Gospel Story Finder

I was in the ninth grade. A year in which it seemed I was halfway to nowhere. Confidence was not part of my nature. My actions were largely controlled by my feelings of inferiority. Perhaps it was the low light of self-doubt that made the following experience such a bright and guiding star.
Third hour I sat near the back of the classroom. My feet extended as far forward as I could stretch them. By sitting in this manner I was scarcely visible from where the teacher sat at her desk in the front.
Friday was the day for current events. When the roll was called, each student had two choices—he could either answer “Prepared” or “Unprepared.” If his response was “Prepared,” he had to give a talk. If his response was “Unprepared,” he didn’t have to do anything. I quickly grasped the idea that the word unprepared was the word that would get me off the hook.
As the weeks went by, each time my name was called I responded almost with dignity, “Unprepared.” My friends also mastered this word. We all, as a group, made it easier for each of us as individuals.
Once as I was visiting with the teacher, I noticed my name in the performance roll book, and behind my name was a long series of negative signs. This worried me but not enough to make me stand up in front of my friends and give a talk. Speaking to a group seemed like the most frightening of all things.
A girl that I liked very much sat in front of me. I liked her so much that on the way to school I would think of clever things to say to her, but when in her presence, my mind would go blank and I would become almost tongue-tied.
One day when the teacher called the roll and got to my name, I replied, “Unprepared.” It was then that this girl did me a great favor. She turned around, looked back at me, and said, “Why don’t you get prepared?” I was not able to listen to any of the reports that day. I kept thinking of all sorts of wonderful things like, “What does she care, unless she cares.”
I went home, found an article in the newspaper, and read it time and again until I had finally committed it to memory. I cut the article out, folded it, placed it in my wallet, and carried it with me all week.
The next Friday I was there in my usual seat in the back. The teacher started to call the roll without looking up. Finally she got to my name; she said, “George.” And very quietly I gave a great speech—I said, “Prepared.” She stopped calling the roll and looked up at me. I poked my head up as far as I could and nodded. The girl turned around and smiled. My friends looked over at me like, “Traitor.” Then I sat waiting my turn, saying to myself, “What have I done?” I was scared. Then I made a magnificent discovery. It was all right to be afraid if I didn’t let it stop me from doing what I should.
My turn came. I went to the front and started to speak. I remembered every word, and after the last word had crossed my lips, I stood there for just a second, and a priceless thought passed my mind and found its way to my heart. I said to myself, “I like you.”
I returned to my seat and sat down. I didn’t hear any of the reports, but as my heart pounded within me, I kept feeling over and over again, “This is the only way to live.”
I have since learned that the word unprepared really does take you off the hook and lead you away from pressure. By learning to say that word you really don’t have to do anything, but you never know the joy of doing something that causes you to say to yourself, “I like myself.”

Being brought up in the Church, I was always told by my friends and family that this was the true church. I never really denied it, but I never really bothered to find out for myself either. I just assumed it was true because everything pretty much made sense and my parents and everyone else seemed so sincere about it.
I had always planned to go on a mission, partially because I felt I was expected to and also because I felt I needed to. After I had received my mission call and before I was about to enter the Missionary Training Center, I really began to think and wonder about the truthfulness of the Church. I had never prayed to my Heavenly Father about knowing the truth, and now I was so close to going on my mission I felt I didn’t have the courage to ask. It was as if I was denying the truth.
When I entered the MTC, I did so with high spirits and was happy to be there. I was enjoying the knowledge I was gaining, but in the back of my mind the thought still lingered. I needed to know for myself if the gospel was true, but I continued to push the thought farther back in my head.
One day my teacher finished giving a great lesson. He then bore his testimony and challenged each of us to find out and pray for ourselves. I was almost in shock, feeling the lesson was aimed specifically at me. That night after our companionship prayer, I knelt down and asked Heavenly Father to help me know that what I was doing was right and that the Church was true.
I finished my prayer and waited and waited. Feeling nothing, I became discouraged and went to bed.
A couple of days later, I was doing my daily scripture study when I came across this scripture: “Verily I say unto you my friends, fear not, let your hearts be comforted; yea, rejoice evermore, and in everything give thanks;
“Waiting patiently on the Lord, for your prayers have entered into the ears of the Lord of Sabaoth, and are recorded with this seal and testament—the Lord hath sworn and decreed that they shall be granted.
“Therefore, he giveth this promise unto you, with an immutable covenant that they shall be fulfilled; and all things wherewith you have been afflicted shall work together for your good, and to my name’s glory, saith the Lord” (D&C 98:1–3).
These verses really helped me understand the need for patience. A few days later at a fireside, we were talking about our prophets. I’m not the emotional type, but I’ll never forget that night. The Spirit was so strong in the room, and it was the first time I had ever felt the Spirit so strongly. Toward the conclusion, all the missionaries stood and sang “We Thank Thee, O God, for a Prophet.” While we were singing, they had a movie on the screen showing pictures of the prophets. I was overwhelmed, choked up, and warm inside. I knew the Holy Ghost was testifying to me the truth, and that the prophet was leading the true Church.
I recently returned from serving my mission in the Tucson Arizona Mission. I am so grateful for that special day in the MTC. I realized it’s never too late or early to pray about the truth. I learned patience while also learning the Lord will answer our prayers.

Several years ago on a cold winter night, some of our extended family volunteered to serve dinner in a homeless shelter during the Christmas season. At first some of the younger children were a bit frightened by the sights, smells, and sounds of the inner-city shelter. They had never been so close to such distress before. But in time a little Christmas miracle took place.

As we served the hot meal we all began to interact with the homeless residents. We exchanged smiles, laughter, and small talk. Then the singing started. No one really remembers who began to sing first—perhaps one of the residents or one of the children—but before long everyone was singing Christmas carols. The room filled with the sweet spirit of Christmas. It became like a great party, almost a family reunion. They were no longer strangers but brothers and sisters, children of the same God. It was powerful, personal, and poignant—a night never to be forgotten.

No heavenly angels sang that night at the shelter—at least not in the literal sense—but heaven seemed close. We felt love—love for God, each other, and all humanity. As the evening ended and we stepped back into the cold night, we each felt the joy and meaning of Christmas more deeply. The stars shone a little brighter, and we all felt a little closer to a few of our fellow passengers on life’s common journey.

We called him Grandpa, but everyone else in town knew him as P. A. My earliest recollection is watching Grandpa, dressed in blue and white pin-striped coveralls and a neatly pressed white shirt, hoeing and pruning in his garden.
Grandpa was blessed with an appreciation of beauty, and was a talented sculptor. When he was a young man, Cyrus E. Dallin, a famous sculptor, invited Grandpa to come to Boston and study under him. Grandpa planned to accept Mr. Dallin’s offer, but in the meantime he worked as a fireman on a train to provide for his growing family.
One foggy day, there was a mix-up in schedules and two trains collided head-on. Grandpa was caught beneath the engines of both trains. Escaping steam scalded his face and arms. Seeing that his left leg was pinned in the wreckage and partially amputated, he free himself by completing the amputation with his pocketknife. Blood poured from the wound, and the faithful priesthood holder, in the name of Jesus Christ, commanded the bleeding to stop. It did. The stump of his leg turned white and did not bleed again.
Later, in the hospital, doctors amputated his other leg below the knee. During his long period of recuperation, Grandpa spent much of his time visiting and encouraging other patients.
After the accident, Grandpa traveled in several neighboring states representing a coal distribution company, taking orders and collecting money. Many a hitchhiker found himself riding in Grandpa’s car, sharing his lunch and his philosophy of life.
Sometimes Grandpa’s generosity got him in trouble. A hitchhiker once pulled out a gun and tried to rob him. Grandpa said, “I have only the money in my wallet. Take that and go.”
Apparently the man knew that Grandpa collected money from the coal company’s customers and was expecting to find a few thousand dollars. But after a thorough search of every possible hiding place in the car, all he got was a five-dollar bill from Grandpa’s wallet. After letting out the frustrated thief at the edge of town, Grandpa chuckled and drove away—with ten thousand dollars in collection money tucked safely inside his artificial legs!
Later, Grandpa became the owner of a roadside cafe. At Christmas time he gave the widows in our town a supply of coal and groceries. Grandpa took very seriously the admonition of Christ to visit the widows and fatherless in their affliction. In fact, no one who came to him for help was ever turned away. One cold winter’s day, a couple with five young children came to the cafe. Despite the freezing weather, they wore only lightweight summer clothing.
The family was travelling through to another state where a job had been promised. Their car had broken down, and they had walked many kilometers into town through the snow. Grandma fixed them a hot meal in the cafe while Grandpa drove the father to town and bought winter clothing for all of them. Then he paid for a mechanic to tow in the car and repair it. The next morning, as the family prepared to leave, Grandpa pressed a helpful amount of money into the father’s hand. The man cried and embraced Grandpa, asking God to bless him.
Heavenly Father truly did bless Grandpa. Losing both legs at a young age could have turned him into a self-pitying, embittered man. But he turned his feelings outward and lost himself in the service of others.

Let me share with you a passage from one of the journals found in Special Collections. It is from the journal of an 18-year-old woman. I have read this passage to many different classes who have come to Special Collections over the years. This young woman’s name was Emmeline B. Wells. She was born in 1828, and she died in 1921. Her life is an example of faith and devotion. In her later years she served as the general president of the Relief Society of the Church. How do we know of her faith? Because she kept a journal almost all of her long life. These journals are found in Special Collections. One day they all will be found on the Internet and accessed through the library Web site, as you see here. The passage is dated 27 February 1846.

Mrs Whitney, Sarah Ann and myself crossed the river to go to the encampment of the saints. Br. Lot and his wife took Mrs. W. And myself in their carriage. We crossed the river a part of the way on foot, and then went on to the encampment about 7 miles beyond; we reached the destined place about sunset when we came in view it looked like pictures I have seen of the ancients pitching their tents and journeying from place to place with their cattle and their goods. We repaired immediately to Br. H.C. Kimball’s tent, took supper and slept for the first time on the ground. There was a snow storm without yet all was peace and harmony within.

My eyes well up with tears when I read this passage. A refined young woman is forced to leave her comfortable home, cross the frozen river, and sleep for the first time in her life on the ground. If my emotions are tender when I read this, how do you think her own descendants feel when they read her diaries? So, how do we remember the past? We study our history, and we specifically study the lives of our own ancestors. In short, we become involved in family history.

For my eighth birthday, my dad decided to take me to general conference. He tried really hard to get tickets, but he couldn’t find any. We decided to just try and get tickets the day of conference before it started. It was pouring rain. We were asking people if they had any extra tickets, but no one did. My dad asked a man if he had any extras. He said he didn’t, then he turned around and said, “Actually, I do have one extra ticket,” and he gave it to us. Then another kind woman gave us a ticket. During conference, I felt a good feeling inside. Afterward, my dad and I said a prayer thanking Heavenly Father for all the special things He did for us that day.

As a boy, I learned a great lesson of faith and sacrifice as I worked on my grandfather’s farm during the terrible economic depression of the 1930s. The taxes on the farm were unpaid, and Grandfather, like so many, had no money. There was a drought in the land, and some cows and horses were dying for lack of grass and hay. One day when we were harvesting what little hay there was in the field, Grandfather told us to take the wagon to the corner of the field where the best stand of hay was, fill the wagon as full as we could, and take it to the tithing yard as payment of his tithing.
I wondered how Grandfather could use the hay to pay tithing when some of the cows that we were depending upon to sustain us might starve. I even questioned if the Lord expected that much sacrifice. Ultimately I marveled at his great faith that somehow the Lord would provide. The legacy of faith he passed on to his posterity was far greater than money, because he established in the minds of his children and grandchildren that he loved the Lord and His holy work more than earthly things. Grandfather never became wealthy, but he died at peace with the Lord and with himself.

When he was asked whether he was born with his outstanding talent in teaching, Jim smiled. “Hardly,” he said. “I couldn’t seem to overcome my fear at first and had a terrible time expressing myself. It wasn’t until I stopped thinking about myself and began thinking and praying about how I could help my class—how I could encourage them and help motivate them to reach their potential—that I became a better teacher.” As Jim lost himself, he found himself.

A certain story from that talk had a profound influence on my understanding of what it means to be a father. President Holland described a scene he chanced upon while walking through the Salt Lake International Airport following a lengthy trip he had just completed. In those pre-9/11 days you could accompany a friend or family member right to the boarding area before they departed or be present at the gates to greet loved ones who had just flown home. President Holland said that as he came into the terminal that, it was clear there was a missionary returning home due to all the "conspicuous-looking missionary friends and missionary relatives" around the terminal. He says:

I tried to pick out the immediate family members. There was a father who did not look particularly comfortable in an awkward- fitting and slightly out-of-fashion suit. He seemed to be a man of the soil, with a suntan and large, work-scarred hands....There was a mother who was quite thin, looking as if she had worked very hard in her life...[she seemed filled with] anticipation only the mother of a returning missionary could know. There was a beautiful girl who--well, you know about girls and returning missionaries. She appeared to be on the verge of cardiac arrest...Two or three younger brothers and sisters were running around, largely oblivious to the scene that was unfolding. I walked past them all and started for the front of the terminal. Then I thought to myself, 'This is one of the special human dramas in our lives. Stick around and enjoy it.'

Slipping into the back of the crowd and watching as passengers started coming off the plane, President Holland said he soon:

Found [himself] starting to bet (Church-approved betting, of course) as to who would make the break first. I thought probably the girlfriend would want to most of all, but undoubtedly she was struggling with discretion. Two years is a long time, you know, and maybe one shouldn't appear too assertive. Then a look...convinced me that the mother was probably the one. She obviously needed to hold something, so the child she had carried and nurtured and gone down into the valley of the shadow of death to deliver would be just what the doctor ordered.

Do you remember earlier we left then-President Holland standing in an airport terminal? He is still there wondering who will greet this returning missionary. Suddenly the missionary appears, exiting the plane.

He looked like Captain Moroni, clean and handsome and straight and tall...his suit was worn but clean, his slightly tattered raincoat was still protecting him from the chill his mother had so often warned him about. He came to the bottom of the steps and started out across...toward our building and then, sure enough, somebody [in the crowd of family and friends] couldn't take it any longer. It wasn't the mother, and it wasn't the girlfriend...[It was the father]. That big, slightly awkward, quiet and bronzed giant of a man put an elbow into the ribcage of a flight attendant and ran, just simply ran, out onto that [airfield] and swept his son into his arms.

[The elder] was probably 6?2? or so, but this big bear of a father grabbed him, took him clear off his feet, and held him for a long, long time. He just held him and said nothing. The boy dropped his briefcase, put both arms around his dad, and they just held each other very tightly. It seemed like all eternity stood still, and for a precious moment the Salt Lake City Airport was the center of the entire universe. It was as if all the world had gone silent out of respect for such a sacred moment.

And then, Pres. Holland said:

I thought of God the Eternal Father watching his boy go out to serve, to sacrifice when he didn't have to do it, paying his own way, so to speak, costing everything he had saved all his life to give. At that precious moment, it was not too difficult to imagine that father speaking with some emotion to those who could hear, 'This is my Beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased.' And it was also possible to imagine that triumphant returning son, saying, 'It is finished. Father, into thy hands I commend my spirit.'[23]

In 2018, at the University of Utah, a special professorship was created called the “Dr. Russell M. Nelson and Dantzel W. Nelson Presidential Chair in Cardiothoracic Surgery”—cardio, meaning “heart,” and thoracic, meaning “chest.” It honored President Nelson’s important work as a heart surgeon and the support he received from his late wife, Dantzel. This professorship was paid for by a fund designed to last into the future. The individual selected for this type of prestigious professorship receives recognition, salary support, and research funds.
The first surgeon chosen to hold the professorship was Dr. Craig H. Selzman, a skilled heart surgeon who is not a member of our church. At the ceremony to award this professorship to Dr. Selzman, many important guests were in attendance, including President Nelson and his wife Sister Wendy W. Nelson. During the meeting, President Nelson spoke modestly of his pioneering surgical career.
Then Dr. Selzman shared what it meant to him to be appointed to this professorship. He related that four days earlier, after a long day in the operating room, he discovered that one of his patients needed to go back to surgery. He was tired and disappointed, knowing he would have to spend another night in the hospital.
This evening, Dr. Selzman had a life-changing conversation with himself. In the moment, he thought: “On Friday, I will be appointed to a professorship named after Dr. Nelson. He was always known as someone who kept his emotions in check, treated everyone with respect, and never lost his temper. Now that my name will be linked with his, I need to try to be more like him.” Dr. Selzman was already a very considerate surgeon. But he wanted to become even better.
In the past, his surgical team might have been aware of his fatigue and frustration because he may have let it show in his manner and tone of voice. But in the operating room that night, Dr. Selzman made a conscientious effort to be especially supportive and understanding of his team. He felt it made a difference and resolved to continue trying to be more like Dr. Nelson.
Five years later, President Nelson donated his professional papers to the University of Utah. Dignitaries from the university came to formally thank President Nelson. During this event, Dr. Selzman spoke again. Referring to President Nelson’s initials, RMN, he said, “There is an ‘RMN’ ethos that now pervades the Division of Cardiothoracic Surgery at the University of Utah.”
In frustrating situations, Dr. Selzman explained: “I do what we now teach our trainees to do—focus, get over it, and do the best you can. This ethos lives in us every day. We give lapel pins to every member of the division and each new trainee. At the bottom of the pin are the letters ‘RMN.’ The RMN ethos is foundational to our training; we teach it to everyone.” Dr. Selzman had intentionally improved his prior attitude and aspirations because his name was now linked to that of President Nelson.
This series of events involving Dr. Selzman caused me to ask myself: “How have I changed since I linked my name with the name of Jesus Christ? Have I adopted a Christlike ethos as a result? Have I genuinely tried to become better and more like Him?”
The first parallel is identification. Dr. Selzman’s appointment to the Nelson professorship linked his name to President Nelson’s, and Dr. Selzman began to identify with President Nelson. When we take upon ourselves the name of Jesus Christ, we link our name with His. We identify with Him. We gladly become known as Christian. We acknowledge the Savior and unapologetically stand up to be counted as His.
Closely related to identification is another parallel—remembrance. When Dr. Selzman goes into his office, his eyes are drawn to the medallion he received when he was appointed to the Nelson professorship. This medallion reminds him daily of the RMN ethos. For us, partaking of the sacrament each week helps us remember Jesus Christ throughout the week. As we partake of the sacrament, we do so in remembrance of the price He paid to redeem us. We covenant anew to remember Him, recognize His greatness, and appreciate His goodness. We acknowledge repeatedly that it is only in and through His grace that we are saved from physical and spiritual death.
An outgrowth of remembering what the Savior has done for us is a third parallel—emulation. Dr. Selzman began to emulate President Nelson and the RMN ethos. I believe that President Nelson’s ethos is simply a manifestation of his lifelong discipleship of Jesus Christ. For us, the more we identify with and remember Jesus Christ, the more we want to be like Him. As His disciples, we change for the better when we focus on Him, more so than when we focus on ourselves. We strive to become like Him and seek to be blessed with His attributes. We pray fervently to be filled with charity, the pure love of Christ.
Emulating Jesus Christ leads us to a fourth parallel—alignment with His purposes. We join Him in His work. As a surgeon, Dr. Nelson was known as a teacher, a healer, and a researcher. The lapel pin used in Dr. Selzman’s division emphasizes these endeavors, featuring the words teach, heal, and discover. For us, part of taking upon ourselves the name of Jesus Christ involves willingly, intentionally, and enthusiastically aligning our goals with His. We join Him in His work when we “love, share, and invite.” We join Him in His work when we minister to others, especially the vulnerable and those who have been wounded, shattered, or crushed by their earthly experiences.
So we more fully take upon ourselves the name of Jesus Christ through identification, remembrance, emulation, and alignment. Doing these four leads us to a fifth parallel—empowerment. We access God’s power and blessings in our lives. The Nelson professorship provides Dr. Selzman recognition and support funds that he is using to change the culture in his division. He applies this “endowment of power” to help others. In a similar way, when we take upon ourselves the name of the Savior, our Heavenly Father blesses us with His power to help us fulfill our mission in mortality.

Just before my mom passed away, she asked me to take care of her younger sister, who was in a hospital in Korea. My family and I lived in California, USA, so unfortunately there seemed to be no way to fulfill my mom’s compassionate last wish. Then my job unexpectedly relocated me to South Korea, and I had to be separated from my family for a year. Although I was concerned about living far from my family, I also anticipated visiting my aunt and my dad, who was in a Korean hospital suffering from Alzheimer’s disease.
I asked Heavenly Father for divine help in living away from my family. As I thought about the time I would spend in Korea, I resolved to visit my dad, my aunt, and the temple weekly as well as to pray for my family daily.
Once I was in Korea, the bishop of my new ward called me to be the Young Men president and the Gospel Doctrine teacher. My ward and the hospitals where my dad and aunt stayed were far from each other, and I had a very demanding job; but Heavenly Father blessed me with strength and stamina to magnify my callings and to keep my resolutions.
Soon after I started visiting my aunt, I discovered she rarely had any visitors. I decided to pick her up and have her stay with me on the weekends at my hotel, which had an extra room. However, I had a problem: should I take her with me to church on Sunday? I thought she would neither be interested in nor understand the meetings, and she would have to wait for hours after church for me to be done with meetings and other duties. But for some reason I felt I should take her.
That Sunday I took her with me, and, as expected, she had to wait for me afterward. After my meetings, I took her back to the hotel to eat. I noticed that she held a bag. I asked her about it, and she said a sister had given her some snacks.
Whenever I had duties after church, this sister—who did not know my aunt—always offered my aunt snacks. One week during my Sunday School lesson, a familiar voice volunteered to read a scripture. I had never imagined my aunt would volunteer, but a kind sister sitting next to my aunt had prompted her to read for the class. Although my aunt was not good at socializing because of her time isolated in the hospital, all the members kindly greeted and chatted with her.
Every Sunday evening I would take her back to the hospital and promise to pick her up the next weekend, which always brought a happy smile to her face.
One day a friend of mine shared a concern that my aunt might have a hard time when my visits suddenly stopped when I left Korea. As my scheduled departure from Korea came closer, I felt mixed emotions—happy to be soon reunited with my family but distressed and sad about leaving my aunt alone.
Finally, I explained to my aunt that I would not be able to visit her as often. She paused a moment, obviously disappointed. Then she tried to compose herself and asked if I could visit her again in a year. I cried and desperately asked Heavenly Father to help this lady.
On my last Sunday in Korea, the bishop asked if ward members could pick up my aunt on Sundays to bring her to church. He said that a number of members were willing to visit her on a regular basis—so many that they would have to organize and take turns. I could not believe his offer! This was the unexpected answer to my desperate prayers.
Since the members lived far away from my aunt’s hospital, I offered to leave some money for them to cover the travel expenses, but the members refused to take my money. They told me they would take turns visiting once a month, but I found out later that they actually visited every week. One faithful sister picks up my aunt every Friday to attend institute and have lunch. She even took her to a beauty shop for a haircut. Another sister, a single mother of two teenage children, volunteered to pick her up every Sunday morning. She cooks for my aunt, takes her for a walk, and listens to music with her. Most importantly, she tries to be a friend, and my aunt has finally opened up and comfortably chats with her and other members. Every Sunday evening the bishop picks up my aunt from a member’s home after his long day of Church meetings and other duties to take her back to the hospital. Every Thursday he sends a kind email to me to report their heavenly service for my aunt.
I believe that my mom saw the actions of faithful Latter-day Saints serving her younger sister. And now I know, more clearly than ever, why we call our fellow Church members “brothers” and “sisters.”

“Jesus told Peter to feed His sheep. That’s how Peter could show Jesus he loved Him.”
“Mom, did Jesus have a herd of sheep?”
“No, sweetie. Jesus is sometimes called the Good Shepherd, and we are like His sheep. Jesus was teaching Peter that if we want to show Jesus we love Him, we should help others.”
“Is that why we are going to deliver the pie to Sister Jacobs after family home evening?”
“Yes, it is. But it would be nice for you to think of something you can do to show Sister Jacobs you love her.”
Olivia thought about what she could do. She remembered that Mom and Grandma really like the pictures she draws.
“I know! I can make a card for Sister Jacobs and draw a picture on it!”
Olivia drew a beautiful rainbow. On the inside of the card she wrote, “Get well soon! Love, Olivia.”
When Olivia and her family got to Sister Jacobs’s house, Mom asked Sister Jacobs how she was feeling. Sister Jacobs started to cry.
“I just found out I have to go to the hospital to have an operation tomorrow. I’m a little scared.”
Mom handed Sister Jacobs the pie. Then Olivia gave her the card she had made.
“Thank you, Olivia. This beautiful card and your sweet smile make me feel better.”
Olivia felt like somebody was hugging her heart. She was happy that she could help Jesus feed His sheep.

My grandmother is one of the many people I look up to. Her parents were kind and loving, but they didn’t take her to church. My grandma walked to Primary by herself. She loved learning about Jesus Christ. She felt the Spirit very strongly as she was taught the gospel. Even though she was alone, she continued to go to church because it made her feel happy and good inside. When she got older she was sealed in the temple to my grandpa, and together they taught their children the gospel. My grandma is such a good example to me because she has shown me that I can follow the Savior’s teachings even when I’m young.
Lindie B., age 9, Utah

“On fast Sunday, Íngrid is the first in our family to get up and bear her testimony in sacrament meeting, and she bears her testimony like an adult,” her dad said. “Sometimes she’ll ask me, ‘Are you going to bear your testimony today?’ I’ll usually tell her that I’m not sure, because it’s hard for me to speak in public. And she’ll tease me by saying, ‘If you don’t, I’ll call you from the pulpit to come up and do it.’ I’ll say, ‘Don’t you dare!’ She smiles happily if I do go up.”

Love is listening when they are ready to talk—midnight, 6 A.M. on their way to seminary, or when you’re busy with your urgencies. Have you seen the Church spot on television showing a darkened bedroom? The door opens, and in walks a little girl with a book under her arm. She goes over to where her dad is sound asleep and asks, “Daddy, will you read me a story?” The dad doesn’t open his eyes; he just mumbles in his sleep, “Oh, honey, Daddy is so tired. Ask Mommy.” The little girl patters over to where her mother is sleeping and asks, “Mommy, can Daddy read me a story?” You see the dad’s eyes pop open, and the next picture shows all three of them together, and Dad is reading a story.

“But I didn’t join right off,” Jack said. “I kind of sat back and doubted for a while, but I wish I hadn’t.” His Las Vegas excursion helped him appreciate the truths they were teaching him. “I looked around at the people there and thought ‘Lots of these people have money, but they’re still looking for something to make them happy,’” Jack said. Maybe he really could find what he was looking for in the Church.

He’d previously been attending Sunday School with a lackadaisical attitude, but now he decided to take the gospel seriously and learn some more. He began the missionary lessons and discovered that it would take the gospel to make him happy—happier than banking billions from bubble gum ever could. “Once the missionaries started teaching me, it only took about a month and a half before I was baptized,” he said.

Although just as friendly as her sister, Larisa tends to be more quiet and reserved. “She’s a great student,” her mom says. Larisa has always had a special affection for Jesus Christ and knows of His great love for children. She tells her parents, “I hope He comes while I’m still little!” In fact, when she was in kindergarten, she wanted to see Him so much that she often spent her whole recess staring up at the sky, waiting for Him to appear.

I’d lost my cell phone. No matter how hard I searched my room, I couldn’t find it. I knew this phone was of no worth in the grand scheme of things, but it was still important to me. I decided, “Why should I keep looking? I’ll never find it,” when all of a sudden I felt the need to pray.
I knelt down and prayed for help. When I opened my eyes, I was staring at a certain spot in between my bookcase and my bed. It was covered by my blanket, so I moved it. I looked under the bed, and there was my cell phone! I was so relieved.
I suddenly remembered all of the Friend magazine stories I’d read about children thanking their Heavenly Father for helping. So that’s what I did. I thanked Heavenly Father for helping me find my cell phone, an earthly item that could have been replaced.

After my wife suddenly passed away at the young age of 53 due to an initial cardiac arrest followed by a severe stroke, I was on my knees often. My prayers were full of questions, doubts, fears, and pain. Although I accepted and knew it was the will of the Father that Darla should leave this mortality for a wise purpose I did not understand, it did not relieve the anguish of my soul or the trials I faced.

One morning in such a state of prayer, I found myself pleading with the Lord for guidance through these foggy times. I didn't know how to parent by myself. I didn't know how to do our family accounting. I didn't even know the passwords to many of our accounts. I found that making daily menus was a chore. The laundry never ceased and nor did the dust in the house take a vacation. I missed my sweetheart's presence. I longed to hear the magic of her voice. I missed our prayers together, the good-bye and hello kisses. I felt overwhelmed and understood why it was not good for man to be alone. Yet I was. And so my plea for the Father was to show me how to do all of this mortal stuff. I prayed hard with tears streaming down my face as I committed to the Lord to do my part, but I needed His help.

As I rose from my knees I felt a voice say to me, "I gave you your father."

My siblings and I were blessed by having goodly parents. My father and mother, both were Nisei, being born in Idaho after my grandparents migrated from Japan to the United States. Although they were acquainted with each other, their romance didn't grow and blossom until after my father joined the army. Through mail correspondence and brief return trips to Idaho, they fell in love and were married while my father was on a furlough. A short time after their marriage an injury during a training exercise caused hemorrhaging within my father's eyes resulting in complete and total blindness.

Can you imagine being a newlywed, full of hope and enthusiasm for the future, and within a few months laying in a hospital bed with the words of the doctor ringing in your ears, "Soldier, you will never see again"?

My father went through the difficult months of learning how to see in a world of darkness. He was discouraged and depressed at times, described in his own words, "living in a crucible of self-pity". It was not fair. It was not deserved. Yet, it happened.

My father learned how to see with darkened eyes. He learned to read with his fingers and ears. Dad went to Utah State University desiring a degree in Dairy Management. This brought the protest of the College Dean who told him a blind person could not succeed in this field. Dad asked to be given a chance, and earned a 4.0 GPA his first semester. He went on to graduate, and started a poultry farm that grew to a 15,000 laying hen operation. My father retired, and went back to school, earning a Masters in Counseling and Guidance from BYU. He worked with juvenile delinquents, and then became the counselor at the local high school.

Beyond my father's academic and professional achievements, there seemed to be nothing that he could not do. He did the electrical work when constructing the coops for the chickens. Dad gardened and carpentered. He was an avid fisherman, and was willing to do and try anything. There are accounts of him golfing, riding a bicycle, driving a car, and many other sight dependent tasks. My father was even asked to umpire a baseball game in which he said the jeers of telling him he was blind as a bat were all true, and no one could really complain about his calls.

Dad had a sense of humor and a way of lifting people that was remarkable. My older brother shares a story of when my mother was not home and my dad needed a ride to the City Hall to attend a City Council meeting. My brother was not old enough to drive, but he was the only one available. As fate would be they were pulled over by the city constable. He looked at Rod, and rhetorically questioned if he was old enough to drive. To which my dad responded, "Well Vene, it was either him or me." The constable walked away without giving a citation.

My dad had a remarkable ability to discern who a person was by their voice, handshake, or sometimes just by their presence. Then he would always quip something like, "You must be on a diet, you're so skinny, I can't even see you!" or "You're so good looking you blind me!"

My father though blind had remarkable vision. He taught me by his exemplary life, lessons that I now needed in my hour of despair. As I finished my prayer that morning and in answer felt the words, "I gave you your father", the words of a hymn, "fresh courage take" invigorated my soul. I knew that I now needed to follow the example of my father. I needed to learn to see and understand with spiritual eyes. My mortal eyes were blinded by the mists of darkness, of the pain and anguish of the death of my eternal companion. That priceless message was a supernal gift from One who saw my plight and healed my eyes. I learned that morning that I must learn to see as my father did. Not with mortal eyes, but with eyes eternal.

Peggy awoke on Christmas morning. She was excited to receive a fun new toy and eat a Christmas feast. But as she looked around, she knew this year would be different. Even though her father worked hard, money had been scarce for her family.
There were no signs of an upcoming Christmas feast. The vegetable trays were empty, and there was no food in the refrigerator.
Peggy and her brother, Malcolm, walked to the door of their parents’ bedroom and saw them kneeling next to their bed. They quietly listened as Mother and Father prayed that Heavenly Father would help the family have food.
“Come on,” Peggy said to Malcolm. “Let’s go outside.”
Peggy and Malcolm went out and collected some of the wild ferns that grew near the garden. Maybe there wouldn’t be any toys this year, but they could still make their home feel like Christmas.
They felt better after they decorated the house with green ferns, but there was still no sign of food.
“The Lord will provide,” Mother said. “Now let’s set the table.”
Father placed plates on the table while Mother set out forks and spoons.
The children looked at each other with confusion in their eyes. The table was ready, but there was still no food. Breakfast soon passed and lunchtime neared. Peggy was hungry! She wondered how her family would get food.
The clock ticked to 12:00, then 12:30, then 12:45. Still nothing. Then Peggy heard a knock on the door.
She rushed to open the door and was shocked to see the Kirk family standing there. They were holding ham, bread, chicken, salads, and sweets. Peggy couldn’t believe her eyes.
“We were just sitting down to eat our Christmas meal when we thought of you,” Brother Kirk said. “We hope you can use this food.”
Father shook Brother Kirk’s hand, and Mother began to set the food on the kitchen table. Peggy was still shocked. She looked with wide eyes at Mother and Father, but they looked like they expected this to happen.
Peggy knew the feeling she had in the morning was right. This Christmas was different. This was the Christmas that she learned that Heavenly Father hears and answers prayers. And that was the best gift she could have received.