seven-year-old son, Jesse, came into our bedroom with an illustrated children’s Bible.
“Mom, look at this picture of Jesus,” he said. “He’s getting baptized. Why am I not baptized?”
All the children read and loved that Bible, and they all began asking similar questions: “Why don’t we have a church? When are we getting baptized?”
About this same time we began making caramels from goat’s milk and selling them at local farmers markets. People loved them, and our caramel business took off. By that fall, we were selling our caramels in about 30 stores. By June 2015, we went to a major international market in Atlanta and added about a hundred stores. Soon, we were on television and in a couple of magazines.
We were making caramels full time leading into that fall. That’s when things took a turn in our lives.
I had what I thought I always wanted in life—a farm-based business working with my family and teaching my children about life through a farm. People had this beautiful picture of our family working together, but we were struggling big time.
We were ignoring the kids in order to make the business work. Our marriage wasn’t getting any attention. We were trying to do too much. Our priorities weren’t straight. We didn’t have a spiritual base. We didn’t have Heavenly Father guiding our lives. We were just trying to do everything by ourselves.
That fall the children all came down with strep throat. We gave them antibiotics, and soon everybody was fine except for Jesse. His cough wouldn’t go away, and his neck became swollen. Pat took him to the pediatrician for what we thought would be a second antibiotic.
Two hours later Pat called from the hospital. The pediatrician had sent Jesse there for an X-ray to check for infection in his lungs. Instead, doctors found an 11-inch tumor in his chest.
“Go home, get your family packed up, head to Birmingham, and prepare for a lengthy stay,” the doctor said.
A few days after we arrived at the children’s hospital in Birmingham, we received Jesse’s diagnosis. He had pediatric acute lymphoblastic leukemia, a rare type of aggressive leukemia.
For the next three weeks, Pat and I lived at the hospital. While I zoned in on Jesse, Pat made the 90-minute drive back and forth from our home to the hospital. He tried to keep our business going and care for our goats. My mother-in-law came from California and stayed with our other children.
Jesse’s tumor had begun to cut off his airways, but it shrank after six weeks of chemotherapy. We thought that once the cancer went into remission, it would be an easy road ahead, but then Jesse got a blood clot in his brain. After doctors dealt with that, he got fungal pneumonia. He was in and out of the hospital seven times over the next several months.
In December 2015, while Jesse was back in the hospital, I began reading the Book of Mormon. I thought, “I left the Church, and I just want to rule it out like I’ve ruled out all the other churches.” But right away, it hit me like a ton of bricks—full peace. The book just spoke to me. I didn’t even have to pray to find out it was true. I knew in my heart it was true from the very beginning. I would read for hours sitting in that hospital room.
At one point, Jesse spiked a fever, which lasted for 10 days. It wouldn’t break, and doctors decided they needed to do a bone marrow biopsy to see if the leukemia had returned. I remember lying on the floor of the hospital. I had reached bottom. That’s when I decided to call Elaine Oborn, a member of our ward while I was growing up in Alabama.
I had been best friends with Sister Oborn’s daughter. Though I hadn’t spoken to the Oborn family for 20 years, I couldn’t get Elaine’s face out of my mind. I looked her up on Facebook, and there on the hospital floor, I called her.
“Do you even remember me?” I asked.
After explaining what our family was experiencing, I told Sister Oborn: “I don’t know what I need, but I need something. I’m not active in the Church. We don’t even have a church, but I keep thinking of you. Please, can you help me?”
“We can start by getting you and Jesse a blessing,” she said. She said her husband, Lynn, would come to the hospital that evening.
After the phone call, I told Pat, “I know you’re not a member of the Church, but can we have some guys come and give Jesse a blessing?”
“Whatever it takes for him to feel better,” he said.
That evening, in came Brother Oborn with two full-time missionaries, all dressed in white medical protective clothing because Jesse was so sick.
“The angels are coming for us,” I remember thinking as I opened the door.
They gave Jesse a blessing. Then Brother Oborn lined up all the kids and gave each of them a blessing. Then he gave me a blessing. Then he gave Pat a blessing. That was one of the first experiences where we all felt the Spirit. It was powerful. The next day, Jesse’s fever broke. As soon as he was released from the hospital, we started attending church.
In February 2016, the full-time missionaries began visiting us. At first Pat thought they were coming over to help on the farm. When we accepted an invitation for them to teach us, he thought the lessons were just for the children.
As the missionaries were preparing to teach us their first lesson, Pat went out to work on the tractor. After about 20 minutes, I could see that they—two sisters and two elders—were deflated. At that moment, I felt that I should get Pat and ask him to come listen for a couple of minutes.
Later the missionaries told me that they had been praying that that’s what I would do. They knew that Pat needed to hear what they were teaching.
After the missionaries had taught us for several weeks, Jesse, Bo, and Frank wanted to be baptized. Pat thought that was great, but he felt that he was “beyond salvation.” That was before he met Von and Glenda Memory and heard Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles speak during general conference.
When we saw Brother Memory at church, I recognized him from when I was a child. He was now serving as the ward mission leader. Pat introduced himself, telling Brother Memory that he really wanted the Church for our children.
“That sounds good,” Brother Memory said with a twinkle in his eye. “We’ll do it for the children.”
A few weeks later, after a lesson from the missionaries on the plan of salvation, Brother Memory said, “Boys, we’re going to talk about your baptism.” Then he added, “And then we’re going to talk about your dad’s baptism.”
Pat said OK, but his doubts about his readiness and worthiness persisted until general conference that April.
“You may be afraid, angry, grieving, or tortured by doubt,” Elder Uchtdorf said in his talk. “But just as the Good Shepherd finds His lost sheep, if you will only lift up your heart to the Savior of the world, He will find you.”1
Pat said: “Before then, it hadn’t occurred to me that I really could be a part of this, that I was worthy of salvation. But after listening to Elder Uchtdorf, it hit me that it wasn’t too late for me. I actually have a shot to get to heaven. I had never felt anything like that. From then on I knew. This is the Savior’s Church. We found it. I got baptized and received the priesthood. A week later I baptized my boys. When our girls were old enough, I baptized them.”
A year later, we were sealed in the Birmingham Alabama Temple.
Living the gospel of Jesus Christ as members of His Church has strengthened our marriage. It has made me a better mom. It has given our kids a foundation they never would have had. We’re confident about their futures, now that they have the Church in their lives.
I’m so grateful for everything that has happened and for all the lessons I’ve learned. I think it was important for me to go through a lot of stuff, a lot of mental anguish. I needed to be humbled, feel desperate for God’s help and love and forgiveness, and forgive myself of wrongdoings earlier in my life.
Jesse completed chemotherapy and his last round of steroids in March 2019. We would be devastated if his cancer returned, but now we have an eternal perspective. Now we’re sealed as a family. I can’t imagine ever not having the Church as my go-to for everything. The gospel has changed us forever.
Whatever happens, it’s going to be OK. We’re not afraid anymore. Jesse’s illness led to the best thing that ever happened to us. It brought us to the Savior’s Church.

Sometimes in our church we think only of our dear sisters offering and doing compassionate service. But it is the high priests in our ward who have served our family.
One day, without warning, my husband suffered a stroke that paralyzed his left side. He spent two and a half months in the hospital, and when he came home, I had to take care of him twenty-four hours a day. Other members of our family, who live many kilometers away, called and wrote letters filled with kind words of encouragement, but it was impossible for them to come and help me take care of my husband.
My husband had been home from the hospital only a day when our home teacher, Cliff Barton, stopped by to see how the high priests in our ward could help. We decided that my getting away from the house for a few hours each week would be the best therapy for both me and my husband.
Since then, loving and caring high priests have come to stay with my husband for a few hours each week. They have brought spiritual and intellectual enlightenment through sharing magazine articles, stories, humor, and companionship.
Men we knew only casually before are now dear friends because they have given of themselves in precious service to us. The first Monday of every month, without fail, the telephone rings; it’s Brother Barton wanting to know my schedule for the month so he can arrange the visits.
These men are wonderful, caring, and tender. Their happy visits have made the long, cold winter days shorter, the dull days brighter, and the sunny days more brilliant.
There’s no question that in my ward, the brethren know how to serve.

During my professional career, I helped the heirs of a noble couple settle their estate. The estate was not large, but it was the fruit of many years of hard work and sacrifice. Their children were all decent, God-fearing people who had been taught to live the saving principles of the Savior. But when it came to dividing up the property, a dispute developed about who should get what. Even though there was nothing of great value to fight about, feelings of selfishness and greed caused a rift among some of the family members that never healed and continued into the next generation. How tragic that the legacy offered by these wonderful parents turned out to be so destructive of family unity and love among their children. I learned from this that selfishness and greed bring bitterness and contention; on the other hand, sacrifice and giving bring peace and contentment.

When Nick Barton and his wife, Morgan, moved to Arizona, USA, where Nick would attend law school, they started praying for missionary opportunities. “We asked Heavenly Father to help us become more sensitive to the promptings of the Holy Ghost and to be bold enough to take action,” Nick says.
One Saturday, Morgan needed their car for work, so Nick rode his bicycle to campus. When it was time to return home, however, the bike was gone.
“Stolen bicycles were so common that the police asked if there was anything that would help identify it. I remembered that Morgan had glued a label on the handlebar that said, ‘I Love You.’”
Once again Nick prayed. “I asked that I might learn something from the situation,” he says. Then he hopped on the train to get as close as possible to home before calling his wife to come and get him.
Illustrations by J. Beth Jepson
“At the next train stop, I saw a big guy with a backwards cap board the train, carrying my bicycle! I saw the ‘I Love You’ on the handlebar, so I knew it was mine,” Nick said. He tapped the man on the shoulder.
“I said, ‘I need to ask you where you got that bike.’ He responded, ‘At a yard sale down the street.’” Nick explained that his bike had been stolen. The young man replied that he was not a thief and that Nick could have the bike back.
“I thanked him and said I would have the police call him so the ‘yard sale’ could be investigated,” Nick says. “He told me his name was Harley and gave me his phone number. I told him I would share the cost of what he had paid, since we had both been wronged, and I walked off the train glad to have my bicycle back.”
But that was only the beginning.
“Out of curiosity, I called Harley the next morning. He said the police were following through. Then he asked if my wife and I might want to do something later in the day. I realized he was trying to become friends.
“It being Sunday, I told him we were going to church but that we would be happy to get together with him another time. As I hung up the phone, it dawned on me that this was a missionary opportunity pure and clear. I called him back and asked if he would be interested in coming to church with us. He agreed! He attended all the meetings and let me know afterward that he felt the speakers and teachers were talking directly to him.
“Harley had family overseas and moved away shortly after we met,” Nick says. “But he did become our friend, gained respect for the Church, and was reassured that his Heavenly Father is mindful of him.”

The year was 1977. The phone rang, and the message tore our hearts apart. Carolyn and Doug Tebbs were in the process of moving to their new home after completing graduate school. The elders quorum had come to load the moving van. Doug, making sure the path was clear before backing out, took one last look. What he could not see was his little daughter, Jennie, dart behind the truck at just the wrong moment. In an instant, their beloved Jennie was gone.
What would happen next? Would the pain they so deeply felt and the inconceivable sense of loss create an irreconcilable chasm between Carolyn and Doug, or would it somehow bind their hearts together and solidify their faith in Heavenly Father’s plan?
The road through their afflictions has been long and painful, but from somewhere came the spiritual reserves to not lose hope but to “hold on [their] way.” Somehow this incredible couple became even more Christlike. More committed. More compassionate. They believed that, in His time, God would consecrate their afflictions for their gain.
Though the pain and loss would not and could not leave completely, Carolyn and Doug have been comforted by the assurance that by their staying firmly on the covenant path, their beloved Jennie would be theirs forever.
Their example has strengthened my faith in the Lord’s plan. We don’t see all things. He does. The Lord told Joseph Smith in Liberty Jail that “all these things shall give thee experience, and shall be for thy good. The Son of Man hath descended below them all. Art thou greater than he?”

Life gets crazy when you’re a 17-year-old girl. High school crushes, geometry tests, weekend window-shopping at the mall, and late-night phone conversations all add up, along with the lifelong task of discovering who you really are.
My senior year in high school was quite an adventurous one. I sang in two choirs, performed with the high school dance company, participated in region and state drama, studied in Advanced Placement and college concurrent-enrollment classes, and dated. I felt like a typical high school student.
But there was one exception—my mother was dying of Lou Gehrig’s disease (ALS). The disease attacks the nervous system in the body. The brain sends messages to the muscles to move, but the disease prevents these messages from getting where they need to go. The result: a loss of the ability to move any muscles. It becomes difficult to eat, breathe, sit, stand, walk, talk, or do much of anything. It was so hard to see my mother experience this. We literally watched every muscle in her throat give out before she died.
She came home from the hospital on Mother’s Day, and that night she asked my brother and me to sing “A Poor Wayfaring Man of Grief” (Hymns, no. 29). I made it through one verse and then collapsed in tears. The morning she died, we played a Mormon Tabernacle Choir CD. As she passed through the veil from one world to the next, the increasing emotion of the choir singing “The Spirit of God” (Hymns, no. 2) filled the room and accompanied our tears of grief and love.
There were two scriptures in particular that helped me through this difficult and life-changing period. The first is found in Alma 40:23: “The soul shall be restored to the body, and the body to the soul; yea, and every limb and joint shall be restored to its body; yea, even a hair of the head shall not be lost; but all things shall be restored to their proper and perfect frame.”
This scripture strengthened me because I knew that when I see my mother again, she won’t have the weakened body she left this life with. She will be whole; she will be perfect.
She will be the mother I played with, prayed with, laughed with, and lived life with.
A friend sent me a card the day after my mother died, and inside was the second scripture: “Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid” (John 14:27).
Ever since that trying period of my life, I’ve looked back on this scripture as a way to hold me up in times of trial, to keep me going in times of pain, and to comfort me in times of tears. This scripture touched my heart then and continues to do so today.

I remember once in 1957, while I was acting as a new president of a branch in Argentina, I decided to interview the members with respect to the importance of paying tithing. I found myself talking with one good brother of the branch whose name was Jose, who had difficulty paying his tithing. I asked him bluntly, “Brother Jose, why don’t you pay your tithing?” I’m sure Jose didn’t expect me to be so direct.
After a moment of silence he responded: “As you know, President, I have two children. The wage of a laborer is very low. This month I have to buy my children shoes to go to school; and, mathematically, I just don’t have enough money.”
In an instant response, I said, “Jose, I promise you that if you pay your tithing faithfully, your children will have their shoes to go to school, and you will be able to pay for all the needs of your home. I don’t know how he will do it, but the Lord always keeps his promises. Besides that,” I added, “If you still find that you don’t have enough money, I will give you back what you paid in tithing from my own pocket.”
On the way home, I wondered if what I had done was the right thing. Here I was, recently married, just getting started in my career, and faced with my own economic problems. I began to worry about my own shoes, let alone those of Jose’s family! Even though when I got home my dear wife wholeheartedly supported me and reassured me that everything would be all right, I must say that that night nobody prayed harder for Brother Jose’s economic welfare than I did.
One month later, I once again sat down with Jose. Though the tears in his eyes almost made it impossible for him to speak, he said: “President, it is incredible. I paid my tithing; I was able to meet all of my obligations, and I even purchased the new shoes for my children, all without an increase in my wage. I know that the Lord keeps his promises!”
Jose remains to this day a faithful tithe payer.

On one occasion when I arrived home late from church meetings, my wife expressed concern about one of our sons. She was worried, because the events of the day had seemed to demonstrate that our son’s thoughts and actions were not riveted upon serving a mission. Her concerns clearly indicated a desire that I speak with him before going to bed. When I asked where he was, she indicated that he was in his room preparing to retire. I went to the room and sat on the floor next to his bed. I asked if I could speak to him about something that was sacred. He replied ”certainly.” The hour was late, I was tired and so was he—I asked “son, are you still planning on serving a mission?” “Yes,” he answered. “I’ve always planned on serving, and I haven’t changed.” “Son, do you know what qualifies a young man to serve a mission? Do you know what it means to be worthy?” “Yes, Dad,” he said, “I understand the requirements and standards.” I said “thank you, I have one last question: Are you clean and worthy to serve? Could you accept a call if one were issued to you today?”

There was a moment of reflective silence, then he sat up from his pillow, leaned over on one elbow and thoughtfully declared: “Dad, remember when I was little, and we started having father’s interviews?” I said “yes,” ”well” he said, “I promised you then that I would serve a mission and you promised me that you and mom would serve a mission when you got old... [then there was another pause), are you guys having some problem that will stop you from serving...because maybe I can help you.” Quite frankly I was speechless. Together we laughed and felt the warmth of the Holy Ghost in our hearts.

This was a wonderful, beautiful, spontaneous, and sanctifying experience. He has now returned from his mission and married in the temple. But following the pattern established many years ago, we continue to have father’s interviews, though not as regular as they once were.

James Henry Rollins, a refugee from the mobs in Missouri, moved his family to Nauvoo and sought the Prophet’s help: “I went with him to his store and he asked Newell K. Whitney if he had any work for me to do. He replied nothing that he knew of then, that he had sufficient help at present. Joseph said to me, ‘I have work for you’ and he took me thro in the back of the store and showed me about the cords of hickory wood. He asked me if I were a good hand with the axe. I laughed and said, ‘Well, some little.’ He said the clerks here were too shiftless to cut their own wood. I asked him if he had a sharp ax. He turned to Lorin Walker and said, ‘Get the ax for him. I want him to chop up this wood,’ which I did and piled it up the same day. The next day he came to the store and unbarred the outside cellar door and he would unlock it from the outside. When the doors were opened and then asked me if I thot I could straighten up things and I told him I would try and see what I could do.
“He was pleased with the change I had made with the appearance of the cellar. …
“… At this time a good deal of work was being done on the Temple which the workmen received orders for their labor on the store.
“It was very much crowded for two or three days, and as I stood in the counting room door looking at the faces in the house, there were a great many very familiar with me, and they came to me as they were waiting for their pay, asked me if I could wait on them. Joseph being in the store at the time said to me, ‘Why don’t you wait on these people.’ I told him when I was ordered I would do so with pleasure. He then said, ‘go and wait on them.’ I then went to work behind the counter on the grocery side and payed off many orders this day and the next, the store being crowded constantly and at least 50 to 100 people to be waited on from morning until night and being so very close with so many present was very oppressive to us all.
“When Joseph came in, and saw us looking tired and pale, he told us to shut up the store that night and not open again for two or three days, which we did until we got rested. Then opened again for business” (“A Sketch of the Life of James Henry Rollins,” Archives of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, Salt Lake City, 1888, pp. 11–12).

It was still dark in the hogan where the young Navajo boy lay sleeping on a bed of soft white sheepskins. He heard nothing until a firm hand shook him gently and the sound of his grandfather’s voice reached his ears.
“Wake up, Kee! You must hurry before the sun is up.” Kee opened his tired eyes slowly and stared up toward his grandfather’s wrinkled face. He did not want to get up so early, but it would not be good to show disrespect.
Without a word, he sat up and slipped a light woolen jacket over his plaid shirt and denim pants. As he pulled open the heavy wooden door, his grandfather handed him the familiar stick.
Kee peered out into the morning darkness, broken only by a thin, crooked line of light outlining the ridge of the mesa in the distance.
It is so very, very far away, he thought.
With a sudden jolt, the Indian boy darted from the hogan, running past the sheep corral and out across the barren land. He could barely see the clumps of sagebrush that he jumped over. As he ran faster and faster, his heart pounded loudly beneath his shirt. The cool morning wind parted his thick, black hair as he ran on and on, clutching the stick in his hand.
The mesa was getting clearer now as the sun began to rise above it. Kee was filled with awe as he viewed the beauty of the rising sun each morning. Calling on all his strength, he increased his speed. He must not stop now, it was still so far away. The muscles of Kee’s legs stretched and pulled as he ran harder and harder. His eyes stared straight ahead at the line of golden sunlight as it rose higher and higher above the red rock formations and then suddenly burst into the sky. A new day had come.
Panting hard, Kee slowed his pace and stopped. With a powerful jab, he thrust the stick deep into the earth as a witness of his strength. Only then did he allow his body to relax. He sank to the ground to rest.
As the young Navajo boy gazed at the towering red rocks glistening in the early morning sun, he could almost hear the words his grandfather had spoken so many times.
“Every morning you must run to meet the sun. Run as fast as you can until you can run no more, then plant a stick in Mother Earth. Your legs will become stronger and stronger until one day you will plant your stick at the foot of the mesa. Then you will be a man, my son.”
And so morning after morning Kee had run to greet the new day, and each time he inched closer to the horizon.
Will I ever become a man? wondered Kee as he eyed the distant formation. I’m sure I will never reach the mesa and I am tired of running. It is foolishness that the old man speaks.
“Tomorrow, I will only run and hide behind the sheep corral,” Kee said to himself as he strolled lazily back to the hogan.
As he neared his grandfather’s home, Kee sensed that something was wrong. Always before he had been greeted by the sight of the white-haired man waiting in the doorway and smoke curling from the center of the roof. Now the doorway was empty and the smokeless pipe atop the hogan meant no fire had been built. He rushed inside and quickly looked around the eight-sided room. It was empty and he became frightened.
Each summer Kee came to the isolated home of his aged grandfather to help with the sheep and to be taught the ways of his people. He did not always understand the things his grandfather said, but his heart was filled with love and respect for the old man.
Where can he be? wondered the boy as he stood frozen with fear to the hard-packed earth floor. Suddenly, a low muffled sound came from the other side of the log walls. Kee rushed outside and ran around to the back of the hogan. There, by the large pile of cedar wood, lay his grandfather with a look of pain across his face.
“I was getting firewood,” he whispered. “When I fell the big logs rolled onto my legs.”
Kee knew that the logs had to be moved to free his grandfather. He pulled on the logs but he could not move them.
“My arms are not strong enough!” Kee cried. “What can I do?” The old man looked into the eyes of the frightened boy.
“Your arms may not be strong, but your legs are very strong, my son,” he said. “Run as fast as you can to the home of Uncle Hosteen Begay. He will bring help.”
Kee ran faster than he had ever run before, and as the muscles stretched and pulled he felt great strength in his legs. Feeling fear for his grandfather’s safety, he pushed harder and harder, leaping over clusters of rabbit brush and dashing past the scattered juniper trees. His heart beat fast, but he did not tire nearly as easily as he had before.
In a shorter time than he thought possible, the boy had reached the distant hogan of Hosteen Begay and several uncles were on their way to care for his grandfather.
Kee stared out toward the colorful mesa and thought of the many sticks he had planted in his attempts to reach it.
“It is not foolishness that the old man speaks after all,” he declared. “Tomorrow I will gladly run to meet the sun!”

The youth of the Harbor Ward, Palos Verdes Stake, California, have been traveling across the border to help members of the Mexico Tijuana Stake for about ten years. They’ve built and repaired homes, renovated chapels, and done roofing and landscaping. This year, the youth from Tijuana returned the favor.
As part of a neighborhood anti-graffiti campaign, the Tijuana Saints came north to work with the Palos Verdes Stake to paint and clean a high school.
The Mexican youth were granted weekend visitors’ passes. They spent hours cleaning debris from the school courtyard and repainting graffiti-marred walls. After the work was finished, the youth got together for a night of multicultural food and entertainment. The Tijuana Saints performed several ethnic dances and musical numbers. They stayed in members’ homes, and on Sunday morning had a joint sacrament meeting.
“They are really a model group of Latter-day Saints,” said Bishop David Bond of the Harbor Ward. “They did a lot of good for our ward.”

We see this continually in people’s lives. One example was the woman who had little money to spend but wanted to share a Christmas treat with her neighbors. She didn’t feel that she could buy even inexpensive containers, but she was quite self-reliant. With what she had on hand, she made charming remembrances using brown lunch-size paper bags decorated with a white paper roof, a door and windows, and the words “Merry Christmas, Neighbor!” These brown-bag houses, filled with her home-dried apple slices, were welcome gifts.

The presence of those who hold the Aaronic Priesthood brings to mind my own experiences as I graduated from Primary, having memorized the Articles of Faith, and then received the Aaronic Priesthood and the office and calling of a deacon. To pass the sacrament was a privilege, and to gather fast offerings a sacred trust. I was set apart as the secretary of the deacons quorum and, at that moment, felt that boyhood had passed and young manhood had begun.
Can you young men realize the shock I felt, while attending an officers’ meeting of our ward conference, when a member of the stake presidency, after calling upon the priesthood and auxiliary leaders to speak, without warning read my name and office, inviting me to give an account of my stewardship and to express my feelings regarding my calling as secretary of the deacons quorum and thus a ward officer. I don’t recall what I said, but a sense of responsibility engulfed me, never to depart thereafter.

Don’t think of all the things you need to get done in your lifetime; think of what needs to be done now. You do your best, and Heavenly Father will make it work. For example, while I was preparing to teach a seminary lesson about President Thomas S. Monson, I was wondering how I could keep seven kids (all of whom are older than me) listening, learning, and interested. I decided to try and get as much participation as I could. It turned out fine! So just do your best at the work right in front of you.
Bethany F., age 15, Kentucky, USA

Second, when we struggle with our own identity and lack of self-esteem, the “pleasing word of God” (Jacob 2:8) in the scriptures will help us know who we really are and give us strength beyond our own. Recognizing my identity as God’s child was one of the sweetest moments I have ever experienced. In my early teenage years, I did not know anything about the teachings of the Savior. When I first read the New Testament, the words of Christ truly healed my wounded soul. I realized I was not alone and that I am a child of God. As I recognized my true identity before God, I realized my infinite potential through Christ’s Atonement.

Grandma was also incredibly patient. Many of the General Authorities were her friends and would visit her in our home. I remember when President J. Reuben Clark, Jr., would come to visit her. Because of health problems, he was not able to climb the stairs to visit Grandma, and she couldn’t come down. So she would sit in a chair at the top of the stairs while he sat at the bottom, and they would talk. While they were conversing, Rich and I would climb the stairs and slide down the banister. They never scolded us, and we had a great time.

Illustrations by Sal Velluto and Eugenio Mattozzi
It was a stormy winter night. At the airport in Chicago, Illinois, many people were stranded due to delayed or canceled flights. A young pregnant woman stood in the long check-in line, nudging her two-year-old daughter forward with her foot.
Many people made disapproving comments, but no one offered to help.
Man: Why doesn’t she pick up that screaming child?
Woman: What a terrible mother.
With a kind smile, Elder Kimball walked up to the woman.
Elder Kimball: Can I help you?
Mother: Thank you.I’ve had four previous miscarriages. My doctor told me I can’t lift anything—not even my own child.
Elder Kimball picked up the crying child, rubbed her back, and gave her a piece of candy. When the girl was comforted, he informed the other passengers and the airport workers of the woman’s condition.
Airport worker: We’ll have you on the next available flight.
Supervisor: Come and sit and rest until your departure.
The woman’s stress was lessened. Later, she saw a picture of Elder Spencer W. Kimball of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles.
Mother: That’s him! That’s the man who helped me.
A few months after that, she gave birth to a healthy baby boy.
Twenty-one years later, President Kimball received a letter. It was from the son of that young mother.
Student: I served a faithful mission and am now a student at Brigham Young University. Thank you for helping my mother that terrible night!
President Kimball was happy that his small act of service had resulted in so much good.

Brian Taylor, a BYU guard who served in the Spain Seville Mission, will never forget or regret his decision to serve a mission. “I had the great opportunity to go out and open up a new island in the Canaries. I felt like the Apostle Paul. We’d walk down the street and people would ask, ‘What are you young guys doing in white shirts and ties? Why aren’t you down at the beach in your swimsuits?’ And they’d be impressed, and they’d listen to us, sometimes 150 people at once. We’d show movies like The First Vision and Families Are Forever on the sides of buildings, and the whole pueblo would come out to watch. We would then bear our testimonies, and the people would weep.”
Brian smiled and shook his head as he remembered, “There is just no comparison between that and playing basketball. You win a game for your team, you feel great, but the feeling only lasts that long.” Brian snapped his fingers. “But just as I talk about being on that island and bearing my testimony to that many people, it makes me feel like cheering again. You just feel good about it, and it never leaves you. It’s that eternal kind of feeling.”