Gospel Story Finder

Now I hadn’t had time to think of what to do to earn a living in a strange land with a strange language. On Friday morning, July 26, 1872, there came a man to the house of Mons Andersen who wanted a boy to help him in the field. His name was Peter Petersen. My wages were $8.00 a month. I worked with him 20 months. I must now tell a little that happened in that time. It was customary at that time that newcomers should be rebaptized. So Peter Petersen’s wife, Karen Larsen Petersen, told me, “There will be baptisms today. So you must hitch up the horses and take these people down to the mill pond to be baptized. And you must be baptized too.” I told her I would be glad to take them down, but I was not ready for baptism yet.
That coming winter I started to go to school so I could learn a little English. I had also gone with Mons Andersen’s boys to Sunday School. Eischa Pack was the teacher at that time. They were reading in turns out of the Bible; but when it came my turn to read, Brother Pack would read my verse, and there was not even a moment wasted. I was glad although I could not understand what they said. Yet I got to enjoying Sunday School. Sister Karen Larsen Petersen became sick and died on February 7, 1873, and that ended my schooling at that time. But I learned enough so I got into the Third Reader.
Now I had been studying the gospel and praying about it. I knew Jesus’s answer to Nicodemus as we find recorded in the third chapter of John: “Except a man is born of water and of the Spirit he cannot enter into the kingdom of Heaven.” [John 3:5] So on August 30, 1873, I was baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints by Mons Andersen and confirmed by Abraham Lossee in Lehi.

We don’t need to be wealthy to assist. A young man wrote about his experience with Joseph Smith: “I was at Joseph’s house … and several men were sitting on the fence. Joseph came out and spoke to us all. Pretty soon a man came up and said that a poor brother who lived out some distance from town had had his house burned down the night before. Nearly all of the men said they felt sorry for the man. Joseph put his hand in his pocket, took out five dollars and said, ‘I feel sorry for this brother to the amount of five dollars; how much do you all feel sorry?’”4

It was 1963, and I was serving as a full-time missionary in the Argentina North Mission. Ten elders and my companion and I served in three small branches in Mendoza.
December arrived and with it Christmas! It was my first Christmas in the mission field. We had great hopes as we all made our plans for Christmas Eve. The elders hired a man to drive us around in his four-wheeled cart, pulled by two horses. We planned to stop on street corners where lots of people would be rushing by to make their last-minute purchases.
When it was time to leave, the 12 of us climbed into the cart and sat with our feet hanging over the sides and back. The driver slowly guided the cart. We stopped every four or five blocks at the corners we had chosen. Our group then got out and formed a semicircle, sisters in front and elders behind. We opened our hymnbooks and let our voices fill the night air, time and again, with Christmas carols.
“Joy to the world, the Lord is come!” Men and women, teenagers and children, stopped to listen, caught up in the spirit of Christmas. Many of them looked surprised, as if they were remembering the real event they were getting ready to celebrate.
When the cart started to head for another stop, we noticed that many of the listeners were following us. Each time there were more and more. Through my tears, I could see their smiling faces. What joy we felt! We received many referrals and contacts, as we had hoped we would.
The crowd asked us to sing “Joy to the World” (Hymns, no. 201) again. As we sang they cried, touched by the Spirit on that unforgettable Christmas Eve.
After more than 40 years, my heart still overflows with gratitude as I remember my first Christmas as a missionary. I thank my Heavenly Father for the gift of His Son. And I thank Him for the knowledge that there is indeed “joy to the world,” for “the Lord is come!”

“No, let’s do what we did last year!” said Caleb. “Remember? We earned money doing jobs. Then on Ellen’s birthday we walked around town helping people. I put coins in parking meters so people wouldn’t get tickets.”
“I paid for someone’s lunch!” said Mark.
“What did I do? I can’t remember.” Abby looked at Dad.
“You saw a mom and baby sitting in the rain,” Dad said. “So you—”
“Oh yeah! I gave them my umbrella.”
Dad spooned peas onto Abby’s plate. “Do you remember why we do service each November?”
Mark remembered how sad they all felt when Ellen, his baby sister, died two years before. He still felt sad about it sometimes, especially during special family times or when Mom cried.
“I remember,” Mark said. “When it was almost Ellen’s first birthday, we were sad, so we made up ‘Ellen Projects’ to help people. Mom said serving helps us feel thankful for what we have.”
“And when we feel thankful, we feel happy,” Mom said. “Even when we are missing our baby.”
Suddenly Mark had an idea. He remembered the note his Primary teacher gave him to thank him for giving a talk in Primary last week. Her note made him feel warm and happy inside.
“I know!” Mark said. “Let’s write thank-you notes for our project this year.”
“How many would we write?” Caleb asked.
“We could all write one note a day,” Mark said.
“Let’s see.” Dad put down his fork. “Ellen’s birthday is in 23 days. If we each write one note a day from now until then, that would be … 115 notes!”
Caleb did some math in his head. “That’s 120 happy people! Because the five of us will be really happy after writing all those notes too.”
For the next 23 days, Mark and his family tried hard to notice helpful things people did for them. The first week, they wrote thank-you notes to their grandparents and school and Primary teachers.
The second week, Mark wrote to his friends, his coach, and the garbage collector. Caleb wrote to the bishop, the bus driver, the people at his favorite bakery, and the school janitor. Abby wrote to her doctor and the grocery store clerk who gave her a sticker.
One afternoon, Abby stared at her paper. “This is getting hard,” she said. “I don’t know anybody else!”
“It’s fun!” Mark said. “There are so many people to thank.”
The last week, Mark wrote to his dentist and his piano teacher.
Caleb wrote to his coach, a playground teacher who helped him when he got hurt, the librarian, and the road workers fixing holes in the street.
Abby wrote to cousins and to Mom, Dad, Mark, and Caleb.
On November 23, the family wrote thank-you notes to Ellen. Abby looked at the sky. “I said thank you to baby Ellen for helping me so much.”
“How has she helped you?” asked Mom.
“She showed me how many people do nice things,” Abby said.
“This is my favorite Ellen Project so far!” Mark bounced on his toes. “It makes me want to help people more, even if I never get a thank-you note.”

Challenges abounded in the mission, but so did treasured moments of spiritual refreshment and affirmation. For example, I was deeply moved as I attended church meetings in Vyborg on the first Sunday of my mission. Since 1963 I had visited Russia fairly frequently. In my heart I had felt that the restored gospel would be shared with this deserving people whom I had come to love dearly, but in my mind I could not imagine how our Church could ever be established with that country’s government and ruling party so opposed to religion.
On that day early in July 1990, I walked into a small music school and was greeted by two legendary missionaries and by nearly two dozen recently baptized members of the Church.
Before my sacrament meeting talk, six little girls, from about three to nine years of age, sang in Russian “I Am a Child of God.” The singing was angelic, as were, especially, their radiant, broadly smiling faces. As I watched and listened in awe, my heart filled with “hosannahs” for the blessing of this long-awaited day.
Further, I recall with delight the words of a relatively new Saratov member teaching a priesthood lesson on the importance of the family. The lesson was fairly standard, except for a few moments when he soared in spirit as he related experiences from his own family. He spoke of his young, grade-school son who had returned from school one day with a bruised face. His son had objected when a bully was tormenting a girl classmate. For his trouble, the young member of the Church had been hit very hard. His classmates saw what happened and ran up to him, offering to join him in teaching the tormentor a lesson. But the boy replied that he had been reading the Bible and attending a church where he was taught not to do mean things, even to those who do mean things to you. His friends were dumbfounded, as, especially, was the father, who generally had followed a different, far harsher ethic all his life, and who that day personally experienced Jesus’ teachings powerfully and deeply for the first time.

“Can you tell me what talents Taylor has that I could share with the class?” my eight-year-old’s Primary teacher asked me. She had telephoned because Taylor’s class would be talking about talents they had received from Heavenly Father.
My mind went blank. I thought back over the past eight years, trying to come up with an answer. At four days old Taylor had suffered a stroke that left him with profound brain damage and an uncontrollable seizure disorder. He is unable to see, speak, or communicate. He has never progressed past a six-month-old child’s level of mental development. He spends most of his days in a wheelchair as we care for him and try to keep him comfortable.
We cheered when he learned to giggle or drink from a special cup, and we celebrated when he could stand and take a few steps. But while we cheered and celebrated on the outside, on the inside we wept with the realization that these small achievements were probably as significant as any Taylor would attain. Somehow I didn’t think this was what his Primary teacher wanted to hear.
I cleared my throat and uncomfortably answered, “Taylor really doesn’t have any talents that I can think of.”
This kind sister then forever altered my relationship with my son by her response.
“As I thought about this lesson, I realized that every child of God has a talent,” she said. “I would suggest that Taylor’s talent is that he teaches others to serve. If it is OK with you, I would like to talk to our class about how I have noticed Taylor’s talent here at church. I have seen the other Primary children learn to push his wheelchair, open doors for him, and overcome their fear to wipe his chin with a handkerchief when needed. I think that is a great talent by which he blesses our lives.”
I murmured in agreement, and we quietly said good-bye. I wonder if that Primary teacher knew what a profound impact that conversation would have on my life. Taylor remained the same. He still requires a great deal of care. Hospitals, doctors, and therapists still take up a large part of my life. But my perspective changed, and I began to notice his talent.
I saw how people around us would alter their behavior as they sought to care for him. I also noticed how he reminds us to slow down, notice his needs, and become more compassionate, observant, and patient.
I do not know God’s purpose in having Taylor face such daunting challenges, but I believe that his Primary teacher gave me a small glimpse of it. He is here to share his talent with us. He is here to give us the opportunity to learn how to serve.

Sofía woke up early. Today was very special. She was going to sell lemonade at her aunt and uncle’s garage sale! Mamá help Sofía make a huge jug of lemonade.
Sofía made a sign. She wrote “Limonada” in orange and yellow letters. She taped it to a little table. Then she sat down to wait.
Soon a man came by. “May I have a cup?” he asked. He put some pesos in her jar.
“Sure!” Sofía said. She poured him a cup of lemonade.
More and more people came to look at the garage sale. And little by little they bought the yummy lemonade. The morning passed happily. Soon all of the lemonade was gone.
Sofía shook her jar. The pesos jingled. She had so many!
“Good job!” Papá said.
Sofía had never had so much money before. “I’m going to buy a yo-yo!”
Papá smiled. “Do you know what Mamá and I do when we earn money?”
Sofía shook her head.
“We pay tithing,” Papá said. “Heavenly Father gave us everything. He asks that we give Him a little part back. We pay tithing because we love Him.”
Sofía smiled. She wanted to show Heavenly Father that she loved Him too.
Papá helped Sofía count her pesos. Whenever she counted to 10, she put one peso in an envelope. Papá helped her write numbers on a little white paper. They put the paper in the envelope with the pesos. Then they sealed it shut. Sofía was going to give it to the bishop tomorrow at church.
“How do you feel?” Papá asked Sofia.
“So happy! And I still have money for a yo-yo.” She felt Heavenly Father was happy with her choice.

Today I want to tell you the story of a beloved ancestor.
Mary Price Howells Adams was my maternal grandmother’s grandmother.
She was born in England in 1833 just after the Church was organized in America. She was a twin, but her sister died when she was very young. As a youth she worked in a cheese and butter factory. While she was working there, she found the missionaries, and they taught her and her family the gospel. They believed the missionaries’ message and were soon baptized. They then began the difficult task of earning enough money to “come to Zion.” On March 28, 1857, Mary sailed from Liverpool on the sailing ship George Washington with a group of saints.
It must have been exciting for her to be on such a grand adventure, leaving her family and her native land behind—and having such high hopes of living with people who believed just as she did—but she tells us that she also felt lonesome among strangers while aboard the ship.
Here is what Mary did: she sought out the companionship of other young ladies who were on-board ship who were of her same faith. She writes that “as a result of this seeking, there grew an eternal love among Mary Howell, Sarah Cross, and Ann James which lasted throughout their lives and into eternity.”

This story happened in Indonesia.
“Aminah, that’s mine!” Indira shouted. She grabbed the doll away from her little sister.
“Girls, I’m leaving,” Mom called. “Please be good for Dad.”
Indira looked up. “Where are you going?”
“To the market. I’m buying food to cook something special tomorrow.” Mom waved goodbye.
A special meal? But why? Indira went to find Dad. “Why is tomorrow special?” she asked.
Dad smiled. “Tomorrow we get to watch general conference! It’s special because we get to hear the prophet and other Church leaders speak. They’ll tell us what Heavenly Father wants us to hear.”
When Mom got home, she put away the food. Dad swept the floor.
“Indira, can you help Aminah set out her clothes for tomorrow?” Mom asked.
Indira frowned. “Why do I have to help her?”
“Please do what I ask,” Mom said.
Indira groaned. She dragged her feet and went to help Aminah.
The next morning, Indira woke up to a yummy smell. She jumped out of bed and ran to the kitchen. Mom had made beef rendang and satay to eat for lunch later! It would taste so good.
Soon general conference began. Indira sat with her family to watch on the TV. She listened to the choir sing. She heard people talk about temples and scriptures and Jesus Christ.
The last speaker was the prophet, President Russell M. Nelson. He talked about how the Church helps people around the world.
“Our greatest joy comes as we help our brothers and sisters,” he said.
Indira thought about that. Did helping make her happy? She kept listening. President Nelson said that living the second great commandment can help us be like Jesus Christ.
When it was over, they ate the lunch Mom made. Indira kept thinking about the prophet’s talk.
“What is the second great commandment?” she asked.
“Love your neighbor as yourself,” Dad said.
Indira thought about the people the Church helped all over the world. “How can I help if my neighbors live far away?”
“Your neighbors are everyone around you,” Mom said. “Like your family members.”
Indira looked down. She was not very nice to her family sometimes.
But maybe helping them could make her happy, like President Nelson said. It was one way she could follow Jesus. She wanted to try!
For the rest of the week, Indira tried to be extra nice to her family. She played with Amirah. She shared her toys. She did what Mom and Dad asked without complaining. When Indira helped her family, they were happy. And that made her happy too.
The prophet was right. Helping others brought her joy!
What did Indira learn from the prophet?
Illustrations by Judi Abbot

I performed a marriage some ten or fifteen years ago for a couple. I received a letter not long ago from this mother. As the letter began I thought, “Well, here goes another one of the temple marriages that has failed.” But then the tone of the letter began to change. She said, “When we thought that the end was here and that there was only one thing to do and that was to get a divorce, we had been told that we should counsel with our bishop. At first thought we hesitated, because he was just a young man. He was younger than we are. But he was our bishop so we went to see him. We poured out our souls to our young bishop. He sat and listened silently, and when we ran out of conversation he said, simply, ‘Well, my wife and I, we had problems, too, and we learned how to solve our problems.’ That is all in the world he said. But you know there was something that happened as a result of that young bishop’s statement. We walked out of there and we said, ‘Well, if they can solve their problems, what is the matter with us?’”

From the first penny that I put in my mission savings jar, I knew I wanted to serve. I had saved money for 12 years when the announcement came that sisters could serve at age 19. Although I wasn’t sure if the time was right for me, the Lord answered my prayers, and I felt inspired to start my mission papers.
I wanted my mission call to be right for me and knew that being honest with my Church leaders, especially about my health, would be the only way to feel at peace. I have epilepsy, a condition that causes unpredictable seizures. Fortunately, my condition is completely controlled by medicine. Still, it was possible that my dependence on it could limit where I could be assigned to serve.
Imagine my surprise when I was called to serve in the Dominican Republic Santo Domingo East Mission! There was a problem though: I found out that my medication wasn’t available in the Dominican Republic. I was confused. Why would the Lord inspire Church leaders to send me somewhere that didn’t have my medication?
My family and I prayed together for an answer. I felt a strong conviction that the Lord really wanted me to serve in the Dominican Republic, so we went to work. My doctor wrote me an 18-month prescription, but our insurance would only pay for a year’s worth of medication, leaving us to pay for the last 6 months. As we moved forward with faith, we eventually found an affordable option.
When I was set apart, my stake president blessed me that my condition would not affect me during my mission—a promise that I can testify was fulfilled. Although I was stretched to my physical limits, I know that through the Atonement of Jesus Christ, I was able to overcome the challenges I faced before and during my mission.

Seventeen-year-old Kailey had been on a cheerleading team until an accident resulted in a traumatic brain injury. Her recovery kept her from attending school, and she began to feel isolated and alone. She struggled emotionally and did not know where to look for help. A friend suggested that she listen to the missionaries. They taught her about the Atonement of Jesus Christ. Learning more about Christ gave her hope, and she felt as if God Himself were reaching out to her.
Kailey told her mom, “I have never felt that God loved me. But now I know He loves me.”
Her mom, Michelle, was a little surprised. She and her husband, Brock, had left The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints when Kailey was seven because of various questions, doubts, and concerns. They assumed their daughter would be happier without all the meetings and commandments. They never thought their choice would keep Kailey from a close connection with God. As Michelle and Brock watched how Kailey changed, they realized that it had been a long time since they felt close to God, and they wanted to feel that way again.
They met with their bishop, and soon the family, including Kailey’s brother Braeden, returned to church. Feeling close to God and reconnecting with Him—especially through prayer—restored their faith. Returning to church did not resolve all their questions or concerns, but they realized that having a stronger personal connection with God was more important than their disbelief.
All of this started when a friend—a teenager like you—invited Kailey to look unto Christ. And she did!

I remember meeting a man down in Alabama years ago. I went down to put him in charge of the welfare work in that part of the world. I said, “Stan, how did you get into the Church?” He told me he was a convert. He said, “Well, when I was a young boy I worked for the city, and I worked out at the city dumps.” He said, “I was out one day, and they had just dumped a lot of garbage, and my job was to spread it out.” And he said, “Right on the top of a big pile laid a book. It had a picture on it.” And he said, “It looked brand new. I picked that book up, and it was brand new.” He said, “It looked to me like no one had ever opened it, and it said on the cover Book of Mormon. He said, “I thought, this is too good to throw away, so I put it in my back pocket and took it home. I put it on the dresser in my bedroom, and I went to school the next day and forgot about it. When I came home, my mother was all upset.” She said, “Stan where did you get the horrible book that is full of lies and terrible stories and awful things. You go get it right now and throw it in the garbage.” Stan said, “That’s where I got it!” She said, “Whatever you do, promise me you won’t ever open it, or read it, or have anything to do with it.”

He said, “You know she made such a fuss. She kept after me and made such a terrible fuss, that I decided I better read it. So, I read it.” And he said, “After I read it, I got a hold of the Elders and I had them baptize me into the Church.” At the time he told me this he was on the High Council.

Later that night, when they were both in bed, Mike asked, “Lance, do you really believe what Mom said about the Holy Ghost?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“How come?”
“I’ve never told anyone this, but do you know Bobby Morrison?”
“The tall kid with red hair?”
“That’s the one. Well, last year he and I planned how to cheat on a history test. I’m not going to tell you what the plan was, because I don’t want you trying a dumb stunt like that.”
“If it’s so dumb, why did you do it?”
“Well, I’m getting to that part. When the test started, it was like I could feel this voice. And it was really strong. It said, ‘You know it’s wrong to cheat.’ After that, I just couldn’t go through with it.”
“And that voice was the Holy Ghost?”
“Yeah. So I know that there is a Holy Ghost. If Mom says that He spoke to her, I believe her.”

In April 2006, I married Teni Leavai in Auckland, New Zealand. Although we were both members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, we weren’t active at the time, so we had an intimate civil ceremony performed by my bishop. Then we began to make changes in our lives so that we could progress spiritually, more fully participate in the gospel, and embark on our journey together as a family.
Before we knew it, it was 2012. Teni and I had grown even closer and were deeply in love—it is an amazing feeling, being married to my best friend—but something significant was missing. For six years, I just couldn’t fall pregnant. I began to think I might forever be an aunt, but never a mum.
We felt so incomplete.
One evening, we received a phone call which would change our lives! There was news of an unborn baby boy and an expectant mother determined to find a good family for him.
On the night that Kahn Ui was born, his birth mother—tears streaming down her face—delicately placed him in my arms and whispered, “He’s yours now. Thank you for loving him as much as I do.”
Alert and curious, baby Kahn looked up at me, completely unaware of the miracle that had just taken place. He fit perfectly in my arms, and it is with that same ease and sense of familiarity that he also fit into our family.
My husband and I entered the wonderful world of parenthood together. We took turns feeding our baby throughout the night; we talked to him, sung to him, and shed tears of immeasurable joy as we got to know him.
We realised a profound truth in those early days. As much as Kahn needed us, we—his new parents—needed the Lord more than ever. We prayed for His guidance as we learned our new roles.
Little did we know, another miracle was in store for us.
When Kahn turned 4, we holidayed in our homeland of Samoa, where we reconnected with Kahn’s birth family. They welcomed us with open arms, and Kahn’s birth grandmother wept when she recognised him. “Your son is gorgeous,” she said. “He’s so active, and he looks like he enjoys his food, too.”
It was an emotional reunion. They thanked us for loving and nurturing Kahn—and then they asked if we had room in our lives for another child.
My husband and I were astonished.
We discovered that Kahn’s birth mother had another baby. Naree Alalafaga was 5 months old at the time and, again, her family wanted more for this child than they were able to offer.
My mother’s words echoed softly in my mind: you reap what you sow.
It wasn’t by chance we met our miracle daughter this way. The Lord knows our deepest desires, and what is best for us. So, when our reunion with Kahn’s birth family brought a precious addition—his baby sister—to our home, it just felt right.
We relocated our growing family to Australia and then, in September 2017, our family was sealed, for time and all eternity in the Melbourne Australia Temple. It was a powerful experience; one we will cherish forever.
With hearts bursting with love for our newly sealed family, how could we know Heavenly Father had yet another miracle surprise for us?
Imagine my shocked delight only three months later when we discovered I was pregnant. How could this be? We double checked the home pregnancy test—positive! We took two tests just to make sure. We both wept. I know the Lord was with me through every step of that pregnancy. I felt the love and strength of my parents, from the other side of the veil, assuring me that everything would be fine.
In the early hours of 12 August 2018, our precious little girl was born. My husband named her after his mother—Faaifomailelagi, which in Samoan means ‘sent from heaven’.
Motherhood is one of the most difficult things I have experienced, but it is by far the most fulfilling. To this day, our children continue to make us better people and better servants of the Lord. They teach us patience, forgiveness, humility and so much more.
I know that all my challenges have been for my good. When we endure our trials well and learn from them, we discover that it is never by chance that things happen, but by divine design and all in God’s timing.

Old Mr. Winkel lived in a little house with four stray dogs that just happened to come live with him. They all behaved quite well, except Emmet. Emmet loved to go and return when he pleased. He was called a troublemaker by everyone in the neighborhood.
But one night when everyone was asleep, Emmet heard a prowler and finally had a chance to redeem himself. The beautiful double-page colored illustrations offer much to see and enjoy.

• Berlin, Germany, Thursday, June 20: A very weary choir, running on the Spirit, love, and memory, performs two concerts, matinee and evening, in the glittering former Communist showcase, the restored Schauspielhaus. Tonight, more than 1,500 attenders foot-stamp uproarious ovations. The evening becomes doubly memorable for attenders when Herold Gregory, administrative assistant of the choir and former [1953 to 1957] mission president over East Germany, steps up to the microphone to wish all a good night and to announce that Germany’s lower house of parliament, the Bundestag, has just voted a few minutes ago to transfer its offices, the nation’s chancellor, and his cabinet from Bonn to Berlin. The response is ear-splitting!

Getting up early Christmas morning is a tradition that’s a favorite. “Our earliest was 4:30 A.M., but because my father says Santa’s helpers need their sleep, we’ve moved the time back 15 minutes each year,” said John Webber, 16. “This year we’re at 6:15. We’re not allowed to use alarm clocks, though, so if we oversleep, that’s our parents’ luck. When we do wake up, we put on a record of alarm clocks going off so our parents will wake up. Then all of us kids go to the top of the stairs in the children’s hallway and wait until our parents and grandmother come down from the upper staircase. Dad takes a picture of us, then we run into the living room where we each have a particular spot for our presents. We make special cards for our spot, and each year we add more decoration to the cards.”

One of the touching stories from my time as a corrections officer is when I saw a mother reunite with her children. She hadn’t seen her children for four or five years. You could see in the eyes of the children the tears and the hurt from the years of being apart. The reunion was overwhelming, but as a corrections officer, you don’t show emotion. I found that really hard. I had to actually look away to compose myself and get myself together. Being a mother myself, I couldn’t imagine being away from my children for years and not be able to see them, talk to them, or even share how I’m feeling with them.

I wanted the picture of Moroni burying the plates. Ever since the General Authorities had encouraged us to hang inspirational pictures in our homes, I had been gathering various art works that were meaningful to me. On this June morning, I stood in the Salt Lake Distribution Center, far from my Texas home, patiently looking through a collection of large pictures.
I had plenty of pictures already. Now I needed only a picture of Moroni, a prophet for whom I had a special feeling because of the power of his testimony.
As I searched for this picture, I spotted another one that touched me deeply. It was a picture of Jesus healing a blind man. I pulled it out, but when I found the picture of Moroni, I put it back. After all, I had enough.
However, as I walked away, I felt a nagging feeling. I turned back and added the picture of Jesus and the blind man to my purchase. I would frame the Moroni print, I reasoned. This one I would just take out and look at now and again.
It was some months after I returned home that I finally got to my picture projects. I framed the Moroni picture and gazed at it with satisfaction. Then I noticed another frame that had fallen behind the bed. I pulled out the frame, thinking it would match some of the other prints I had collected. But when I placed each of them in the frame, none of them looked right.
Finally I placed in the frame the picture of Christ healing the blind man. It looked lovely. I turned the picture over and read the description on the back:
“And his disciples asked him, saying, Master, who did sin, this man, or his parents, that he was born blind?
“Jesus answered, Neither hath this man sinned, nor his parents: but that the works of God should be made manifest in him (John 9:2–3).”