Gospel Story Finder

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

Kristina sat on the milk stool in front of the fireplace, warming her hands.
“Remember, tonight is the night for our family hour,” Mama Brigham said as she stirred the stew in the big black kettle.
“Do we have to have it?” Kristina asked.
“Kristina Margaret Brigham!” Mama exclaimed. “You know what President Young has told us about having our family hour!”
“But with all of the little kids, it isn’t much fun,” Kristina complained.
Kristina, twelve, was the oldest of six girls, and it seemed to her that Papa always prepared the evening for the younger ones. It’s always the same old thing, Kristina thought as she got the plates out of the pie safe.
After dinner Kristina sat obediently in the big rocker. Lucky Carolyn, she thought, her father doesn’t make them have family hour!
“Tonight,” Papa began, “we’re going to talk about the Indians.”
Kristina sat back in the chair, trying to hide her boredom.
Father continued, “You know President Young has told us to share with the Indians. The missionaries have been teaching them our ways, but to show that we want to be their friends, we should also learn some of their ways. Tonight we’re going to learn some of their sign language.”
Kristina only half listened as Papa showed them the signs and explained what they meant. She wished President Young hadn’t told families to have an hour each week where important things could be discussed and everyone could grow and learn together. Kristina didn’t think Indian language was something she needed to know. The Indians came to Dover only when they were hungry or when there had been trouble. They hadn’t been near for over a year. And there were so many other things she’d like to be doing.
That night as Kristina was getting ready for bed, Mama stopped her. “Kristina,” she said, “remember, tomorrow is the day I want you to take the bread, butter, and cheese to Sister Adams. She is still sick.”
“I remember,” Kristina smiled. “I’m even glad. I wanted to go riding tomorrow anyway. I asked Carolyn to go with me.”
“It’s a long trip. I wish your father could go, but he’s too busy this time of year. Thank you for going.”
The next morning Kristina got up with the sun, as usual. The small room was cold, so she quickly threw on her clothes and ran downstairs to warm herself by the big fireplace.
“Your papa keeps promising a stove,” Mama said, as she stirred the mush in the big kettle. “I hope it comes soon.”
“It will, Mama,” Kristina said, as she kissed her mother on the cheek and started to set the table.
Kristina rode alone for nearly a mile on a narrow dirt path before she reached the Larson cabin, where she stopped for Carolyn.
It was a ten-mile ride through sagebrush-covered hills to the Adams’ cabin. The girls laughed, sang, and played games. Before they knew it, they saw Brother Adams chopping wood in front of his cabin.
They found Sister Adams sitting up in bed. “Well, hello!” she welcomed them. “It’s so good to see you.
“Stay for lunch,” Sister Adams insisted. “You’re the only visitors I’ve had since I took sick, and you must keep me company.”
“Well, only if you let us cook,” Kristina said.
Soon the girls had the fire going, and the sweet smell of beef stew filled the cabin. Brother and Sister Adams were so much fun that Kristina and Carolyn forgot all about the time.
Kristina was surprised to see the sun setting as she threw the dishwater out the door.
“We were enjoying you girls so much that I forgot to pay attention to the time,” Brother Adams said. “It’s so late, maybe I’d better ride back with you.”
“We know the way,” Kristina said. “We’ll be fine.”
Brother Adams glanced at his wife, and she nodded her head. Then he explained, “The people south of here have been having Indian trouble. I think I’d better go with you.”
“We’re going north,” Kristina answered, “and we’ll be just fine.”
Brother Adams still hesitated, but finally he let the girls go alone. They rode as fast as they could while there was still some daylight, but when darkness came, they had to slow down. “I can’t even see the path!” Carolyn admitted.
“I know where we are. Don’t worry,” Kristina said. “See that light way over there. That’s home.”
“Good!” Carolyn answered as she urged her horse into a trot.
The girls rode a little further and then came to a stream. “We didn’t cross a stream this morning,” Carolyn exclaimed.
“We are just going a different way,” Kristina explained. “What else could that light be?”
Soon they were close enough to see that what they had thought was a light of home turned out to be a campfire. No one was near so the girls looked around. Suddenly five Indians jumped from behind some bushes. Carolyn screamed as two of the Indians grabbed her.
Kristina kept outwardly clam, remembering Papa’s words, “They are our friends.” Her throat was dry and her hands and knees were shaking. Then she remembered something Papa had said at family hour. With shaking hands she carefully motioned to them in sign language, “I am your friend.”
The tall Indian said something to the others. The only word Kristina understood was Mormon. They put Carolyn down, and the tall one made the sign that said “friend.” Kristina nodded her head.
“Go!” he said in English. Kristina could not remember anything else from the family hour. Oh, I wish I had listened last night, she thought. All she could think to do was shrug her shoulders and nod her head, but somehow the Indians seemed to know what she meant.
The tall Indian got on his horse and signaled for the girls to follow him.
“Where is he taking us?” Carolyn’s voice shook.
“I don’t know. But they’re our friends,” Kristina said. “Let’s just follow him.”
Finally they reached the top of a hill. At the bottom the girls could see a cluster of cabins. The Indians stopped and pointed.
“Oh, thank you!” Kristina said. She could feel the tears starting down her cheeks as she spurred her horse on. Carolyn’s parents were waiting at the Brigham cabin with Kristina’s family.
“Oh, Kristina,” Mama Brigham cried as she hugged her daughter. “I’m so glad you’re home!”
Quickly the girls told their story. Father Brigham smiled. “We’ve always treated the Indians fairly. They know we wouldn’t burn their village. We’re friends, so they helped you.”
“How did they know we’re Mormons?” Carolyn asked.
“We’ve reached out to them as friends in many ways, one of which is by learning some of their language,” Papa answered. “That’s why we talked about it last night at our family hour.”
“You know,” Brother Larson said, “I haven’t been having my family hour, but we’re going to start it this very night.”

Shortly after we married, my husband and I moved to a faraway town in eastern Bolivia where we were the only members of the Church. My husband was a new convert, and we wanted to comply with all the commandments of the Lord.
Every month we would save our tithing in an envelope until we could deliver it to our bishop. My husband had a strong conviction that if we complied with this law, we would be blessed and protected.
We lived in a hot, expensive, uncomfortable hotel room while we looked for a home to rent. For many days our search proved fruitless. The only house we could find was a small, pretty one whose owner lived in another city. Many outsiders had tried to rent the home, but they could never find the owner.
One morning just as we had finished praying about our situation, a young man knocked on our door. He told us that the owner of the home had returned for a short visit. My husband rushed out to meet with her while I continued praying that we might get the house. When he returned, he reported that the lady had rented the house to us at an incredibly low price. What added to our joy was that the home was already furnished. At the time, all we had was two large boxes and a suitcase full of our things.
The law of tithing does not have to do with money but rather with faith. My husband wasn’t earning much, but as we faithfully paid our tithing, the Lord blessed us to find a good home and enabled us to provide for ourselves.

When Tommy, Betsy, and their parents left Nauvoo, they had enough food to last for one year. They hoped this would be enough food to sustain them until they reached the valley out west and could plant and harvest their own crops. But now they were still at Winter Quarters, and they would be there until next spring.
Tommy’s mother had invited Elija and his sister Eliza, whose mother had recently died, to live with her and with Tommy and Betsy while the men were away with the battalion. Their food supply was nearly gone.
Tommy talked to Elija about this several times. “If we only had the money, we could go to St. Joseph and get what we need,” Tommy told Elija. “St. Joseph is only fifty miles away. We could take our wagons and be back in less than two weeks. I wish we knew where we could get some money!”
One day Tommy was surprised to see Parley P. Pratt ride into camp. Three weeks before, Brother Pratt, John Taylor, and Orson Hyde had left Winter Quarters for missions to England. Why is he riding back into camp alone, Tommy wondered.
Brother Pratt rode straight to the cabin where William Clayton, the clerk of the camp, had his office. Tommy watched him go inside and then waited by the door.
In a few minutes Brother Clayton called to Tommy. “Here is a letter for your mother and one for Elija. Tell your mother that Brother Pratt has returned to our camp with money from the men of the Mormon Battalion. He met the men in Fort Leavenworth and volunteered to return to Winter Quarters with the money before going on to England.”
When Tommy reached the cabin, he called for everyone to come outside. “Here is a letter for you from your father, Elija,” Tommy said. “And here is one for you, Mother.”
Tommy and Betsy listened quietly as their mother read the letter to them. “Hooray!” shouted Tommy when she came to the part that said there would be money in the clerk’s office for them to use for food.
“My father says there is money there from him for you to use too,” said Elija. “And if there is enough money left over after buying food, maybe Eliza and I can have new shoes.”
Tommy’s mother thought of the cold winter days ahead. “There will be enough left over,” she said decisively. And Tommy knew that whatever else they bought, they would buy shoes for Eliza and Elija. His mother put her arms around their shoulders and said, “It’s good to know that your father is still taking care of you even though he is far away.”

We so often read about the widow who placed into the treasury her mite (see Mark 12:41–42), I suppose bitterly embarrassed as she did it for fear that it was such a little bit to be given. Well, I saw a widow come before the bishop at tithing settlement and say, “That is my full tithing, $55.00.” Her income then would have been $550. When you subtract the $55, you’re down to $495. With a sweet, humble attitude she said, “That’s all there was, bishop, but it is a full tithing.” And we talk about poverty at the $4,500 level and now $7,500! I’m not certain we understand. There are those who have poverty of the soul, those who have poverty of the spirit—and then there are those who are rich with the spirit, as this sweet sister.

Watch out for Apii’s feet!
With one well-placed kick, she could knock you over.

But Apii’s feet are only dangerous when she’s competing. In everyday life, Tereapii Rota, 16, of Tokorua, New Zealand, is a bright girl who serves her school as the representative to the board of trustees. But in her free time, she and her brother are trained by their father in the fine art of defense. She is so good at it that she won the junior women’s national championship in Tae Kwon Do. She was surprised by her success since it was the first time she had seriously competed.

Apii is the oldest of six children, and she and her ten-year-old brother are the most serious about training with their father. They belong to a sports club, but Apii often trains with the boys because there aren’t many women good enough to challenge her.
Although Apii is good at a rather unusual sport, her best friends are the other Laurels in her ward. “The four of us Laurels are very close. We do everything together. It’s good to have great friends,” says Apii. “We have heaps of laughs. We don’t see everything as real serious.”
Laughing a little at life has made it easier for Apii and her friends to resist the temptations that come to 16-year-olds. “I suppose the hardest thing about being 16,” says Apii, “is saying no to other people. Someone asks you to a birthday party or on a trip. Mom and Dad know what’s likely to happen. So you just have to say no. Then these people try to talk you into it. You still have to say no.” But Apii and her friends have so much fun without doing anything against the standards of the Church that it is easier for them to resist being talked into going to parties they know they shouldn’t go to.
The fact that Apii is alive is part of the reason her family joined the Church. When she was eight, she was desperately ill with asthma. Missionaries gave her a blessing, and she was healed literally moments later. “I was really weak,” says Apii. “I hadn’t been able to eat or drink. As soon as the missionaries said amen I was all right. I opened my eyes and asked for something to drink. Everybody sort of laughed they were so relieved.”
Apii has plans to go to university and study business.
In the meantime, watch out for Apii’s flying feet.

I started attending my new senior school last September. In a school of over a thousand students, I was the only Latter-day Saint. In my religion class of 30 people, only I and one other girl attend church of any kind. On my first day of class, my religion teacher, Mrs. Johnson*, asked us to name the holy books that are used in different religions. I said the Book of Mormon, and at first she wasn’t sure which church used it. I explained that I was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. She asked me to choose my favorite scripture for the following week and also tell the class about my church.
The following week I read Moroni 10:4, which was the first scripture the missionaries shared with me and my mom. I told the class about the First Vision and how Joseph Smith received and later translated the gold plates. I was really nervous because my friends think that you are a geek if you go to church. I was afraid that they would make fun of me. But when I started speaking, the Spirit was with me, and everybody listened with interest. Afterward, they asked questions.
Since then, Mrs. Johnson has started reading the Book of Mormon and the Ensign, although she hasn’t yet come to church. Also, in every religion lesson we talk about my beliefs. And some of my friends are planning to come to church activities.
My prayer is that one day I will be just one of many Latter-day Saints at my school. Everyone deserves an opportunity to learn about Jesus Christ and His Church and return to live with Heavenly Father. If we keep the gospel to ourselves, we are being selfish. We should share it with everyone, no matter who they are. That is what Jesus Christ wants us to do, and I am trying to be like Him.

When reverses come we need the Church and the gospel all the more. I’m satisfied that it’s possible for a man or woman who has a testimony of the divinity of this work to meet any possible reverses and still keep his spirit sweet and his faith strong. I saw members of this church in Europe right after World War II, the worst war so far as we know in the history of modern nations, when nations were fallen economically. I saw members of this church, some of them the only remaining members of once happy and prosperous families—with their homes destroyed and every member of the family killed in the war—and they stood alone as the one remaining person. I saw them and I heard them as they stood on their feet and bore testimony to the divinity of this work and thanked God for his blessings—the blessings of the eternity of the marriage covenant, the conviction that the family continues beyond the veil, that there is life after death, that there will be a happy reunion for those who live worthy.

A few years ago Elder Marion D. Hanks, now an emeritus General Authority, recounted an incident that happened to a man who repented and changed his life overnight:
“He had taken his son to the home of a family who was providing a place for him to stay while he participated in a baseball tournament. The young man seemed reluctant to go with his father to the home of his benefactor, and the father began to wonder if the people had mistreated his son. The boy half cowered behind his father as they knocked on the door. Once they were inside, however, his son was warmly greeted by the host family, and it was obvious he loved them very much.
“Later after picking up his son, the puzzled father asked him to explain his strange behavior. … His son’s answer [was]:
“‘I was afraid you might forget and swear at their house, Dad. They don’t swear in their house; they are really nice people. They talk nice to each other and laugh a lot, and they pray every time they eat and every morning and night, and they let me pray with them.’
“Said the father, ‘It wasn’t so much that the boy was ashamed of his dad; he loved me so much that he didn’t want me to look bad.’
“This father, having resisted a generation of earnest people who had tried to help him find a better way of life, had been touched by the sweet spirit of his own young son.”
The power to change became so strong that this father not only returned to Church activity but became a stake leader.

Note: Mary’s 10-year-old son, Joseph Fielding, who drove a team to the Valley as well as any man, later became the sixth President of the Church.
After two difficult years at Winter Quarters, Nebraska, Mary Fielding Smith was anxious to follow the Saints west with her family. Besides the children of her martyred husband, Hyrum, Mary’s household included several others for whom she felt responsible. By the spring of 1848 Mary had managed to acquire seven dilapidated wagons, pulled by mismatched teams of calves and young steers yoked together with a few oxen. Urged on by her faith and determination, the caravan hurried to catch up with the other emigrants, three days away at Elk Horn.
At Elk Horn the man in charge said … “You will be a burden on the company the whole way, and I will have to carry you along or leave you!”
Not knowing Mary’s faith, the man was surprised and resentful at her answer, “I will beat you to the valley and will ask no help from you either.”
Midway between the Platte and Sweetwater Rivers, one of the Smith’s plodding oxen lay down in the yoke as though it had been poisoned. “I told you that you would have to be helped and that you would be a burden.”
But Mary calmly asked her brother and a neighbor to administer to the ox.
Within a few moments, the animal was up and pulling his load. Two other times the Smith’s animals were administered to and healed.
It was a difficult journey under the hot blistering sun …
But eventually the company struggled to the top of East Mountain. “Look Mother, there it is!”
That night the company camped at the base of Little Mountain.
When the order was given to roll in the morning, the Smiths met with still another disappointment—most of their teams had strayed away. The supervisor, anxious that Mary’s promise not come true, ordered the company to leave anyway.
“Forward, Ho!”
Although it was a beautiful, sunny September day, a dark thundercloud formed over the final hill the company was ascending before entering the valley.
Suddenly a violent storm broke! The teams became unmanageable and the supervisor ordered them to be unhitched. Frightened, the untethered animals escaped.
Meanwhile, the Smiths’ strays were rounded up and hitched to their wagons and the storm had quieted down. When Mary’s brother Joseph asked if they should wait for the company to reassemble, she replied with well-earned independence: “They have not waited for us, and I see no necessity for us to wait for them.”
True to her promise, Mary Fielding Smith reached the valley ahead of the company and without any help from them. She had placed her faith in the Lord, and had overcome every obstacle.
Note: Mary’s 10-year-old son, Joseph Fielding, who drove a team to the valley as well as any man, later became the sixth President of the Church.

“I love to write about the things I love. One night I wrote about my horse, Missy. I had been having a hard time keeping her in the pen. The dogs were barking, so I went out to check on Missy, and she was out. It was a beautiful night with lots of stars. I could see her clearly, and she stood quietly while I put the halter on. I started to cry, I was so disappointed. It was like I was seeing how my parents feel when I disobey. I just hurt inside because I don’t like to tie her up. I explained that to her, and I felt she understood me and was sad that she had disobeyed. I forgave her and told her how much I love her. I know that my Father in Heaven loves and cares about me and how I feel. I am grateful to have Missy to help me learn the things I need to learn in life. I am grateful Heavenly Father has given me the family that he has and am grateful for each one of them and all they have done for me.”
Camille KenisonNephi Utah Stake

Aren’t we all a little bit like this? After a recent medical procedure, my very capable doctors explained what I needed to do to heal properly. But first I had to relearn something about myself I should have known for a long time: as a patient, I’m not very patient.

Consequently I decided to expedite the healing process by undertaking my own Internet search. I suppose I expected to discover truth of which my doctors were unaware or had tried to keep from me.

It took me a little while before I realized the irony of what I was doing. Of course, researching things for ourselves is not a bad idea. But I was disregarding truth I could rely on and instead found myself being drawn to the often outlandish claims of Internet lore.

Sometimes the truth may just seem too straightforward, too plain, and too simple for us to fully appreciate its great value. So we set aside what we have experienced and know to be true in pursuit of more mysterious or complicated information. Hopefully we will learn that when we chase after shadows, we are pursuing matters that have little substance and value.

When it comes to spiritual truth, how can we know that we are on the right path?

One way is by asking the right questions—the kind that help us ponder our progress and evaluate how things are working for us. Questions like:

“Does my life have meaning?”
“Do I believe in God?”
“Do I believe that God knows and loves me?”
“Do I believe that God hears and answers my prayers?”
“Am I truly happy?”
“Are my efforts leading me to the highest spiritual goals and values in life?”

Profound questions regarding the purpose of life have led many individuals and families throughout the world to search for truth. Often that search has led them to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and to the restored gospel.

I wonder if we as Church members might also benefit from asking ourselves from time to time: “Is my experience in the Church working for me? Is it bringing me closer to Christ? Is it blessing me and my family with peace and joy as promised in the gospel?”

Alma posed similar questions to Church members in Zarahemla when he asked: “Have ye experienced this mighty change in your hearts? … [And] can [you] feel [it] now?” Such contemplation may help us to refocus or realign our daily efforts with the divine plan of salvation.

Many members will answer with great warmth that their experience as a member of the Church is working exceptionally well for them. They will testify that whether during times of poverty or prosperity, whether things are pleasant or painful, they find great meaning, peace, and joy because of their commitment to the Lord and their dedicated service in the Church. Every day I meet Church members who are filled with a radiant joy and who demonstrate in word and deed that their lives are immeasurably enriched by the restored gospel of Jesus Christ.

But I also recognize that there are some who have a less-than-fulfilling experience—who feel that their membership in the Church sometimes isn’t quite what they had hoped for.

This saddens me because I know firsthand how the gospel can invigorate and renew one’s spirit—how it can fill our hearts with hope and our minds with light. I know for myself how the fruits of the gospel of Jesus Christ can transform lives from the ordinary and dreary to the extraordinary and sublime.

But why does it seem to work better for some than for others? What is the difference between those whose experience in the Church fills their souls with songs of redeeming love and those who feel that something is lacking?

As I have pondered these questions, a flood of thoughts came to mind. Today I’d like to share two.

First: are we making our discipleship too complicated?

This beautiful gospel is so simple a child can grasp it, yet so profound and complex that it will take a lifetime—even an eternity—of study and discovery to fully understand it.

But sometimes we take the beautiful lily of God’s truth and gild it with layer upon layer of man-made good ideas, programs, and expectations. Each one, by itself, might be helpful and appropriate for a certain time and circumstance, but when they are laid on top of each other, they can create a mountain of sediment that becomes so thick and heavy that we risk losing sight of that precious flower we once loved so dearly.

Therefore, as leaders we must strictly protect the Church and the gospel in its purity and plainness and avoid putting unnecessary burdens on our members.

And all of us, as members of the Church, we need to make a conscientious effort to devote our energy and time to the things that truly matter, while uplifting our fellowmen and building the kingdom of God.

One sister, a Relief Society instructor, was known for preparing flawless lessons. One time she decided to create a beautiful quilt that would serve as the perfect backdrop to the theme of her lesson. But life intervened—there were children to pick up from school, a neighbor who needed help moving, a husband who had a fever, and a friend who felt lonely. The day of the lesson approached, and the quilt was not completed. Finally, the night before her lesson, she did not sleep much as she worked all night on the quilt.

The next day she was exhausted and barely able to organize her thoughts, but she bravely stood and delivered her lesson.

And the quilt was stunning—the stitches were perfect, the colors vibrant, and the design intricate. And at the center of it all was a single word that triumphantly echoed the theme of her lesson: “Simplify.”

Brothers and sisters, living the gospel doesn’t need to be complicated.

It is really straightforward. It could be described like this:

Hearing the word of God with earnest intent leads us to believe in God and to trust His promises.
The more we trust God, the more our hearts are filled with love for Him and for each other.
Because of our love for God, we desire to follow Him and bring our actions in alignment with His word.
Because we love God, we want to serve Him; we want to bless the lives of others and help the poor and the needy.
The more we walk in this path of discipleship, the more we desire to learn the word of God.
And so it goes, each step leading to the next and filling us with ever-increasing faith, hope, and charity.

It is beautifully simple, and it works beautifully.

Brothers and sisters, if you ever think that the gospel isn’t working so well for you, I invite you to step back, look at your life from a higher plane, and simplify your approach to discipleship. Focus on the basic doctrines, principles, and applications of the gospel. I promise that God will guide and bless you on your path to a fulfilling life, and the gospel will definitely work better for you.

My second suggestion is: start where you are.

Sometimes we feel discouraged because we are not “more” of something—more spiritual, respected, intelligent, healthy, rich, friendly, or capable. Naturally, there is nothing wrong with wanting to improve. God created us to grow and progress. But remember, our weaknesses can help us to be humble and turn us to Christ, who will “make weak things become strong.” Satan, on the other hand, uses our weaknesses to the point that we are discouraged from even trying.

I learned in my life that we don’t need to be “more” of anything to start to become the person God intended us to become.

God will take you as you are at this very moment and begin to work with you. All you need is a willing heart, a desire to believe, and trust in the Lord.

Gideon saw himself as a poor farmer, the least of his father’s house. But God saw him as a mighty man of valor.

When Samuel chose Saul to be king, Saul tried to talk him out of it. Saul was from one of the smallest tribes of the house of Israel. How could he be king? But God saw him as “a choice young man.”

Even the great prophet Moses felt so overwhelmed and discouraged at one point that he wanted to give up and die. But God did not give up on Moses.

My dear brothers and sisters, if we look at ourselves only through our mortal eyes, we may not see ourselves as good enough. But our Heavenly Father sees us as who we truly are and who we can become. He sees us as His sons and daughters, as beings of eternal light with everlasting potential and with a divine destiny.

The Savior’s sacrifice opened the door of salvation for all to return to God. His “grace is sufficient for all [who] humble themselves before [God].” His grace is the enabling power that allows access into God’s kingdoms of salvation. Because of His grace, we will all be resurrected and saved in a kingdom of glory.

Even the lowest kingdom of glory, the telestial kingdom, “surpasses all understanding,” and numberless people will inherit this salvation.

But the Savior’s grace can do much more for us. As members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, we aspire to something unimaginably greater. It is exaltation in the celestial kingdom. It is life eternal in the presence of our Father in Heaven. It is the greatest gift of God. In the celestial kingdom, we receive “of his fulness, and of his glory.” Indeed, all that the Father hath shall be given unto us.

Exaltation is our goal; discipleship is our journey.

As you exercise a little faith and begin your walk as a peaceable follower of our Lord Jesus Christ, your heart will change. Your whole being will be filled with light.

God will help you become something greater than you ever thought possible. And you will discover that the gospel of Jesus Christ is indeed working in your life. It works.

Brothers and sisters, dear friends, I pray that we will focus on “the simplicity that is in Christ” and allow His grace to lift and carry us during our journey from where we are now to our glorious destiny in our Father’s presence.

As we do so and someone asks us, “How is being a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints working for you?” we will be able to say with pride, in all humility, and with great joy, “It works wonderfully! Thank you for asking! Would you like to know more?”

This is my hope, my prayer, my testimony, and my blessing in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

I was down in a husbands-and-wives meeting in Provo years ago when a lovely sister bore her testimony as to the joy that had come into her home since her husband had become active in the Church. She told about going through the temple with her husband. She told how he had been inactive, how he had smoked and hadn’t been advanced in the priesthood, and how someone took hold of him and finally helped him to become worthy and ready to receive the priesthood; and the bishop had finally given him a recommend to go to the temple. After she had described that wonderful evening, she said, “Here, five little girls came in to be sealed to their father and mother. This man of God pronounced us a family for the eternities.” And as she finished this story and bore her testimony, she looked over the pulpit and down in front of her where her husband was seated. She seemed to forget for that moment that there was anybody there but just the two of them, and she said to him, “Daddy, I can’t tell you how happy the girls now are and how grateful we are for what you have done for us, because, you see, Daddy, except for you who holds the priesthood, neither the children nor I could be together as a family in the hereafter. Thank God for our daddy who holds the key and unlocks the door to an eternal family home.”

But then my husband passed away. Besides dealing with grief, I was pregnant and worried about how I would provide for my children. Yet I knew the Lord would continue to help me.
One of the ways He helped was to comfort me. While in the temple, I came to know that my husband was fine, that there was a reason he had to leave the earth, and that he would be helping us from the other side of the veil. I also felt strongly that I needed to return to the temple soon. I wanted very much to return in three months, but I knew that finding both time and money to return would be difficult. I attend the Bern Switzerland Temple, which is a long way from my home in Italy.
As I was walking out of the hostel near the temple, a member of the Church stopped me. He handed me an envelope and said, “This is for you.”
I opened the envelope and found money inside. “I can’t take this,” I said.
“Please take it,” he told me. “While I was in the temple, I felt the Spirit prompting me to give this to you.”
When I counted the money, I found that it was what I needed to cover the cost of driving from Italy to the temple and back. Three months later I returned to the temple.

Bert was left fielder on the Cubs Little League team. But most of the time he just sat on the bench. So when he did get a chance, he knew he had to do his very best—he had to be a winner.
One day during a game their left fielder kept dropping the ball. Suddenly the coach hollered, “Bert, get out there. I’m taking Fellini out of the game.”
“Does he mean me?” Bert asked in surprise. He clutched his mitt, thrilled and half scared.
“Sure, sure,” answered a teammate, poking Bert to make him move. “Hurry!”
Bert sprang up from the bench. “OK, coach!” He hustled out to the field. The coach wants me in now, he puzzled, with a Sox player on first and the score tied?
Bert ran toward the third baseman, a boy named Harvey.
“Be ready,” Harvey said. “They’ve got some big hitters coming up.”
“You bet,” Bert declared, punching his mitt hard with his fist. He’d show them. He just had to do a good job. And if he could, it would be the greatest feeling in the whole world. Suddenly he felt confident about his playing. All week he’d been practicing snagging flies and scooping up ground balls. He remembered what their coach always said—“Play to win: that’s what counts.”
The coach motioned to Bert to go farther back. A strong hitter must be coming up, the boy decided.
The Giant player, number eleven, came up to bat—a big guy. The pitcher wound up and zinged one over the plate. Number eleven swung … and missed. But there was plenty of power there. If he connects with the ball, it’ll really go, Bert thought. His hands felt hot and slippery. The batter swung again. What luck! Strike two. Then there was a foul ball. But what a crack of the bat! The ball went so far over the fence they had to send two kids out to hunt for it.
The batter took his time now. He rubbed his hands and hiked up his pants. Bert shivered in his shoes.
Suddenly the batter swung again, and snap went the bat. He had hit the ball, and it was coming like a bullet … straight toward left field. It was coming right toward Bert now, high and fast. Bert leaped in the air, reaching. It was like trying to catch a bird out of the sky. Then he fell over backward, rolling and rolling.
“Oh no!” Bert cried, his face full of dust. But he got back on his knees, and his hands were still clamped together. Everyone was shouting. He stood up. He held out his mitt and there was the ball cradled in it. Am I lucky! he thought excitedly. What a miracle. It could have been a homer—should have been, really.
Harvey ran over and pounded him on the back. “Great catch, Bert. He almost had a homer!”
“Yeah,” Bert said with a grin. “It was a lucky catch, wasn’t it?”
“Way to go, Bert!” the coach called, smiling.
Boy! Being a winner’s the greatest, Bert thought.
But just then Bert saw the batter walking back toward his team. He was all slouched over, and his cap was pulled down low over his face. He gave a quick rub to his eyes. And Bert realized that even winning isn’t one hundred percent perfect … for everyone.

When I returned from the mission, Arthur was president of the Santa Barbara Stake created in my absence. When I was drafted by the United States Army, he suggested strongly that I should now serve my country, although I had been accepted for graduate work and could have obtained another deferment. I did as he suggested, and the army promptly sent me to Korea. There, instead of fighting in war, I had additional spiritual experiences. Today, at 90, Arthur remains my dear and close friend. In a coming day he will depart for a better world, but he will always be my friend, my teacher, and my example.

Susa Young Gates, one of Brigham Young’s daughters, also understood that family history was important. She had been ill and very near death. But a priesthood blessing had miraculously cured her, and she was given this promise: "There has been a council in heaven, and it has been decided you shall live to perform temple work, and you shall do a greater work than you have ever done before."* Once she recovered, she devoted much of her time to helping people find their ancestors. She started genealogy classes, encouraged Saints throughout Utah and Canada to do research, and compiled a book on genealogy.

I still remember my first cross-country skiing trip with my family. My parents, siblings, and I piled the ski equipment into our station wagon and traveled to a local mountain where we would spend the day. When we arrived at the site, I realized that in the hustle of packing I had left one of my skis at home. Worse yet, I’d forgotten my ski poles altogether.
Going home to retrieve the forgotten equipment was simply not feasible. My father, ever pragmatic, told me I’d just have to do my best. Fortunately, my older sister took pity on me and lent me one of her poles.
Having never been skiing, I didn’t think that having only one ski would be a big deal. I was more excited than disappointed—after all, I was finally old enough to participate in my family’s favorite shared activity!
One by one, my siblings put on their gear and headed toward a meadow with a small hill that was fun to ski down. But I couldn’t move an inch! The foot without a ski sank deep into the snow. The foot with the ski was also stuck because the snow clung to the old-fashioned wooden ski, making it extra heavy.
Why wasn’t this coming more easily? The harder I tried, the more stuck I became and the more frustrated I grew. My struggle became more devastating as I saw my father and brothers in the distance. They had reached the meadow and appeared to be having a great time climbing up and skiing down the hill.
Dad came back a few times to check on me, always offering some encouraging words. “Keep going! You’re getting it.” But I wasn’t getting it. In fact, the end of that day came before I ever made it to the meadow. My first ski trip was a huge disappointment.

Such was the situation of Hollis and Gwen Kersey, who sold their home, bought a little farm, fixed up the house to be warm and comfortable, cleared the land, and planted a garden. “We settled down to be retired,” they said.

They were Baptists and had no thought of changing religions this late in life. But missionaries and a neighbor family touched their lives, and they were baptized. On their fortieth wedding anniversary they were sealed in the Atlanta Temple. They were soon called as stake missionaries and later called to serve a full-time mission.

As they arrived at the Missionary Training Center, the Kerseys remarked:
“We gave away the chickens, turkeys, rabbits, took the pony and two dogs … [to our] son, … emptied the freezers and gave away the cats, … boarded up the windows, nailed up the sheds, had everything turned off, went and kissed our ten grandchildren good-bye, and here we are!”

What a marvelous attitude!

“Whom are you going to invite to your birthday party tomorrow?” Mom asked as I looked at the purple alligator piñata she was making for me.
Mom always made a piñata for our birthdays. She had made cowboys, horses, elephants, and pirates and stuffed them full of candy and surprises. We would invite our friends over, hang the piñata in our willow tree, and give everyone a chance to break it and grab some of the goodies inside.
“I’m going to invite everybody in the neighborhood.” I grinned as Mom glued big teeth and plastic eyes onto the alligator made of bright, fluffy tissue paper.
“Are you even going to invite Bobby Wilson?” my brother, David, asked. I frowned and stuffed my fists into my pockets. “I wouldn’t invite Bobby to anything. He’s a jerk.”
“Benjamin!” Mom said, turning around and glaring at me. “You know you don’t talk like that about your friends.”
“I wasn’t talking about my friends.” I turned and stomped out of the house. Every time I thought about Bobby, I got mad. He was the worst pest a guy could have. He lived across the street and two houses down in a yellow house that needed painting. The lawn in front was never mowed, and most of the time it had big patches of brown in it because nobody watered it.
Nobody liked Bobby. He wore ragged clothes and a baseball cap that looked like he’d dragged it from the trash. But the way he looked was only part of it. He was such a big mouth, bragging about all the things he had and all the things he could do.
“Mom’s going to make you invite Bobby to your birthday party,” David teased as he followed me out the front door and onto the lawn under the willow tree.
“I might have to take an invitation to his house,” I said defiantly, “but I’ll hide it in the bushes so he’ll never find it. When he doesn’t come, if Mom asks if I took him an invitation, I can tell her yes.”
We started to giggle, thinking of the good joke I’d play on Bobby.
“Hey, what are you two doing?” a voice called out.
David and I looked up. There stood Bobby, with his stupid baseball cap on his head.
“We’re not doing anything,” I said. “And we don’t plan to,” I added, hoping Bobby wouldn’t decide to stay.
Bobby strolled over and dropped down on the grass beside us. “I sure played a good game of baseball,” he announced smugly. “I hit about ten home runs.”
“Ah, come on,” David scoffed. “You never hit a home run in your life.”
“I did so—with the new bat my dad sent me.”
“You don’t have a new bat,” I argued.
Bobby jumped to his feet. “I do too.”
I laughed and shook my head. “Go get your new bat and show it to us, then.”
“Are you calling me a liar?”
“I figure that’s what you are.”
I wasn’t expecting what happened next. Bobby grabbed me in a headlock and was punching and scratching and kicking all at the same time. I rolled over and tried to break away from him, but he stayed right with me.
“What are you boys doing?” I heard Mom ask.
I jumped up, glared at Bobby, and ducked my head as I turned toward Mom. “We were just playing around.”
“Well, it didn’t look like either of you was having any fun. If that’s the way you’re going to play around, then maybe you’d better do it cleaning up the garage. That way you won’t get into trouble.”
The rest of the morning David and I stayed in the garage, cleaning up and grumbling about Bobby.
“I’m never talking to him again,” I told David as I swept the garage floor.
“Don’t let Mom hear you say that, or she’ll really make you invite Bobby to your piñata party.”
“I’ll just skip my birthday this year if I have to invite Bobby. And I’ll give my purple alligator away.”
“Hi, Benjamin. Hi, David,” someone shouted.
We looked up and saw Bobby coming up the driveway on his old, beat-up bike. David and I didn’t say anything. We just kept right on working.
“What are you guys doing?” Bobby asked, leaning his bike against the side of the house.
“We’d be out playing ball if somebody hadn’t showed up this morning and started a fight,” I muttered.
Bobby didn’t seem to know what I was talking about. He came into the garage and looked around. “You still want to play ball?” he asked.
I didn’t say anything, hoping he’d just go away.
“Guess what tomorrow is,” Bobby said excitedly.
David and I didn’t ask.
“It’s my birthday! I’ll be nine.”
“Your birthday?” David gasped. “You and Benjamin have the same birthday! His birthday is tomorrow, and he’ll be nine, too.”
“Be quiet!” I snapped at David.
“My dad’s going to send me a new bike. A ten-speed.”
“Why don’t you stop all your bragging,” I said. “You aren’t getting anything, and you know it. You don’t even know where your dad is. You’ve probably never even seen your dad, so stop telling us about all the great things he’s going to send you. He hasn’t sent you anything so far. And he never will.”
I figured then that Bobby was going to start swinging at me, so I threw my dustpan down and put my arms up defensively. But Bobby didn’t charge at me, swinging. He just stared at me for a minute. Then he swallowed once, ducked his head, and backed out of the garage. When he grabbed his bike and wobbled it down the driveway, he was crying.
I had wanted to hurt Bobby—after all, he was the one who had made Mom put us to work. But as I watched him ride away with his head bowed and his shoulders hunched, I felt sorry for him. It was the first time I’d ever felt sorry for Bobby Wilson.
David was staring at me as if he couldn’t believe that I’d said what I’d said.
“It serves him right,” I defended myself.
David turned away and started straightening some boxes.
I saw Bobby a couple of times that day in his yard, just sitting under an elm tree, staring at the ground. There was a cold, empty place inside me. I wanted to make it go away. I tried to think of lots of different things—fun things, exciting things—but no matter what I thought or did, that cold, empty place just stayed there.
That night, before David and I turned the lights off in our room, I lay on my bed, staring up at my piñata hanging in the corner. But I didn’t see the purple alligator. All I could see was Bobby Wilson.
“Are you boys going to keep the light on all night?” Dad asked, poking his head into our room. “You’d better get some sleep, Benjamin. You have a big day tomorrow.”
“Dad,” I said suddenly, “what makes Bobby Wilson the way he is?”
Dad thought for a moment, then came and sat on the edge of my bed. “Mom said that you had a little trouble with Bobby today,” he mentioned. “What was the problem?”
“Bobby’s the problem,” I muttered. “He’s always acting like a hotshot, bragging about all the things his dad is going to send him and about all the things he can do. Why does he act like that? It makes me want to punch him.”
Dad thought for a long time. “Bobby doesn’t have a lot of nice things. Maybe he’ll never have them. But he wants them, just the same. He’d like a new bike, but the only way he’ll ever have one is to dream about it—to hope that someday his dad, whom he never hears from, will send him the best bike in the world.”
“But he doesn’t even know where his dad is.”
“Have you ever wondered what it would be like if you didn’t have a dad or mom here all the time? Tonight Bobby’s probably climbing into bed by himself. There’s no one to go in and tell him good night and ask him if he has said his prayers. He wants those things as much as you do. But the only thing he can do is dream about them and maybe talk as if he has them.”
I lay in bed awake long after David had gone to sleep. It didn’t do any good to close my eyes, because I kept tossing and turning and thinking. It wasn’t until I looked over in the corner and saw the dark shape of my purple alligator that I knew what I was going to do the next day. After that, going to sleep was easy.
The next morning, I walked over to Bobby’s house. “Hello, Mrs. Wilson.” My voice trembled as I stood on Bobby’s front steps. Even though it was pretty late in the morning, Bobby’s mom was still in her robe and looked like she’d just got out of bed. “Is Bobby here?”
She stared at me a while and scratched her head. “I think he’s around in the backyard. You can go look. But don’t bang on the door anymore.”
I thanked her and walked around the house. Everything back there was kind of a mess. For a while ! didn’t see anyone. Then I spotted Bobby sitting on a crate with his dumb baseball cap on his head and a cracked baseball bat in front of him. I called to him so he wouldn’t think I’d come to spy on him.
Bobby looked up. “What’d you come around back here for?”
I shrugged. “Just stopped by to see how things were going. I thought I’d wish you a happy birthday. It is your birthday, isn’t it?”
“Sure, it’s my birthday. I was going to have a big party.” He stopped and bit his lip. “I still am. But probably later. Mom isn’t feeling too well. And Dad hasn’t sent my ten-speed yet.”
I hesitated, then blurted out, “Mom made me a piñata for my birthday. We’re going to break it this afternoon and have a big party.”
“I think I’ll ask my mom to make me a piñata, too, when she gets to feeling better.”
“She doesn’t have to do that. Why don’t you just share mine? There’s no sense in both our moms giving a party. If your mom’s not feeling well, you can just come over to my place, and we’ll have our birthdays together. In fact, you can be the very first one to take a crack at my purple alligator.”
“Do you mean it?”
I grinned. “Sure, I mean it. I’ve never had a double birthday party before. Come on. We can help Dad hang the piñata in the willow tree.”
Suddenly we were running together. And I noticed that the cold, empty feeling was finally gone.