Gospel Story Finder

This story took place in the USA.
“I am a child of God,” Cameron sang with the other Primary kids. Cameron was hard of hearing, but he loved to sing. And soon they would be singing in the Primary program. It was only a month away!
When singing time was over, Sister Jones made an announcement. “Our Primary pianist is moving soon. We’d love to have some of you play the piano for the Primary program. Would any of you like to play a song or two?”
Cameron raised his hand. He wanted to help with the program.
Sister Jones wrote down the names of kids who wanted to help. “Emma. Ben. And Cameron! I didn’t know you could play.” She smiled.
Cameron had never taken lessons before, but he liked making up songs on the piano at his grandma’s house.
“I’m not very good yet,” he said. “But I think I can do it if I practice!”
“Thanks for being willing to serve,” Sister Jones said. She gave each child two songs to play.
Cameron felt like running down the hall. He’d always wanted to learn, and now he was going to!
“You look excited! Did something happen in Primary?” Mom asked when they got in the car after church.
Cameron grinned. “I’m going to play the piano for the Primary program!”
“I love that you want to help,” Mom said. “But you don’t know how to play the piano well enough to do that.”
Cameron sat up straight. “I can learn. I’ll practice super hard! I can use Grandma’s piano.”
“We’d better get started, then!” Mom said.
Mom helped Cameron find a piano teacher. The teacher showed him simple ways to play “I Love to See the Temple” and “The Church of Jesus Christ.”
Cameron practiced at Grandma’s house as often as he could. He practiced each line of the songs over and over again. He made lots of mistakes, but he kept trying and kept playing. Finally he could play both songs.
Soon it was time for the Primary program. “How do you feel?” Mom asked.
Cameron hugged his piano book close to his chest. “Nervous. But excited too.”
When it was his turn to play, Cameron’s hands shook a little. Heavenly Father, please help me, he prayed in his mind. He took a deep breath. Then he played the best he could. The other children sang along.
At the end of the song, he smiled. That was fun! He knew the Holy Ghost was helping him.
Now that he had played one song already, Cameron felt more confident. He started the second song. His fingers moved across the keys just like he had practiced.
This song was Cameron’s favorite. He thought about the words as he played. “I believe in the Savior, Jesus Christ. I’ll honor His name.” Cameron had worked hard to learn the songs for the program.
Maybe playing the piano is one way of sharing my testimony, Cameron thought.
After the program, Mom gave Cameron a big hug.
“How was it?” she asked.
“I was nervous at first, but it was fun!” Cameron said. He wanted to keep practicing and learn even more songs.
What skill would you like to learn?
Illustrations by Adam Koford

“I don’t know, but I know that He does. I remember reading a story several months ago in the Ensign. It was a true story about a little sparrow that flew into the Tabernacle while the doors were open.”*
“You mean that big building on Temple Square where they hold general conference?”
Dad nodded. “The workers at the Tabernacle opened all the doors, hoping that the bird would fly out.”
“Did it?”
“No. They tried calling animal control, who brought some nets with real long handles so that they could try to catch the bird.”
Beth remembered how tall the ceiling in the Tabernacle was. Her mother and father had taken her there for a Christmas program last December. The handles on those nets must have been very, very, very long!
Dad continued. “The people ran from one end of the Tabernacle to the other, trying to catch the bird, but that just frightened the poor thing. Terrified, it flew back and forth from the pipe organ to the balcony. The people who worked in the Tabernacle were getting worried because there was an important concert scheduled for that evening and they were running out of time. They had to get the bird out.”
“What did they do?” Beth whispered.
“The animal control people couldn’t think of anything else, so they suggested that they use a pellet gun to shoot the bird.”
“Oh, no!”
“Or they thought they could put out some poisoned food that the bird would eat.”
“Oh, Daddy, they didn’t, did they?”
“Well,” Dad continued, “Brother John, the manager, wouldn’t let them hurt the bird. He thought about how important this little bird was to Heavenly Father and knew that Heavenly Father would know how to take care of the bird. So he turned around and said a quiet, simple prayer. Right away the Holy Ghost helped Brother John know what to do. He quickly gave instructions to the other workers to turn off all the lights; close the blinds, and close all but one of the doors. Soon light poured through that one single door, and the bird was finally able to find its freedom. Out it flew, safe at last.”

“Dad, will you buy some seeds for Cindy and me?” Randy asked. “We could plant a really neat garden in the backyard.”
It was Saturday morning, and Mr. Ortez had taken the twins with him to the garden store to get some fertilizer for the lawn.
“That’s a good idea,” Dad answered. “What do you want to plant?”
“How about radishes? They grow really quick. And cucumbers too. I love cucumber sandwiches,” Randy said.
“I want some tomato seeds,” Cindy added. “Tomatoes are red and pretty.”
Dad nodded and said, “You two decide what seeds you want while I’m getting the fertilizer. You’ll divide each pack between you, so be sure to choose what pleases both of you. I don’t want any arguing about it when we get home.”
After many exclamations of “I don’t want those,” “That’s yucky,” and “Let’s get those,” Cindy and Randy finally decided on radishes, tomatoes, cucumbers, and green beans.
Each twin hoed, spaded, and raked until there were two garden plots turned and raked smooth. Each plot was six feet wide and ten feet long—just the right size for four rows of vegetables.
Every day after school, they made a beeline to the backyard to see if the seeds had sprouted yet. Finally, on the fourth day, there were cracks in the soil, and small radish plants were pushing their way through.
It wasn’t long before all the rows were green with growing plants. Every day the twins watered the plants. They scattered fertilizer along the edges of the rows. Cindy kept the hoe busy, too, uprooting the weeds around her young plants.
Randy had other things to do. A new boy had just moved in down the street, and they had quickly become pals. Randy watered his garden every afternoon, then hurried to his new friend’s house to play until suppertime.
One evening Cindy came running into the house with a big bunch of radishes. “Take a look at these, Mom. They’re real beauties!”
“Oh, they really are!” Mom exclaimed. “I’ll wash them, and we’ll have them for supper. And tomorrow, Randy, we’ll try some of yours.”
The next evening Randy brought a bunch of radishes to the kitchen. He hung his head as he handed them to Mom. “I don’t know why, but mine didn’t grow as big as Cindy’s.”
“Maybe it’s the soil,” Dad said. “Let’s go out and take a look.”
When they arrived at the garden, it was clear why Randy’s crop was not growing as well as Cindy’s. His rows were choked with weeds, while hers were weed-free. Her plants were green and healthy, reaching up toward the sun. The weeds in his garden were so thick that hardly any sun could reach his plants.
Dad pulled up a weed. “Here’s your problem, Randy. Plants need plenty of food and sunshine to grow.”
“But I gave them fertilizer, and I watered them every day.”
“Yes, you fed them, but you didn’t keep the weeds out. They stole water, nutrients, and sunshine from your plants. They stunted your radishes’ growth just as breaking God’s commandments would stunt your spiritual growth.”
“Well, I’m going to do something about it right now,” Randy said, dropping to his knees and starting to pull up weeds.
“Good for you!” Mr. Ortez said. “It’s never too late to get rid of weeds.”

I was introduced to the Book of Mormon as a 21-year-old young man by missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Little did I know the incredible impact that this book would have on my life. Even now, 34 years later, I marvel and can only express the deepest gratitude for this treasure that I have found.
For myself, my quest to know whether this book was truly from God, started by reading it. As I followed the journey of Lehi and his family from Jerusalem to the promised land, their experiences and interactions with God inspired me. I, myself, needed guidance and I could see how Nephi had perfect faith that Heavenly Father would answer his prayers when faced by adversity. I could see also how his determination was key for him to receive from the Lord.
I learned that the right attitude to have in approaching God is to believe that the Lord can make things known unto you. Ponder, pray and sit still to hear His voice. At first, I did not hear it, but as I continued reading, the Spirit of God — The Holy Ghost — as referred to by Nephi, softened my heart little by little, and I felt His comforting influence. I felt inspired and had a greater desire to know. I prayed, waiting on the Lord to come and visit me. Little did I know that He had already started to visit with me, by sending those feelings in my heart. He had started to light a small fire in my soul. In countless verses, the Lord spoke to me reassuring me that He wanted to talk to me if I would let Him prepare the ground and make it softer to plant a seed that would sprout to a sure knowledge of His infinite love, care and desire to reveal Himself to all of His children.

Stepping gingerly into the baptismal font, I felt a surge of peace flood my mind and heart. My bishop smiled and took my hand. At the threshold of baptism, I stood comfortably and intently awaiting my purpose.
In the font, I knew the rest of my life would be different. It would be a lot harder, but I realized that part of growing up is making choices that are right. As I leaned back into the water, I felt peace! I could hardly believe the joy. I had decided what I believed and took courage in my own conviction.

Let me illustrate with an experience the Europe Central Area Presidency had while traveling by train to a meeting. We were taking advantage of the time together by discussing our assignment. A man seated across the aisle became curious about our conversation. He finally asked, “Are you Protestant or Catholic?” We replied, “Neither. We are members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.” He acknowledged that he had heard of the Church, but then went on to say: “You’ll never get very far in this country. The government only recognizes the Catholic and Protestant churches. They are the only ones who receive government financial support. A church cannot exist without government financial support.”
We tried to explain that our Church manages very well without government help—that we use the Lord’s system of tithing. He insisted our Church would not get very far in his country and suggested that perhaps we should place our efforts in some other part of the world. Of course, we testified that the Lord’s system does work and told him about all the chapels and temples we are constructing throughout the world without having to resort to borrowed funds to build them. He seemed very surprised but still unconvinced.
Seeing that we could not persuade him that a church could exist without government support, we tried to change the subject. I asked, “What will happen in your country with the changes that are occurring? The declining population and the influx of an increasing number of immigrants will eventually make you a minority in your own land.”
With great national pride, he replied, “This will never happen.”
I countered, “How can you support such a position with immigration exceeding your country’s birthrate?” He kept insisting this would never happen in his country—“why, they would close the borders of our land before they would allow it to occur.”
I pressed on, “How can you prevent it with your current trends?”
His next statement shocked me: “I’m 82 years old. I will be long gone before we have to face that problem.”

I had that demonstrated to me while welding in a shipyard one winter. One day one of the crew came up to me and with the most friendly smile started to call me all kinds of bad names. I quietly said to him, “Bent, you just don’t call me those names.” He was hurt. He said, “Dan, let me show you something. Come with me.” So I followed him across the deck of the aircraft carrier and over on the other side to a catwalk where another member of the crew was welding. He had raised his hood and was watching us approach when Bent started calling him every name he had called me. The other fellow just grinned and called him back the same names with a few innovations and improvements. Then Bent turned to me and said, “See, I didn’t mean any harm by it.” And he didn’t! He had managed to almost entirely divorce sound from sense in his speech.

Each student in my kindergarten class gets to be a VIP (Very Important Person) for one week and bring in their family to meet the class at the end of the week. When my family came, I was telling the other children about us and mentioned that my mom and dad were going to the temple the next day. When it was time for the class to ask questions, one girl asked what a temple was. I did my best to explain that it is where people get married forever and where people are baptized and do ordinance work for people who have died. The whole class listened, and I was glad I got to share something that is special to my family and me.

The young people of the valley have learned that in the clash of values and ideas, everyone can win. Instead of being weakened by the world around them, they can help strengthen others. Take Kelly Adams, for example. Kelly loves popular music. He joined several record and tape clubs, and became the local teen expert. The other kids caught on and started having him DJ their dances. But Kelly wouldn’t listen to junk, and he wouldn’t play music that taught garbage. So when he DJ’s a dance, nobody else listens to junk either, because he won’t play it. It’s had an effect on the musical tastes of both the LDS and non-LDS youth. Everybody won.

When the somber day arrived that I had to leave the people I had grown to love so much, a man recognized me on the ferry. He approached to thank me for what I had done, when he saw that I held only a coach ticket. He insisted that I switch my ticket for his first-class one for the long, 14-hour ride. He told me that seeing the volunteers’ examples changed him. He wanted to help someone else too, and switching his ticket was the best he could do right now.

“Please,” he begged. “Please.”

Tears filled my eyes as I witnessed once again the ripple effect that genuine service and love can cause.

“I lived right up there on Capitol Hill,” said Sister Cannon, pointing, as we looked out of her twenty-fifth-floor office window. “One of the most pleasant recollections of my early childhood is that of Primary being held in our garage. Oh, it was a formal Primary—we just didn’t have a meetinghouse yet. It was still under construction. My mother wanted us children to have this kind of experience. She felt that members should support the Church by providing whatever the Church was unable to provide at the time.
“To this day, when I travel for the Church, someone will come to me and say, ‘Your mother taught me in Primary.’ Mother was a great Primary teacher. She was also a stake Relief Society president, and she served on the general board of the Young Women for twenty-two years and on the general board of the Sunday School. I am her oldest daughter—not the first child, but the first daughter. I was very carefully trained by my mother. We practiced speaking correctly in our home, and as a child I also had formal training in speech. Mother felt that people should be able to express themselves, to clearly state their points of view. Mother has always been patient with me, and she is still very interested in my activities.
“I grew up being in Primary plays and pageants. One recollection I have is of a Sister Paul and the making of costumes for these productions. As soon as school was out, Sister Paul would gather us children together and we would march around our neighborhood. I remember the feelings I had while marching with this little fluffy-haired lady. We would gather material, bits of lace, buttons, and ribbon to make costumes for the pageants. Sister Paul made it fun and exciting and allowed us to help make the costumes. These costumes became famous and were borrowed by people from all over. In fact, our enterprise may have been the beginning of the first costume rental business in the city.
“Another recollection I have from childhood is memorable to me because it became a powerful lesson in my life. Pioneer Day is a time of great celebration in Salt Lake City. It is climaxed with a long parade on the morning of July 24th. When I was a preschooler, I was asked to be on the Primary Children’s Hospital float. Of course, this was very exciting to me. Mother bought me a new nightgown and fixed my hair with a ribbon. Father walked me down to where the parade was forming—and there was the float! The woman in charge of this float turned and looked at me. She said, ‘Look at her! We chose her because she looked sick and was skinny.’ She took hold of my hair ribbon and pulled it out of my hair. Then she took one of those big powder puffs and put white powder all over my face. I was crushed. I’d had visions of riding as a queen on the float.
“Before the parade began, my father took me into the hospital, which was then right across the street from the north gate of Temple Square, to talk to the children—wisely, I know now, because I was heart-broken. I was introduced to all the children as the one who was going to represent them in the hospital bed on the float. They banged their crutches and shook their metal cribs as their way of saying, ‘Hurray!’ I went back outside and quickly got up onto the float. The cover on the bed hid my new nightgown, and the hair ribbon was gone. All you could see was my little white face. But I was happy now. I was representing all the children in the hospital. I was just pretending to be sick—for them. It was a wonderful lesson to me, one that I shall never forget.
“My father was a builder, a booster. He made everyone feel good. He made me feel beautiful, competent, loved, precious, and all those things that everyone should feel. My wonderful relationship with my earthly father has helped me to develop a good relationship with my Father in heaven.
“I love my children and my grandchildren. I love the good things they do. I help them in every way possible to record their lives in their journals. I help by writing in their journals for them before they can write for themselves. These are precious documents. One of my little grandchildren once had the opportunity to meet President Kimball when the prophet was traveling in California. She said to him, ‘I know you. I have your picture hanging on my wall ‘cause Grandma gave it to me.’ This experience is recorded in her journal and will be a priceless heritage to her and her future children.
“You can use your journal to chart your progress, just as a sea captain marks his course. He knows where he has been and where he is going. Start a journal now and write down where you have been and where you want to go. Write the happy things and the sad things. Sometimes you think you don’t have anything to write about, but you always do. Maybe you saw your first spring flower today, or a caterpillar’s cocoon. Write it down. Share your feelings on paper. This will become a most personal, precious history for you to keep always.”

Now I would like to tell you of a little experience I had in the mission field that illustrates what I think the Lord meant when he indicated that not only would the Prophet bring forth His word, but he would bring men to a conviction of His word that had already gone forth among them.

When I was in Holland, I was invited to talk to a Bible class of businessmen. We met in the home of a prominent furniture dealer. There were about twenty men; each had his Bible. The only woman there was the daughter of the man of the house. They gave me an hour and a half to discuss universal salvation, which includes our work for the dead, preaching in the spirit world, and baptism of the living for the dead. I just gave them chapter and verse and let them read the passages in their own Bibles. Then when I was through, I closed my Bible and waited for comments.

The first comment came from the daughter of the man of the house. She said: “Father, I just can’t understand it. I have never attended one of these Bible classes in my life that you haven’t had the last word to say on everything. And tonight you haven’t said a word.”

The man shook his head and said: “My daughter, there isn’t anything to say. This man has been teaching us things we have never heard of, and he has been teaching them to us out of our own Bibles.”

I could tell you many more stories like that!

What are you going to spend your Chinese New Year money on?
I’m going to buy a new jump rope.
I’m going to buy candy.
I’m going to buy a new bag.
I’m going to save it.
What should I do with my money?
I know what to do with some of my money first!
The next Sunday …
Thanks for your donation, Chung.
You’re welcome!
It feels good to pay my tithing first. I know it makes Heavenly Father happy.
This story took place in Taiwan. Chinese New Year will be on February 1 next year!

Hanging high on a mountain, a glacier peeked down through the clouds as the line of girls crawled along the glacial moraine. Walking was strenuous, so it was a relief to cross a snowfield and clamber up a slope to a wide shelf to camp. Shallow soil posed a problem in setting up tents, as Mary and Jeanie discovered. They arose in the dark of night, amid rain and wind, to repeg their collapsed tent. Brrrrr!

Spirits were high as we went to sleep, wondering if the pass was as steep as it looked in the pictures we’d seen. The next morning we ate breakfast in fog and wind. As we started to take tents down, rain descended. Standing in the wind, shivering and wet, we were eager to be on the move.

“I wonder how bad the pass is? We have a mile to go before we’re over. Let’s hit it!”

The mile took over three hours of hard climbing over rocks and across snowfields. The wind became a cold river of air pushing rain up the pass. The uncompromising trail went straight up into a world of swirling gray clouds and immobile black granite. It was impossible to stay warm during rest stops and impossible to climb steadily without resting.

Colleen pushed herself so hard she finally collapsed just before the summit. Sweating had caused her to become chilled from the wind. Brother Otte carried her pack, and, dressed in down clothing for warmth, she went on.

“I don’t think I’ll ever make it. Just as it seems we must be at the top, there’s another ridge to climb!”

“I wish there were some trees to break the wind. I’m so cold.”

Finally the vertical became horizontal, and we were at the summit. Everyone was cold, wet, and tired as we stopped for lunch just over the top of the pass in Canada. We rested at a stone crib that was used as a support for the old aerial tram cables that had lifted supplies over the pass during gold rush days. Girls took turns holding up a poncho, forming a windbreak for those who most needed to rest.

“I’m so cold. The wind blows right into my bones.”

After a much-needed cup of hot soup, the girls trudged on, moving as fast as possible in an effort to stay warm. Fog and rain made following trail markings risky and prayer a necessity.

“Where’s the trail? I can’t see the markings.”

“I don’t know. Just try to follow boot tracks.”

Descending slowly, the trail covered masses of ice, mini-glaciers of bright blue with frigid streams of melted water running beneath the caps of white. We didn’t take time in the punishing wind to fully appreciate the beauty of the high country, but it was too overwhelming to miss entirely.

“Look at those tiny bell flowers. They are such a delicate, waxy white; it’s incredible they survive!”

Alive with flowers and small plants, the high country was dotted with basins of water that would exist a few short weeks or a month until the winter snows began again.

Gazing miles and miles down the treeless trail of rock and tundra, we had the exhilarating impression of being at the very top of the world. We followed the river past a series of crystal-clear lakes until the tree line began again a few miles before Lindeman Camp. We walked along the brim of a deep gorge and looked far down to the violently boiling water, scarcely able to imagine the quiet of winter when the land would be ice-locked. The gorge had been used as a highway during winter by the gold rush stampeders.

Lindeman, now the site of a four-bunk cabin built by the Canadians, was once a sprawling city of tents. Eager to push on to the goldfields, many people lost their lives falling through the lake ice in spring. Men suffering from gold fever would rather risk their lives on rotten ice than take the extra time and effort to go overland.

The last group reached camp at 10:30 P.M. after stopping on the trail to rest and cook dinner. A mile from camp an “emergency squad” met the stragglers and helped carry their packs. Somehow 18 people were squeezed into the four-bunk cabin.

The last day of hiking was a forced march as we pushed hard to make our train reservations at Bennett. Stopping for a brief rest, Colleen, with tears in her eyes, called for her counselor.

“I just can’t go on. I can’t make it. My ankle hurts so bad.” “Would you like a blessing?”

“Brother Otte, we need your priesthood.”

After the blessing the pain persisted, but Colleen was blessed with strength and a new determination and was able to continue hiking.

Rest stops became more and more frequent as we tried to keep the line together. Finally the counselors decided to send the faster girls ahead to catch the train. We had 20 confirmed reservations and ten standby seats. If we missed the train, it might take a week to get all the girls back to Whitehorse, and we were almost out of food.

The trail bounced up, then down, up, then down, crossing boggy areas and following low ridges along Lake Lindeman, which could be seen a mile away through the primeval pine trees. Unfortunately we were concentrating so hard on putting one foot in front of the other that we missed much of the beauty. The last few miles were sprinkled with sandy patches that made hiking especially tiring.

Toward the end of the seven weary miles, a train whistle blew. Tired girls almost broke into a run, and it was hard restraining them to the pace.

“There’s the old church! We’re here!”

We were in time for a good meal at the station before the train left for Whitehorse.

Now, around the fire in Whitehorse after a Sunday of worship and a delicious meal with the Whitehorse Saints, we were reliving the experience one more time before starting home the next morning. As the fire died away, the chill went unnoticed in the warmth of the Spirit. A theme of priesthood and prayer threaded the testimonies.

“The last day as we were rushing to meet the train, we stopped at a rock outcropping to rest, and Brother Woolley asked me to say a prayer. As I knelt upon the earth, tears streamed down my face and an overwhelming feeling of sweet humility filled my being. I felt an overpowering desire to always be close to my Heavenly Father and live so I would please him. The words poured from my mouth and I prayed publicly for the first time in my life by the Spirit. I was prompted to ask for strength and that we might make the train on time. We did. I also asked for a special blessing upon the girls behind us. It was incredible, but they reached the station only 15 minutes to a half hour behind us. I’m so very thankful I had this camping experience and the opportunity to rely so heavily on the Lord.”

“The Lord’s blessing was upon us all through the trip,” began another testimony. “Although the weather was bad, it made us depend upon the Lord. They asked us if we felt we could hike to Jackson County, Missouri, and several girls said yes. This hike has been a proving ground and will be a source of strength for all of us the rest of our lives. As we look back on the Chilkoot Trail, we’ll know that with the Lord’s help, we can do anything.”

A third thought that needs to be thought about is this: If you do not respond properly to a challenge, maybe no one will. I remember a young lady at my high school who had a number of problems. She was very poor. She could not dress like the other students, and she was insecure and frightened. But a young man who knew her would take time to greet her when he saw her. One day they were to take a test in history, and he said to her, “Let’s sit down and study together.” They did; she could tell that he knew she had value as a fellow human being.

The weeks came and went. One day she told that young man that he had saved her life. “What do you mean, I’ve save your life?” he asked.

“Do you remember the day we had that history test?”

“Yes.”

“I was going to take my life that day. I knew no one cared, that no one loved me. People ridiculed the way I dressed, the things I said, and the way I looked. But you cared, and because of that I’m still alive.” She is now a nurse, ministering to the needs of others.

Today, let me share a discovery that happened because of a sample group of rabbits.
In the 1970s, researchers set up an experiment to examine the effects of diet on heart health. Over several months, they fed a control group of rabbits a high-fat diet and monitored their blood pressure, heart rate, and cholesterol.
As expected, many of the rabbits showed a buildup of fatty deposits on the inside of their arteries. Yet this was not all! Researchers had discovered something that made little sense. Although all of the rabbits had a buildup, one group surprisingly had as much as 60 percent less than the others. It appeared as though they were looking at two different groups of rabbits.
To scientists, results like this can cause lost sleep. How could this be? The rabbits were all the same breed from New Zealand, from a virtually identical gene pool. They each received equal amounts of the same food.
What could this mean?
Did the results invalidate the study? Were there flaws in the experiment design?
The scientists struggled to understand this unexpected outcome!
Eventually, they turned their attention to the research staff. Was it possible that researchers had done something to influence the results? As they pursued this, they discovered that every rabbit with fewer fatty deposits had been under the care of one researcher. She fed the rabbits the same food as everyone else. But, as one scientist reported, “she was an unusually kind and caring individual.” When she fed the rabbits, “she talked to them, cuddled and petted them. … ‘She couldn’t help it. It’s just how she was.’”
She did more than simply give the rabbits food. She gave them love!
At first glance, it seemed unlikely that this could be the reason for the dramatic difference, but the research team could see no other possibility.
So they repeated the experiment—this time tightly controlling for every other variable. When they analyzed the results, the same thing happened! The rabbits under the care of the loving researcher had significantly higher health outcomes.
The scientists published the results of this study in the prestigious journal Science.
Years later the findings of this experiment still seem influential in the medical community. In recent years, Dr. Kelli Harding published a book titled The Rabbit Effect that takes its name from the experiment. Her conclusion: “Take a rabbit with an unhealthy lifestyle. Talk to it. Hold it. Give it affection. … The relationship made a difference. … Ultimately,” she concludes, “what affects our health in the most meaningful ways has as much to do with how we treat one another, how we live, and how we think about what it means to be human.”

Let us conclude where we began: a compassionate caregiver, extending herself in kindness with a nurturing spirit, and an unexpected outcome—healing the hearts of animals over whom she had stewardship. Why? Because it was just how she was!

One of my favorite Christmas traditions is “candle time.” When I was 10, my mom and I created a “Candle Time Book.” We decorated a binder and filled its pages with a Nativity Advent calendar and 25 Christmas scriptures, poems, songs, and stories to share with the family each day leading up to Christmas.
That December, my siblings and parents and I gathered each night around the Christmas tree. With only the lights of the tree and our designated candle, we sang the Christmas carol and read the scripture, poem, and Christmas story from the binder for that day. We always ended with a family prayer. The fragrant candle, soothing voices of our parents, and shared blanket on the floor with my siblings created irreplaceable memories that helped my family grow closer with each passing December.

I remember how happy I felt. In all my 12-year-old life, I had never had this much fun. I had gone to an amusement park with a friend and her family where we proceeded to eat (so it seemed) several hundred pounds of junk food, ride every ride at least twice, get sunburned, and just generally have a great time. At the end of the day we were ready to take a break, so we chose a lazy, gondola-type ride.
We got into a car with two other girls who seemed to be about our age. We smiled at them, said hello, and continued the conversation we were having before we got on the ride. I could sense the two girls were staring at us.
“Hi,” I said again, uneasily trying to force a smile on my face.
“We were hoping no one would be on this car with us,” said one, shooting me an ugly look. “Well, do you mind if we smoke a joint?”
I glanced at my friend. She wasn’t moving or saying anything; she just looked at me as if to say, “What do we do now?”
I wanted that girl to vanish. I wanted to run away. My mind was racing. What she was suggesting was not only against my standards; it was against the law. I searched for the right words, but I was so nervous I just started blurting things out.
“No … I mean yes … Of course we would mind … What I mean is DON‘T DO IT.”
When the ride finally touched down, my friend and I couldn’t get out of there fast enough. As soon as we were out of earshot, my friend turned to me and said, “Well, I guess you told them.” Then she winked at me.
We both started to laugh. I had probably looked pretty silly, but I got my point across, and I felt good about that.
On that ride, I didn’t have the presence of mind to think about what I was doing. My actions that day were a direct and automatic result of what I had decided long before—to mind my parents and, more importantly, to mind my Father in Heaven. My commitment as a young Primary girl to stand up for what I knew was right had come to my rescue that day, several years later, high above the ground.

Another unusual experience happened many years ago. My wife was the ward president of the YWMIA in the Valley View Sixth Ward, and I served as the stake mission president. On the 24th of July at 5:30 A.M. the experience took place. Our bedroom window was at ground level, and as usual it was open through the night. My side of the bed was near the open window. All of a sudden there was the terrible blast of a bugle playing “Reveille” through the window. I jumped out of bed and stood at attention. When the bugle finished playing, one of the girls who was part of the group outside the window said, “We would now like to have an opening prayer,” so I stood there, and bowed my head, and an opening prayer was given. Then we sang an opening hymn, and the person conducting said, “We would be pleased now to have two talks about our pioneer forefathers. They will be delivered by __________ and __________,” two of the girls in the ward. At the close of the talks she said, “We’ll now have a closing hymn,” and so I sang the hymn along with them, and then we had a closing prayer and they left. I looked over at my wife who had stayed in bed and who had listened to this entire presentation. She had a big smile on her face and had enjoyed every minute of it. I said to her, “What did we just go through?” to which she replied, “We have just had a special sunrise service in commemoration of the 24th of July.” I climbed back in bed and thought about this great woman by my side who felt highly honored, who understood, and had such a love for the young women in our ward.

I was not a member of the Church as a child. It wasn’t until I was an adult and a businessman that I was baptized.
My father was also a businessman. He was very worried when I joined the Church. He said, “You don’t drink alcohol anymore. That will be hard in meetings where everyone is drinking together.”
But I wasn’t worried. I decided that when someone offered me alcohol, I would say, “No, thank you.” Then I would order something else.
Years went by, and I did this many times. After a while, my coworkers noticed. If I was offered alcohol, they said, “Mathias doesn’t drink. Bring him something else.” More and more of them stopped ordering alcohol too. “I don’t want any either,” they said.
Once, some visitors came to a meeting. They were the only ones drinking alcohol.
They asked me, “Why isn’t anyone drinking alcohol? Are they all members of your church?”
“No,” I said.
I didn’t preach to my coworkers about the Word of Wisdom. I was just firm in my beliefs, and they noticed my example.