Gospel Story Finder

I would like to share with you a story without sharing any names. I have a very good friend who was the chief executive officer and principle owner of a very large corporation. He was called to preside over a mission. Like so many of our wonderful men who have great skills, capabilities, and responsibilities, when the call came from the Lord, he did not question. He had thought enough through his life that it was instantaneous in his mind to accept the call.

But what was to happen to the business, what was to happen to this great enterprise? Situations and management were worked out for the best, but in three years lots of things can happen to a business when the guiding light is not there on a day-to-day basis. Ultimately some of the assets of the company were sold. But toward the end of the mission of this great man, an opportunity arose. Within days after his release he was back in business with a program far bigger than anything he had before he was called to be a mission president. He is presently bringing into being one of the major corporations to be based in the state of Utah.

How did he do that? I suppose he learned from the mistakes he made through his life, but, most importantly, he had learned to think straight. When the second opportunity came up, it was easier for him to define, to determine, to make decisions, and to move forward with that second opportunity.

“A very long time ago,” Mom began, “long before even Grandma and Grandpa were born, there was a young family. They lived on a farm. It wasn’t an easy life. They had to work very hard. One year their daddy had to go away and find work so they’d have money to buy food. He left his wife and three daughters all by themselves.”
“My great-grandma was one of the daughters, wasn’t she?” asked Robbin.
Mom nodded. “That’s right.”
Mom went on with the story. “Well, Thanksgiving came and there was hardly anything to eat. Your great-great-grandmother felt sorry for her sweet little girls. But she had an idea. She took—”
“Flour,” said Dad.
“And salt,” said Robbin.
“And shortening,” said Mom with a nod. “She made pie crust. Then she cut it into long strips. And then she took some cream from their cows and whipped it up. On Thanksgiving morning she and the girls used the pie crust and cream to make small log cabins.”
Dad came over and leaned on the counter. “And we make our log cabins every year to remind us of the many blessings Heavenly Father has given us.”
“And because it’s fun!” said Robbin.
Mom and Dad laughed. “Yes, it is.”
Dad checked the pie crust. The white strips he’d put in the oven had turned a beautiful golden color. “Done!” He slid the piecrust “logs” onto a rack to cool.
Robbin sniffed the freshly baked pie-crust logs. They smelled warm and delicious.
Later that day Robbin’s cousins came over. Mom brought out a large plate piled high with logs ready to use. She put the plate next to a bowl of whipped cream. All the children hurried to the table.
Know what’s fun? Starting a new family tradition! Like starting Thanksgiving in October with our friends in Canada!
“Wait!” said Mom. “Before you begin, who can remember the story of the log cabins?”
Robbin felt happy inside as one of her cousins started telling the story. They had a house and plenty of food. She was glad they had a special way to celebrate all the blessings Heavenly Father had given them.

In 1885 the great Russian writer Leo Tolstoy wrote a story about an old cobbler by the name of Martin who lived in a humble shop in a small village. He did quality work, didn’t charge too much, and was reliable and honest.
Like many of us, Martin had experienced his share of sorrow. He had buried not only his wife but his only son as well. In his grief Martin “prayed again and again that he too might die.” Gradually his despair gave way to anger, and Martin, in his bitterness, lost his faith and would have nothing to do with God.

One day a holy man who had spent eight years in prayer and meditation came by to see him. Martin opened his heart and told the man that he no longer wished to live since he was
“quite without hope in the world.”
The old man replied: “You have no right to say such things, Martin. We cannot judge God’s ways. . . . If God willed that your son should die and you should live, it must be best so. As to your despair—that comes because you wish to live for your own happiness.”
“What else should one live for?” asked Martin.
“For God, Martin,” said the old man. “He gives you life, and you must live for Him. When you have learnt to live for Him, you will grieve no more, and all will seem easy to you.”
Martin was silent awhile, and then asked: “But how is one to live for God?”
The old man answered: “. . . Can you read? Then buy the Gospels and read them: there you will see how God would have you live. . . .”
These words sank deep into Martin’s heart, and that same day he went and bought himself a Testament in large print, and began to read.
At first he meant only to read on holidays, but having once begun he found it made his heart so light that he read every day. Sometimes he was so absorbed in his reading that the oil in his lamp burnt out before he could tear himself away from the book. . . . He continued to read every night, and the more he read the more [he felt his love for the Lord growing stronger.] And his heart grew lighter and lighter. . . .
From that time Martin’s whole life changed.
He drank and gossiped less. When he was tempted to say unkind words, he refrained. “His life became peaceful and joyful.”

One night as he was reading his Bible, he drifted to sleep.
“Martin!” he suddenly heard a voice. . . .
He started from his sleep. “Who’s there?” he asked. . . .
. . . “Martin, Martin! Look out into the street to-morrow, for I shall come.”
Martin roused himself, rose from his chair and rubbed his eyes, but did not know whether he had heard these words in a dream or awake. . . .

[The next morning as he was working, the cobbler] thought over what had happened the night before. At times it seemed to him like a dream, and at times he thought he had really heard the voice.
Could it be that his beloved Savior would visit him in his humble shop?
While he worked, he looked out onto the street at everyone who passed by to see if he recognized their face.
After a while an old soldier with worn and shabby boots came near the window. Martin knew the man. He had no money and stayed with a neighbor who, out of charity, had offered him a room in exchange for help around the house.
It was cold outside and it had started to snow, and the old soldier was trying to get warm by leaning against Martin’s building.
Martin put some tea on the stove and invited the man into his shop.
“Don’t trouble to wipe your feet,” Martin said. “I’ll wipe up the floor—it’s all in the day’s work.”
The old man sat down and emptied his glass. Martin offered him another while continuing to look out the window onto the street.
“Are you expecting any one?” asked the old soldier.
“Well, now,” Martin said, “I’m ashamed to tell you. It isn’t that I really expect any one; but I heard something last night which I can’t get out of my mind.”
And he told the old man about the voice he had heard.
The old soldier listened intently, and, after drinking a third glass of tea, he thanked Martin for giving him “food and comfort both for soul and body” and told him he hoped he wouldn’t be disappointed and that his visitor would appear.

Later in the day Martin noticed a woman whom he had never seen before. She was poorly dressed, wearing only summer clothes that were shabby and worn. On her feet she wore “peasant-made shoes,” and she had a baby in her arms.
Through the window Martin could see the woman was shivering; he could hear “the baby crying, and the woman trying to soothe it.”
Martin went out and insisted she enter his shop. “Sit down . . . near the stove,” he told her. “Warm yourself and feed the baby.”
She told him that she had no milk to feed the baby and that she herself hadn’t eaten since early morning.
Martin made some soup and offered the woman some bread. While the woman ate, Martin held the baby. As they talked, Martin learned that she had been working as a cook until her baby was born but that her employer wouldn’t keep her on with a newborn child. She had no money for food and had pawned her last shawl for a few coins the day before.
She explained that a woman in another village had offered her a position and that she was on her way toward that village when Martin invited her in.
Martin smiled and gave the woman a cloak to wrap her baby in. He then handed her some coins and told her to get her shawl out of pawn.
After she left, Martin went back to work, always looking outside the window, hoping against hope to see the face of the one he loved with all his heart, his Savior.

Time passed, and after a while Martin saw an apple vendor stop just in front of his window.
She was attempting to shift an old sack from one shoulder to the other when “a boy in a tattered cap ran up, snatched an apple out of [her] basket and tried to slip away.” But the woman was too quick, and she caught the boy and “held on with both hands, knocked his cap off his head, and seized hold of his hair.”
The woman scolded and the boy screamed.
Martin rushed out of the door as he heard the woman threatening to take the boy to the police. He separated the boy from the woman and begged the woman to forgive him. Although the woman did not want to let him go, something in Martin’s words struck her, and she let go.
As she did so, the young boy saw his opportunity and tried to run away. But he did not get far. Martin seized him, held him fast, and insisted he ask the woman for forgiveness.
The boy, realizing he had nowhere to run, cried and pleaded for the woman to forgive him.
Seeing that the boy was truly penitent, Martin paid the woman for an apple and gave it to the boy, telling him not to steal again.
By the time Martin returned to his little shop, “he noticed the lamplighter passing on his way to light the street lamps.” Evening had come.
The Savior had not appeared.
Finally Martin put away his tools and pulled down his beloved Bible from the shelf.
He meant to open [it] at the place he had marked the day before . . . , but the book opened at another place. As Martin opened it, his [experience of the night before] came back to his mind, and no sooner had he thought of it than he seemed to hear footsteps, as though some one were moving behind him. . . . And a voice whispered in his ear: “Martin, Martin, don’t you know me?”
“Who is it?” muttered Martin.
“It is I,” said the voice. And out of the dark corner stepped [the old soldier], who smiled and [vanished] like a cloud. . . .
“It is I,” said the voice again. And out of the darkness stepped the woman with the baby in her arms, and the woman smiled and the baby laughed, and they too vanished.
“It is I,” said the voice once more. And the old woman and the boy with the apple stepped out and both smiled, and then they too vanished.
And Martin’s soul grew glad. He . . . put on his spectacles, and began reading the Gospel just where it had opened; and at the top of the page he read:
“I was an hungred, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in.”
And at the bottom of the page he read:
“Inasmuch as ye did it unto one of these my brethren, even these least, ye did it unto me.” [Matthew 25:35, 40]
And Martin understood that his dream had come true; and that the Saviour had really come to him that day, and he had welcomed him. [Leo Tolstoy, “Where Love Is, God Is,” in Twenty-Three Tales, trans. Louise and Aylmer Maude (London: Oxford University Press, 1906), 131–46]

The filter dripped warm milk down his fingers and onto the floor. That milk-squirting battle he and Rod had had was nothing compared to what happened after Dave’s dad left that night, Dave thought. He remembered he had started it that time. They were just finishing Dave’s chores—Rod’s parents were wealthy, and he never had many chores to do—and were still damp from the squirting. It was then that Dave had thought, I wonder if this filter will stick to Rod’s back. The moment of thought became the moment of action, and the barn was soon filled with flying filters, milk-drenched; their clothes started dripping, a few filters hung on the ceiling and walls. And yes, Dave smiled, the first one had stuck on Rod’s back. It had taken him completely by surprise. In fact, Dave had won that battle. They were teachers back then; and Rod almost had his Eagle award in Scouting. Dave had taken a little longer to get his.

Now they were priests and almost ready to graduate from school. Almost every Sunday they sat together to bless the sacrament. But next Sunday, Dave thought—and he threw the filter as hard as he could against the wall. Then he let the cow out. After their filter war there had still been some hanging on the walls the next morning when Dave had gone out early for the morning milking. Maybe this one would freeze and harden and hang there all winter. Rod would have gotten a kick out of that.

“Hi, honey.” Mom smiled as Keri hopped into the car.
“How was activity day?”
“Terrible,” Keri mumbled.
Mom pulled out of the parking lot and headed down the street. “What happened?” she asked.
“We planted flowers in Sister Jackson’s front yard.”
“That was nice of you.”
“Sister Jackson didn’t think so. She got mad at us.”
“Really? Why?”
“She said that petunias were her favorite flower, and we planted mostly marigolds.”
“That’s too bad.”
“It gets worse. She said we have to come back later and do it right. Mom, we can’t spend all of our activity days at her house. We’ve got other plans. All the girls want to learn how to knit so we can have matching scarves this winter.”
Mom patted Keri’s knee. “Tell you what—for family home evening we can plant petunias at Sister Jackson’s house. How would that be?”
Keri frowned. “All right, but it won’t be any fun. She’s grumpy and mean and demanding. We’d better have great refreshments so the night won’t be a total loss.”
The next Monday night Keri, Mom, Dad, and Keri’s little brother, Cole, arrived at Sister Jackson’s house with a box full of petunias. When Sister Jackson answered the door, she wasn’t smiling. “Plant them in the front,” she ordered, pointing with her cane. “And not too close together. Petunias need space to grow.”
As Keri and her family worked, Sister Jackson came out onto her porch. “You’ll need mulch,” she said. “I want the fine, red kind—none of that chunky gray stuff. Make sure you get enough.” She turned and hobbled back into the house, letting the screen door slam shut behind her.
“See what I mean?” Keri growled. “She’s never satisfied. There’s always one more thing to do. This service project is going to go on and on for eternity.”
“What’s wrong with that?” Mom asked, pulling off her gardening gloves. “The commandment to love our neighbors doesn’t have an expiration date. And eternal projects might just bring eternal blessings. Now, let’s go get the mulch while Dad and Cole finish planting the flowers.”
But all the way to the store, Keri kept grumbling. “What’s wrong with her, anyway? Why can’t she be grateful for what we’ve done? Why does she have to be so critical all the time?”
“I’ve been thinking about Sister Jackson,” Mom said. “She lives alone with no family nearby. She hasn’t been able to go to church for months because of her poor health. She must be lonely. Her home teachers and visiting teachers come, but the only time anyone else visits is when there’s a service project.”
“You mean, she’s stretching out this job so we’ll keep coming to see her?”
Mom nodded. “I think so.”
Keri shook her head in wonder. “Well, if she weren’t so grumpy, maybe people would want to visit her more often.”
“No one likes to always be asking for help,” Mom explained. “And no one likes to be seen as a ‘project’ to be finished and forgotten. Maybe that’s what makes her feel grumpy. Perhaps she wants to be viewed as a real person with something to give. Maybe she needs to serve, not just be served.”
“How?”
Mom shrugged. “I don’t really know. I guess we need to find out more about Sister Jackson.”
When they got back from the store, Sister Jackson was sitting on her front porch doing some kind of handicraft. As Dad and Cole helped lift the large bags of mulch from the back of the car, she squinted at them over her eyeglasses. “I also want that plastic edging around the flowers replaced with brick. You can bring the bricks next week.”
Mom winked at Keri, and Keri rolled her eyes. Then Keri noticed what Sister Jackson was doing. She was knitting! Suddenly Keri knew exactly what to do—if she dared. Wiping her hands on her jeans and saying a little prayer for courage, she stepped toward the porch. “Uh, Sister Jackson,” she said, “do you know how to knit?”
Sister Jackson leaned back in her chair and frowned. “Of course I do, child. Don’t you have eyes?”
“Ah, yes, well, we—that is, the girls who planted the marigolds and I—we’d like to learn how to knit scarves. Do you think you could teach us?”
Sister Jackson’s eyes lit up for just a moment. “But I can’t get out to the church, honey,” she said softly.
“That’s OK. We’ll come here, if that’s all right. It might take us a lot of lessons, though. We’re pretty slow learners.”
Sister Jackson nodded, and a faint smile crossed her lips. “I guess I could find the time somehow. Get a paper and pencil from my kitchen table, and write down what I tell you to bring. We’ve got to decide on colors and patterns, too. Go on now—it’s right inside the door.”
Keri looked at her mother and grinned. She knew that this was just the beginning of an activity that could go on for a long, long time. Maybe even for eternity. But that was OK with her.

Students at the Vernal, Utah, seminaries had a chance to get up close and personal with the Uintah Tabernacle. Youth from the seminaries scrubbed, polished, and shined the tabernacle from top to bottom, preparing the building for visits from the public. The building is now closed, undergoing renovation to become a temple.

“For the more than 200 youth that attended the cleanup, it will be an experience they will never forget,” says one of their teachers, Brother Durrant. The building has not been used for church meetings since 1984, so this was the first time many of the participants had seen the inside of the building.

Weather, distance, and school schedules prevent many Thai members from attending church, so the Ubon Ward decided to set a date and encourage as many people as possible to attend.
A lot of members here in Thailand have difficulty coming to church because of school meetings, bad weather (most of our members travel by motorbike), and distance. The members in my ward, the Ubon Ward, face all of these challenges and more, which makes attending church difficult.
One Sunday, I was wondering how we could help the members recognize the blessings of exercising the faith to worship together more often. The idea came to me, “What if we picked a Sunday to focus on getting every member to church that day?” If we were able to get everyone to come on the same day, it would allow members to really see and feel the strength of the ward.
Other leaders and members in the ward liked the idea and became involved in planning for it. We decided on a date, June 17, 2018—the Sunday closest to the anniversary of when the Ubon Thailand Stake was founded—and started sending messages about it through social media. We named the event “Let’s Come to Church on the Same Sunday! 200 Sacrament Meeting Attendance—Ubon Ward Can Do It.”
Practically the whole ward was involved in encouraging each other to come. Everybody kept sending messages persuading others to join the event. Members also invited returning members and friends who weren’t members. And so many people said yes!
We realized that this was more than just a fun event to see how many people could come. We wanted it to be an especially spiritual experience to help motivate members to make attending sacrament meeting a priority. So in the months leading up to the event, the bishopric encouraged people to avoid any activities that might minimize the importance of the sacrament or the worship of the Lord.
We even made bookmarks to help people remember the event and the Spirit that we knew would be there because of everyone’s efforts to attend. The bookmark had the name of the event and also a scripture: “I have said, Ye are gods; and all of you are children of the most High” (Psalm 82:6). We chose this scripture because we wanted everyone to realize that they are children of God and have the potential to be like Him.
Members planned for a long time to all be able to attend on the set day. Finally, the day came. But so did obstacles. It rained heavily the evening before and continued raining all through the night. Another obstacle for some members was that an important school meeting was happening at the same time as church.
We asked everybody to pray for these obstacles to be removed or overcome. At about 7:00 a.m. Sunday morning, the rain stopped. And when we arrived at church, we found those families who needed to go to the school meeting. When we asked them about their other meeting, they said, “We have to come to sacrament meeting first.” It was a great testimony to me of the importance of the Lord’s sacrament.
Members brought a lot of friends and neighbors to the meeting. One sister in the ward brought eight friends who had never been to church before! As more and more people arrived, we needed to open the overflow room. The count of the sacrament attendance was 215 people! All through the meeting, I could feel that the Holy Ghost was with us and that God helped us to be successful in this endeavor.
After this amazing Sunday, the number of people who regularly attend sacrament meeting increased. This included three Melchizedek Priesthood holders who began attending church regularly with their families. One family even had two of their children baptized and confirmed the following month.

Lynn dug frantically through her suitcase. “Mom, my teddy bear is missing!”
Mom came in and helped Lynn search through her belongings. “Where did you last see him?” she asked.
“I put Oatmeal in my suitcase before we left Aunt Kathy’s house, but he’s not here,” Lynn said.
“I’ll go call Aunt Kathy,” Mom said. She left the room and Lynn continued to search through her unpacked clothes.
A few minutes later, Mom came back. “Aunt Kathy hasn’t seen Oatmeal,” she said. “But she will keep looking.”
“I bet Kiera did something to Oatmeal,” Lynn muttered. “I bet she gave him to her dog to chew on.”
“Why would you say that about your cousin?” Mom asked.
“Kiera thinks I’m too old to have stuffed animals.”
“Did she say that?”
“No, but she’s only a few years older than I am and she doesn’t have any stuffed animals at all. She doesn’t even have any dolls. She must think they’re silly. Her room is decorated with Mormonad posters, and she has lots of CDs, jewelry, and clothes.”
When Lynn had seen how grown-up Kiera was, she wanted to be like her. She didn’t want Kiera to think she was a baby because she still had a teddy bear, so she kept Oatmeal in her suitcase most of the time.
But Oatmeal wasn’t in her suitcase now. Lynn felt tears sting her eyes. “Mom, will I have to get rid of my stuffed animals when I graduate from Primary?” she asked.
Mom put her arm around Lynn’s shoulder. “Of course not,” she said. “And don’t give up hope. Oatmeal just might be taking the long way home.”
The next day Lynn wrote a note to Kiera:
Dear Kiera,
Thanks for letting us stay with you. I had a good time.
Love,
Lynn
P.S. Did I leave my stuffed bear there? Let me know soon. Please.
Two weeks went by. Then a package came in the mail for Lynn. It was from Kiera. Lynn tore open the attached letter. It read:
Dear Lynn,
I found your bear under my bed! I think my dog took him out of your suitcase. There was a tear on Oatmeal’s arm, but I patched him up good as new. Before sending him home we wanted to make sure he had a good time. He was in a suitcase most of the time you were here and didn’t get to do anything. I think he really enjoyed himself, judging by the photos. Please come and see us again soon. We loved having you. And don’t forget to bring Oatmeal with you. He has a lot of friends here, just like you do.
Love,
Kiera
Lynn opened the package and pulled out Oatmeal. He had a neatly patched arm with a bandage, and he was wearing small sunglasses and a doll-sized Hawaiian shirt.
Lynn laughed. “Mom, look at this,” she said, pulling out a small photo album. “Look at all the pictures they took of Oatmeal. Here he is making sand castles with some kids on the beach. He’s even wearing little swimming trunks. Here he is in a white shirt and tie, eating with the missionaries. Here he is holding a leash and walking the dog. I guess they finally became friends. Looks like Oatmeal had as much fun as I did.” Lynn smiled and hugged her bear.
“Yes,” Mom said. “I’d say your cousin cares a lot for your bear.”
“It’s really me she likes,” Lynn said. “And she knows how much Oatmeal means to me, so she cared for him too.”

Aunt Jennie gave me a scrapbook for my birthday. The cover is red with “My Book of Remembrance” written on the front. The pages inside are thick and gray.
I decided to put the supplies I need to work on my scrapbook in a box. I put in markers, scissors, glue, and tape.
Mom is helping me fill my book with things about me.
On the first page I glued a picture of me, and I wrote my name below it. Then I wrote, “My eyes are green. My hair is brown. I am six years old.”
On the next page I glued a special letter Grandma sent me. It is the first letter I ever received.
Last month I made a card for my dad. I colored purple flowers all around it. Dad said I could glue it in my book.
On another page I drew a picture of my mom, dad, brother, our pet cat, and me. I added a photo of the whole family and wrote, “We are a family.”
Mom helped me find a picture of the temple to glue in my book. I want to remember that we can be together forever.
I drew a picture of my house and the tree I like to climb. I also wrote my address and phone number.
If you read my book of remembrance, you will learn lots of things about me. You can fill a book with things about you too. When people read it, they will learn about your history!

Wilford Woodruff, in 1835, not long after he had joined the Church, was sent on a mission with a companion who was to accompany him. They traveled through mud and floods, experiencing a great variety of hardships in the pursuit of their duty. He wrote in his journal:

We walked forty miles in a day through mud and water knee-deep.

On the 24th of March, after traveling some ten miles through mud, I was taken lame with a sharp pain in my knee. I sat down on a log.

My companion, who was anxious to get to his home in Kirtland, left me sitting in an alligator swamp. I did not see him again for two years. I knelt down in the mud and prayed, and the Lord healed me, and I went on my way rejoicing. [Leaves from My Journal (Salt Lake City: Juvenile Instructor Office, 1881), 16]

Wilford Woodruff kept his trust and lived to become a prophet.

We had the opportunity to meet President and Sister Richard W. Winder. He is the first mission president in Czechoslovakia since before World War II. My sister was very curious about President and Sister Winder, the life they had left behind in Salt Lake City to fulfill their mission assignment, their unpretentious way of living in Czechoslovakia, and the love they showed for the people. She felt of their spirit, and cried.

Five days before I was due to leave Czechoslovakia for home, President Winder informed me that President Gordon B. Hinckley of the First Presidency would be visiting Czechoslovakia and holding a meeting in Brno, 160 kilometers from Prague. President Winder asked if I would attend the meeting and act as an interpreter for President Hinckley. I accepted, and with Ilona, I drove to Brno.

That meeting was a highlight of my visit. With President was Sister Hinckley, and President Hans B. Ringger, president of the Europe Area, with Sister Ringger, President and Sister Winder, and my brothers and sisters in the gospel. President Hinckley understood how nervous I was, acting as his interpreter and translating Church terminology into Czech, and he was very considerate. It was a very spiritual experience for us all. My sister didn’t take her eyes off of him, and her face shone at me from the congregation.

Since my visit, I have learned that the gospel seeds I planted have started to bear fruit. My niece, Olga, has been baptized, and she is now living with a family in London, England. She wrote to me: “When you visited with us, I heard you share your testimony of the gospel, and although I didn’t completely understand what you meant, I wanted to know more. Now, as a member of the Church, I know. I feel as though I have grown in wisdom beyond my years. Life makes sense to me, and for the first time I know what to do.”

In returning to Czechoslovakia, I found my family and friends—roots that I thought were lost. And I have come to realize that the basic desire for truth is never dead. I am sure that the gospel will spread in Czechoslovakia and that the Czech and the Slovak Saints will take their rightful place in the worldwide family of the Church.

Like the Malmroses, other couples find that when they trust the Lord, He prepares the way. That’s what happened for Alvin and Corazon Rieta of Kawit, Cavite, in the Philippines.
“Two years prior to our decision to serve, we began putting into place firm plans for our family business,” Elder Rieta explains. “Our son and daughter had graduated from college and could take over for us, but we wondered who would solve business problems and how our clients would react to our plans.”
Sister Rieta was also concerned about leaving her aging mother. “I was afraid we might lose her while we were away,” she says. “I also felt unequal to the challenge of teaching the gospel.”
They counseled with their bishop and with a couple who had recently served in Davao. “All of them bore strong testimonies that the Lord would guide each couple to know how to deal with their affairs at home, their family, and the funds for their mission,” Sister Rieta says.
“As we sought guidance,” Elder Rieta says, “our fears were addressed—our business went well in spite of challenges, our clients expressed joy and support, and our family drew closer together in taking care of our sick mother. We began to understand that the Lord truly would help us.”
The Rietas now serve in member and leadership support in the Philippines Cagayan de Oro Mission.

Julie Elsmore wanted to do something special for her brother and several friends while they were serving their missions. She started writing letters and sending small packages. Soon her list of missionary correspondents expanded to several dozen including missionary couples and sister missionaries. She now has organized a newsletter that highlights one missionary a month and includes encouraging advice and experiences of other missionaries. She remembers birthdays and sends surprise packages when they are needed to raise spirits.
Julie’s efforts keep her busy, and she has a part-time job to help pay the postage for letters to her “adopted” missionaries. Julie is a member of the Northridge Second Ward, Chatsworth California Stake.

Young Eldon was blessed with a keen mind and insatiable hunger to learn. His schooling was interrupted by grain harvests and other farm work, but he managed to get through high school in Cardston and Raymond by helping in a butcher shop to pay for his board and through Calgary Normal School by working in a grocery store. On graduating from normal school, he was offered two jobs, one at Hill Spring and one at Rocky Ford, Alberta. Although the latter paid a higher salary, he chose the Hill Spring job because there was no LDS church at Rocky Ford. At 20 years of age he became a principal of a three-room school.

The students at Hill Spring had a reputation as rowdies, but Eldon was equal to the challenge. He was a firm disciplinarian, and he had the ability to make academic subjects fascinating. He also introduced boxing, wrestling, basketball, and other extracurricular activities; formed a Scout troop; and trained cadets. One young man later reported that President Tanner had been his schoolteacher, Scoutmaster, and cadet instructor as well as his boxing, wrestling, and basketball coach, all at the same time! His coaching produced several provincial wrestling championships.

A positive experience from my life may illustrate the power of example:
Some years ago as a police officer assigned to a ghetto area, I encountered the problem of foul language among my fellow officers and many of the citizens of the area. I simply did the best I could to maintain the standards we are taught, by (1) refusing to use foul language myself, and (2) discouraging offensive talk whenever I could without offending others in the process. I soon noticed that in my presence the use of foul language was at a minimum. I felt that the other men respected and honored my example, even though they did not accept my standards for themselves when they were out of my presence. I never asked for this deference; it was given almost unconsciously.
I think I appreciated this deference the most the night an angry citizen who was quite prominent in the community made a complaint against me for excessive force and abuse when writing him a traffic citation. Because of this citizen’s position in the community and to calm him, it was likely that I would receive a reprimand. However, in his complaint this citizen swore that I had used foul language and cursed him. My fellow officers and superiors, knowing that I would not have done such a thing, immediately rejected the complaint on that basis.
I believe that when we first decide how we will act, and then follow the course we have chosen and endure in it, others who associate with us will be encouraged to follow that example. Many people will recognize the merits of decent action and some may in time begin to act decently themselves. At the very least they will begin to understand it, and although they may not accept it for themselves, they will respect our actions and even insist that others respect our actions. If they do accept our example, they will endure in this course long after we are gone and will become an influence on others as well.
Certainly there are times when firmness, tempered with love, is required. I like the example of a well-known lecturer who, after the speech to a group of college students, was answering questions from the audience. One young man prefaced his question by commenting on some of the negative effects of television on our society. In particular, he mentioned “women and their lousy soap operas.”
The speaker didn’t let the remark pass. “Before I try to answer your question,” he said, with kindness in his voice, “let me say that I am uncomfortable with the feelings you expressed about women and soap operas. I think it’s an unfair and inaccurate stereotype. And even if it were true, we men have enough bad habits of our own that we should be very timid indeed about giving any kind of criticism …” And then he went on in a friendly way.
No one in the audience was offended. In fact, an invisible wave of approval swept through the audience, and, to his credit, the young man nodded, acknowledging that he felt chastened but not offended. The rest of the discussion was very relaxed and open.
It seems to me that sustaining the Lord’s example for us is not such a fearful thing when we do it in this way. My experience is that by taking this course, not only will we not offend our fellow workers and friends with complaints and indignant lectures, we will, in fact, make it comfortable for them to honor our feelings and be encouraged by our actions to change their own attitudes. Righteous influence through example requires patience, tolerance, and long-suffering, but it can bring about change.

“There it is,” I whispered to Randy as we watched the magpie glide through the air and land in the poplar trees just this side of Jed Franklin’s place. We clutched our rocks and glared at the shiny black bird with the white tips on its tail and wings. Dad had said that he didn’t like magpies eating our vegetables, so Randy and I had chased it out of the garden. Chasing magpies was lots more fun than weeding.
“Do you think we ought to follow it over there, Russell?” Randy asked.
I thought about going back to the garden to finish weeding. I scratched my head. “Dad said that if they’re not chased miles away, they just come back.”
Randy swallowed. “But it’s on Mr. Franklin’s place now.”
I shuddered just a little. Jed Franklin was the meanest man I knew. He lived alone on a little run-down farm just down the road from us.
“I figure we can sneak over there through the trees without him seeing us,” I whispered.
Before Randy could answer, I started down the dirt lane toward the Franklin place. I heard Randy scramble after me. The magpie was still in the poplar tree when we got there. We each threw a rock.
“We didn’t throw close enough to it,” I muttered as I watched the magpie fly away, then perch itself right on top of Mr. Franklin’s new light pole. “We can chase it a lot farther away for sure from there,” I said excitedly.
“But, Russell,” Randy gasped, “we can’t go into Mr. Franklin’s yard!”
I stared ahead and suddenly grinned. “He’s not even there. His pickup’s gone.”
A few moments later Randy and I were hunched down by the corner of Mr. Franklin’s barn, looking almost straight up at the magpie. “Aim good,” I said.
I don’t know which rock went where. All I know is that we shattered Mr. Franklin’s new light! Glass flew everywhere.
We sprinted for home—past the poplar trees, across the dirt lane, and to the garden, where we should have been all afternoon. We grabbed our hoes and started chopping weeds as fast as we could. Even when we were finished, we kept looking for weeds where there weren’t any. And every few minutes we glanced toward the Franklin place.
It was almost suppertime when we heard Jed Franklin’s old pickup rumble down the road past our place to his. We didn’t dare stay in the garden after that. We put our hoes away and went into the house.
That night after we’d gone to bed and should have been sleeping, I lay on my pillow with my eyes wide open and a thousand things going through my mind. When I’d said my prayer that night, the words didn’t go anyplace. They just stayed in the room with me. “Are you awake?” I whispered to Randy, who was on the bottom bunk.
Randy kicked his covers back and muttered, “Yes. I can’t go to sleep. I keep thinking.”
“We didn’t mean to do it,” I argued. “It was an accident.”
“I know,” Randy came back, “but Mr. Franklin still lost his light.”
“Well, there’s nothing we can do about it now,” I muttered.
The next morning, Randy and I were helping Dad fix a sagging barn door, when Mr. Franklin pulled up in his pickup. I took a step backward, bumping Randy and spilling a sack of nails on the ground. Mr. Franklin leaned out of his pickup and glared at us. “Well, they’ve done it again,” he snapped.
Dad straightened up. “Who did what?” Dad asked.
Mr. Franklin stared at Randy and me. I gulped, wondering how he’d found out. “They broke my new light,” he growled. “It hasn’t been in a week, and they knocked it out yesterday while I was away.”
“Who did it?” Dad asked.
I got ready to turn and run. I just knew Mr. Franklin was going to jab a finger at Randy and me and bellow, “They did!”
“Kids!” Mr. Franklin snorted. “Probably those kids on the three-wheelers. They’re always racing through my yard and driving up into the hills. They leave gates open, tear things up, and scare my stock. Now they’ve gone and knocked my light out. If I ever get my hands on them … !”
“Those guys on the three-wheelers sure saved us,” I muttered after Mr. Franklin had left and Dad had gone into the barn. “And we didn’t even have to lie or anything,” I said, smiling, but still feeling dark and sick inside. I kept thinking of something Mom had told us once. She had said that you could tell a huge lie just by being quiet when you knew the truth.
“Why does Mr. Franklin have to be such a mean old guy?” I asked Dad when he came back.
Dad thought for a moment, then answered, “Oh, he’s not mean. Just lonely.”
“He sure seems mean to me,” Randy said, “always running around with that ugly frown.”
Dad scratched his head. “Sometimes Jed looks mean and angry with everyone because nobody ever seems very nice to him.”
After we had finished the door, Randy and I sat in the barn and talked.
“I wish we hadn’t done it,” Randy said.
I nodded. “We ought to pay him for the light.”
Randy gasped. “But then we’d have to tell him we broke it in the first place.”
“Well, maybe we could work for him. We wouldn’t tell him why, and that way we could pay for the light without him even knowing it.”
It was the best idea we had had. We hated to hoe corn, but we knew Mr. Franklin had a little patch that needed hoeing, so we headed for it. The sun was hot, bugs buzzed around us, sweat trickled down the sides of our faces, our backs ached, and I even wore a blister on my hand. But for the first time since Randy and I had broken the light, I felt good because we were making up for what we had broken.
“What are you kids doing?” a voice boomed out at us as we were finishing the last two rows.
We whipped around, and there stood Mr. Franklin leaning against a fence post.
I gulped and licked my lips, “We’ve been hoeing your corn.”
“Why?”
“The corn needed hoeing,” Randy said.
“We wanted to,” I added. “You don’t mind, do you?”
“No, I don’t mind.” He almost smiled. “Mighty fine work.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a worn brown wallet. “I guess you boys could use a little spending money.”
“We didn’t do it for money,” I burst out.
Mr. Franklin looked at me, then at Randy, who was nodding in agreement.
“But I’d like to pay,” Mr. Franklin said, counting out some money. “I don’t remember any kids ever helping me before. Sometimes kids come over and knock my lights and windows out, but this is the first time any showed up to help.” He held the money out. “I insist that you take it.”
We couldn’t make ourselves tell him about the light, so we took the money and headed for home, feeling worse than we’d felt before we hoed the corn.
“Why don’t we feel good, Russell?” Randy asked me. “I thought you were supposed to feel good after you did something good. I just feel rotten.”
“I guess it’s because we did something good just to cover up something bad.”
For a long time we stayed in the barn, thinking. We both knew that there was only one thing we could do to make us feel better, but we were both scared to do it.
“I’m going back,” I finally announced.
“Going back!” Randy gasped.
“I’m giving the money back.”
“But what will you tell him?”
I took a deep breath. “I guess I’ll just tell him the truth. That’s what we should have done to start with.”
It was hard going back to Mr. Franklin’s place, one of the hardest things I’d ever done in my life. I would rather have hoed a dozen fields of corn than explain what we had done to his light.
We found him by his old pickup. The hood was up, and he was hunched over the engine, banging and tugging with a wrench. His hands were greasy, his face was red, and he was chewing hard on a soggy toothpick.
As soon as he looked up and saw us, I pulled the money from my pocket and set it on the fender of the pickup. Then I stepped back and looked directly at him. I could see out of the corner of my eye that Randy was doing the same.
Mr. Franklin looked at the money. “What’s this for?” he demanded gruffly.
I swallowed hard and looked down at the ground. I watched a tiny ant tug and pull at a piece of straw that was ten times bigger than it was, “We didn’t hoe the corn for money,” I explained in a raspy whisper. “We did it to pay for your light.”
“My light?” He straightened up and wiped his hands on his pants.
My heart was hammering so hard in my chest that I thought it was going to burst. I opened my mouth to answer, but I didn’t have any breath to speak. I sucked in some air. “The kids on the three-wheelers didn’t break your light,” I wheezed. “We did.”
“But we didn’t mean to,” Randy got out. “We weren’t trying to be mean or anything. We were just trying to chase away that old magpie.”
“Did your dad make you come over here?” Mr. Franklin asked.
We shook our heads. “We’re sorry,” I mumbled. “That’s why we wanted to hoe your corn. To make things right.”
For a long time he just stared at us without saying anything. I could feel little drops of sweat trickle down my back. And a fat, pesky fly kept buzzing around my head, but I didn’t slap at it or anything.
Finally he took his toothpick from his mouth, flipped it into the dirt, and said, “Thanks, boys.” He even sounded nice. “I appreciate what you’ve done. Telling me about the light is more important than hoeing my corn.” He actually smiled. “Everybody makes mistakes, but only those who are really grown-up take the blame for them and make up for them.”
When Randy and I finally left the Franklin place, that dark, ugly feeling inside us was gone. I knew that that night I wouldn’t have any trouble saying my prayers or going to sleep.

Watoy paused under the colorful Filipino flag outside his school before heading inside.
“Good morning, class,” his teacher said. “It’s time for our morning prayer.”
All around him, Watoy’s friends each touched their foreheads, chests, and shoulders to form the shape of a cross. Then they recited the prayer they always said at the beginning of class. As usual, Watoy didn’t join them. Instead, he closed his eyes, bowed his head, and said his own silent prayer. He prayed about different things each time, the way he was taught to pray at home and in Primary.
When he finished and looked up, he saw that his teacher was watching him with a confused expression on her face.
“May I talk to you after school?” she said.
Watoy swallowed and nodded. Was he in trouble?
When classes had ended for the day, Watoy’s teacher walked over to him.
“I see that you never cross yourself or recite our morning prayer,” she said. “Will you please tell me why?”
Watoy breathed a sigh of relief. His teacher wasn’t upset, just curious! He thought about how to answer.
“Well,” he began, “in my church, when we pray, we talk to Heavenly Father about many different things. And the cross reminds us of when Jesus died. But Jesus is not dead. He lives!”
His teacher thought about this for a moment and then nodded slowly.
“Thank you for sharing this with me,” she said.
As Watoy walked to football practice, he felt warm and good inside. He liked teaching others about Jesus Christ.

In the Church of Our Lady in Copenhagen, Denmark, the original Christus statue is on display. The Christus shows our Savior looking down with His arms open and inviting. It is said that when the Christus was being created that the creator was struggling with how to portray the arms of our Savior and even considered having the arms folded. During this time, he was working with a clay model of the Christus and had the arms of our Savior above His head. He went to bed that night and the clay arms slumped into the position that we now know. When the creator saw the position of the arms, he left them and finished the Christus statue. [18] I testify that the scriptures teach us of the divine attributes of our Savior and Heavenly Father. Thus, when the scriptures state They will encircle us with eternal love, the only way the Christus would be correct is to have our Savior’s arms outstretched and inviting, because folded or held above the head would not allow Him to encircle us in His loving arms. I see the Christus as our Savior inviting all of us to come unto Him and be encircled in His loving arms of peace and safety.

A Church member in Texas, USA, shared this experience:
“During Relief Society one day, a sister I had never seen in church before shared how she felt like women in Relief Society were hypocritical and exclusive. After the meeting, she left so fast I couldn’t catch her.
“After church, I went to her home. I introduced myself and said I appreciated her comments in Relief Society and wanted to hear more about her concerns. She talked, and I listened. I expressed my love for her and her family and asked if I could visit her again.
“I took the assignment to serve as her visiting teacher. Over time, as I came to understand her concerns better, we began talking about her doctrinal questions. Her children started coming to church. Then she started coming with them. I admire her courage and perseverance. She has become one of my dearest friends.”

The new learning resources for youth have one central goal: to help youth become converted to the gospel of Jesus Christ. I recently saw a young man in a youth Sunday School class discover truth for himself. When I noticed that he was having difficulty relating the Atonement to his own life, I asked him if he had ever felt forgiveness. He responded: “Yeah, like that time I broke a guy’s nose when we were playing soccer. I felt bad about it. I wondered what I needed to do to feel better. So I went to his home and asked him to forgive me, but I knew I needed to do more, so I prayed, and then I felt that Heavenly Father forgave me too. This is what the Atonement means to me.”
When he shared this experience in class that day, he read from John 3:16—“For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son”—and then testified of the power of the Atonement. This doctrine was no longer an abstract concept to this young man. It became part of his life because he asked his own question and then exercised his agency to act.
This young man was becoming more converted, and so were his classmates. They focused on a key doctrine by studying the scriptures. They related those sacred words to their own life and then testified of the blessings that had come to them as a result of living the doctrine. When we teach the gospel of Jesus Christ, we focus on the scriptures and the words of modern prophets. We draw upon sacred text to help strengthen faith, build testimonies, and help everyone become fully converted. The new learning resources for youth will help all who use them to understand and live the word of God.