Gospel Story Finder

Elder Oaks was born in Provo, Utah, 12 August 1932, and grew up a worker. He began working for pay only three or four years after his father died, to help his widowed mother. Dr. Lloyd Oaks’ death (of tuberculosis) left his young widow Stella with three children: Dallin, eight at the time, and the oldest; Merrill, now a Provo, Utah, ophthalmologist; and Evelyn, now Mrs. H. Ross Hammond, of Salt Lake City.
“I was blessed with an extraordinary mother,” Elder Oaks recalls. “She surely was one of the many noble women who have lived in the latter days.” He lauds her as a woman of “great faith,” a “very skilled parent,” and a woman possessed of great natural executive ability. Many outside the family would agree. Before her death in 1980, Stella Oaks was known as a force for good in Provo, in both Church and civic service.
“She gave me a great deal of responsibility and freedom. She encouraged me to have a job,” Elder Oaks explains. From the time he first worked for pay, “at eleven or twelve,” he has been continuously employed.
That first job was sweeping out a radio repair shop. He had to learn to test the radio tubes he found on the floor, to find out which were good, and that led to an interest in radio. He threw himself into study with characteristic intensity. Before he was sixteen, he had obtained a first-class radiotelephone license, which allowed him to operate a commercial radio station’s transmitter, and found a job in radio. Station managers liked to hire a “combination man”—an engineer who could double as an announcer—“but my voice hadn’t changed,” he recalls, laughing. Before long, however, that change took care of itself, and he was working regularly as an announcer.

At the sunrise of my life, I was raised as a faithful Catholic girl. I always knew of a certainty that there was a God, who loved me and that he was always with me, wherever I was. Then, in my senior year of high school, I met a young man, who on our first date asked me “what church do you belong to?” I thought that was a strange question, wasn’t everyone who was serious about church a Catholic? His reaction surprised me, when I told him that I was a Catholic. Then I asked him, “What church do you belong to?” He said that he is a Mormon. I have never heard of a Mormon or The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Days Saints, at least he knew what a Catholic was! No matter, he would become a Catholic before we got married, and so will the two young men that he sent to my house to teach me. Well, he is sitting right there and here I am.

I have prayed for guidance regarding a personal experience I might share with you, and again and again I have felt impressed to share with you the following. I pray you will hear the message that is intended.

A few years ago I was having some serious medical problems. I scheduled myself into a hospital for some routine presurgery testing. I’m not sure I even told Jeff I was going in for the tests. To begin, they injected an iodine dye into my vein prior to taking X-rays, and I had a severe allergic reaction. I went into anaphylactic shock. All my bodily functions stopped. Three doctors and two nurses worked frantically to revive me. At one point during this struggle I came to enough to hear one of the nurses read my pulse which was slower then my father-in-law’s had been when he went into a coma and died.

I knew I was dying, and I knew I needed someone with absolute faith. I called out for my husband and fell unconscious again.

It dawned on them that they should have called him anyway, but they simply had been preoccupied with my condition. A nurse ran to a phone to call him. All she said to him was, “We are doing all we can for your wife, and now she wants you.”

In less time than it takes to get to the hospital, he arrived and bolted into the emergency room rather than wait outside as someone had suggested. With his usual confidence (which I have silently watched develop as his relationship with the Lord has deepened), he sort of shoved three doctors and two nurses aside and announced, “I don’t know whether any of you are LDS, but I am going to give my wife a blessing.” Midway through that blessing I opened my eyes, saw his face, and thought I had never seen anything so beautiful. And I told him so. (Later he told me this was the only evidence he had found of any brain damage.)

I add my personal witness that prayer, including priesthood prayer, is the proof of our faith. And the proof is rewarded by the Holy Ghost (and holy power) which Nephi said “will show unto you all things what ye should do” (2 Nephi 32:5). There are miracles of faith, and we should have faith in the miraculous.

Rick Daniel was a hot item as a high school senior. Universities like Miami, Stanford, BYU, and Texas A&M wanted him to play football for them. It was an exciting time. He could seemingly play anywhere he wanted. Even though he was quickly approaching mission age, a mission was the last thing on his mind.
When Rick accepted A&M’s offer, his dad tracked down the address of the LDS Institute of Religion so Rick could find it when he got to school. But when Rick saw the institute schedule, he couldn’t fit a class in—or at least at the time he didn’t want to try to fit one in. So Brother Tom McMullin, the institute director, met with him one-on-one each week to study the Book of Mormon. “The spiritual growth I experienced from it was well worth my time,” Rick says. “I really matured spiritually.” By his sophomore year, he was ready to make time in his schedule for a regular institute class.
Rick didn’t quite know how much his testimony had grown until one day while he was sitting in institute class. “I had this overwhelming feeling that it was time to go on a mission,” he said. The knot in his stomach told him it wasn’t going to be that easy—he still had to tell his coach.
“I was so nervous,” Rick says. “I didn’t know what he would say.” So Rick carefully explained to his coach what a mission is and that he would like to go on one. Before Rick could even squirm, the coach said, “Will you come back?”
“That broke the tension right there,” Rick says. “I said, ‘Of course. I’d want to come right back here, and would ya’ll keep my scholarship?’ He said, ‘Sure, without a doubt.’ It was great. Since then everything has been falling into place.”
Rick is now serving in the California Anaheim Mission, the same city where he played against Stanford in the Pigskin Preview just last year.

Old Mom flapped her huge ears and swayed her long wrinkled trunk. The journey from Germany aboard the big ship had been long and tiring.
“Come on, old girl,” the men coaxed. Reaching their bull hooks gently behind her ears, they tugged her along the gangplank and pulled and prodded until she boarded the circus train to her new American home.
“I can’t believe that my friend Karl would send me such an imbecile!” the American circus owner wailed a few days later. “He told me that he was sending his prize queen! But she doesn’t know any tricks, and she doesn’t obey a single command.” Angrily he placed a call to Germany.
“It is not possible,” said the shocked Karl. “Old Mom is the smartest elephant in the world. Only because we are friends have I sent her to you.”
“Perhaps she is deaf,” suggested her new owner.
“Nein, nein (No, no)!” insisted Karl. “Every morning I would say to her, ‘Wie geht’s Mama (How are you, Mama)?’ or ‘Vas ist los (What’s up)?’ and she would greet me like a child.”
As soon as he hung up, the circus owner hurried over to Old Mom. “Wie geht’s, Mama. Vas ist los?“ he asked.
The huge beast immediately fell to her knees, trumpeting happily. She rose to her feet and shimmied her huge backside in a frenzied dance. Then she curled her trunk around the owner in an elephantine hug. In a strange land, among strange people, finally something was familiar!
“I should have known,” the owner said, chuckling. “A German elephant doesn’t understand English. We’ll find someone to translate for her for a while. Then we will teach her English.”

At a young age, I had many responsibilities on our farm. When I was nine years old, one of my summer jobs was to keep a herd of 12 cows and 12 calves in the pasture. Unfortunately, they loved to push over our fence and gorge on the sweet alfalfa in an adjoining field. On one of their escapes, they got into an empty canal some four to five meters deep. I knew the canal would soon fill with water, drowning the trapped cattle.

I couldn’t move 24 cattle up the canal’s steep banks, and I didn’t know how else to save them, so I knelt and prayed for help. I was impressed to drive the cattle down the canal to another man’s property. I questioned the wisdom of this, because I didn’t know the property or its owner and I didn’t want to get stuck between even steeper banks. I obeyed the Spirit, however, and soon found a section of the canal where the cattle could climb out easily. And our neighbor didn’t mind. When I told my mother, she said I had been inspired by Heavenly Father.

I remember a prisoner whom I talked to on one occasion. This prisoner was deeply embarrassed about being in prison. I talked to him about repentance; and, not knowing what he was there for, I said, “My good brother, are you in here for stealing?”
“Oh, no. My mother taught me not to steal. I wouldn’t steal anything from anybody. I am in here for forgery.” Well, rationalization can do some odd things to people.

Watermelon - Who likes watermelon? I love watermelon.
I had other goals that would require even more money and the help of the Lord. I wanted to marry Mahana, and I wanted to return to Tonga after the labor mission and then come back to school at CCH in Laie. The Lord provided a way for me to accomplish my goals because I did not have the means as a labor missionary.
In the summer of 1963 I went to an old Hawaiian man who grew watermelons next door to the labor missionaries, and asked him if he could help me plant some watermelons. He said yes. So I took a machine to a piece of land that used to be planted with sugar cane next to the PCC site. I cleared the land and prepared the ground and the man helped me plant the watermelon seeds there. That year there was a big flood in Laie and it washed away my watermelon field that had just started to grow. After the flooding cleared, I went back to the old man for help, I got the machine again and plowed the land and planted more watermelon. This time it grew nicely and bore a lot of melons. When the melon crop was ready, the old man told me to pick the melon and go and sell it at the village. I used a jeep that I used at work and loaded it with watermelon after work. I drove it to the village and sold it for 10 cents a pound.
By the end of the season I earned a little over $700 for selling watermelon on the side. So I took the money to the old man and told him this is the money I got from selling melon. He said, you keep the money and at the end of the picking for the field you grew, I will see if there is more money to give you. I said, “No” this is enough for me. I took some of the money and bought an engagement ring for my wife-to-be. I took her out on her birthday, October 19, 1963, this was during the week of the PCC dedication, and proposed to her and gave her the ring. With the remaining money I bought a return trip ticket from Tonga so I could return back to school. This was the reason why I wanted to plant the watermelon, so I could get money to buy my return ticket so I could come back to school at CCH. I went home after being released from my mission in December 1963. I gave the rest of the money to my mom and then returned to attend CCH in February 1964. We were married in June 1964 and have now been married 53 years.
These two stories, the $10 and the watermelon, show that with God, a penniless young man from Tonga can gather enough money to help do His will in sending his parents to the temple and finding eternal marriage.

Some ways to strengthen families are illustrated by the following example. I had an assignment in the Boise, Idaho, area. After training on Saturday afternoon, I stayed in the home of my niece and her family. That evening before the children went to bed, we had a short family home evening and a scripture story. Their father told about the family of Lehi and how he taught his children that they must hold fast to the iron rod, which is the word of God.9 Holding fast to the iron rod would keep them safe and lead them to joy and happiness. If they should let go of the iron rod, there was danger of drowning in the river of dirty water.
To demonstrate this to the children, their mother became the “iron rod” that they must cling to, and their father played the role of the devil, trying to pull the children away from safety and happiness. The children loved the story and learned how important it is to hold fast to the iron rod.
After the scripture story it was time for family prayer. Their mother reminded the children to pray for the bishop, who was having serious eye problems. Three-year-old Brooklyn offered the prayer that evening. She thanked Heavenly Father for their blessings, and then she fervently asked Him to “bless the bishop because his eyes are broken.”
The next morning we got to sacrament meeting and got seated. Brooklyn and her five-year-old sister, Kennedy, looked up on the stand and saw the bishop standing there. The girls pointed to the bishop and excitedly said to their mother, “Look, there’s the bishop.” Then a knowing look passed between these two little girls that seemed to say “We prayed for the bishop, and now he is better.” They prayed in faith, knowing that Heavenly Father would hear their humble prayers.

At church, I was called as a ward clerk and later as a counselor in the bishopric. I couldn’t believe that someone in a wheelchair could serve. My accident had made me feel useless, but working in the Church made me feel useful and helped me realize I could contribute. I love the opportunity to grow closer to Jesus Christ as I serve.
As a counselor in the bishopric, I wanted to be guided so I could be better at my calling. That made me want to prepare more for each Sunday. I got into the habit of reading my scriptures, and I had opportunities to bear my testimony. Being a leader at church even helped me become a leader at work. I built up the feeling that I could lead and speak up, allowing me to lead in other areas.
“Working in the Church made me feel useful and realize that I could contribute,” says Posenai. “I love the opportunity to grow closer to Jesus Christ as I serve.”

Perhaps a personal story will help illustrate these opposing concepts of hope and despair. I was not a serious student in high school. I did the minimum amount of effort to get pretty good grades, mostly getting by on my good looks and charm. I was accepted to BYU in Provo and had hope that I’d be an amazingly successful student. My first test of my first college semester was an Economics 110 exam. I had taken economics in high school and knew the basics of supply and demand curves. So, I didn’t really study—how hard could it be?

Well, the exam was hard. Really hard. When I looked at the first question, I had no idea what it was even talking about. I knew I was sunk. I thought about praying for help, and then realized it wouldn’t do any good. Why would God bless me when I hadn’t done a thing to prepare? I did the best I could—mostly by choosing C as every answer, and I turned in the test. I had no hope. And indeed, I shouldn’t have. I got a 22% on my first college exam.

But now here is the sad part. The despair lingered. I figured there was no hope—a 22% on the first test was a hole I thought I could never dig out of. What’s more, my pride was wounded. I had never done that badly on a test before. So, I did the only thing that made sense to me at the time: I just quit going to that class. I didn’t even drop the class—I just quit going.

Here’s a friendly tip to you students: that’s a really bad idea. I could have buckled down and studied harder. I could have gone and talked to the professor. I could have done many things to make the situation better, but since I had no hope, I gave up. And of course, I failed the class.

“My turn!” Johnny called, jumping up and down.
“Yes, Johnny,” said Mom. “What did you do with your Popsicle?”
“First I ate it.” Johnny giggled, showing his red tongue. “And I had to think for a while to get an idea too. As I was thinking, somebody called to me. It was Jeffrey—the boy in my class who has to stay in a wheelchair. He was on the porch of his house and asked me to come over. He seemed pretty sad. I thought that if summer vacation gets boring for me, it must really get boring for him: no bike riding, no baseball, no swimming. So when I went over to his house, I knew what I was going to do with my stick. His mom got me a piece of heavy paper and a pin, and I folded a paper airplane. Then I worked the pin through the middle of the Popsicle stick and stuck it into the nose of the airplane to make a propeller. I gave it to Jeffrey, and do you know what? Even though he has some pretty neat toys, he thought the airplane was great.”
“And you’re pretty great, too,” said Mom. “Good job!”

6:00 A.M.—Angie sat in the dark room, memorizing smells, colors, and how each trophy seemed to dominate the one next to it. Everything is just the way Mike left it, she thought.
She had come to her brother’s room often in the two months since his death—hit by a car while biking with his friends. He died doing what he loved, her dad had said at the funeral, as if the thought of biking to heaven was supposed to make it all right. She knew her dad was trying to find his own comfort, but it made her angry anyway. The whole family made her angry. How could they just accept it and go on with life? Well, she couldn’t. She buried her head in the pillow and felt the familiar gray feeling swallow her up.
6:15 A.M.—She glanced at the clock, time to get ready for school. She’d better wake Carrie up, too. She rolled off the bed and into the room she shared with her five-year-old sister. Carrie could sleep through, and on, anything, Angie thought, as she emptied a stack of books from Carrie’s bed.
“Quite a pile for someone who’s still trying to figure out how the letter A sounds. Time to get up.”
Carrie flopped over on a magazine. “Read this one to me,” she yawned, pointing to a book.
Angie pretended not to hear the sleepy voice.
“Read to me,” Carrie repeated, nuzzling and wiggling into Angie’s lap.
Angie just couldn’t get into their reading ritual lately. They’d been reading to each other for two years. Rather, she’d read while Carrie invented. At some point, Angie had begun inventing, too. Their additions had lived again each time they read their favorites. But not anymore. Somehow, when Mike had died, the old stories had disappeared.
Okay, just one, Angie thought. She let the New Testament picture book fall open to Christ feeding the multitude.
This’ll do, Angie decided. I can handle bread and fish—just no details.
She absently read the black and white print. Something about John the Baptist. He was dead, beheaded, and friends were trying to tell Christ.
Dead, dead, dead, the word echoed in her mind.
Don’t think, Angie. Read, but don’t think, she warned herself.
“Jesus wanted to be alone. He went to a place above the Sea of Galilee to think about John.”
Carrie grabbed the book and pulled it closer. “He looks sad. Was John one of Jesus’ friends?”
Angie looked at the picture of Christ sitting away from the crowds, his head bowed, his face grief-drawn. “John was Jesus’ cousin,” she said softly.
Carrie’s finger slowly circled the picture. “He feels like us, doesn’t he?” Like us—He feels like us. The thought invaded her gray feeling and echoed in the giant hole her heart had become.
Without waiting for an answer, Carrie rearranged herself—a signal for Angie to go on reading.
“Jesus turned to the people and left the place where he was alone.” She hesitated.
He felt then as you do now, something whispered to her heart.
It wasn’t a question anymore, but an affirmation. And this time the words weren’t from a child. Waves of understanding and warmth broke over her, challenging the deep gray sorrow.
Again it came—He felt then as you do now. Uncontrollable tears welled up in her eyes.
“He teaches and feeds them …” she mumbled, fighting to keep her voice steady, but it was no use.
“Can I finish later?” she asked, running to the bathroom. She locked herself in and let go of the tears. Clutching at the book, she heard her sister banging on the door.
“Hey, how come you didn’t finish?”
“I have to get ready for school, Carrie. Later …” she covered her mouth to keep the sobs from escaping.
“You’re such a meany,” Carrie said with five-year-old frustration and marched back to their room.
Tears splattered on the child’s drawing of Christ. His pain had been so much like her own. Once more it came—I have felt as you—and love enfolded her.
8:15 A.M.—Angie walked to school, torn-out pages from the book tucked inside her coat. I’ll buy a new book, she told herself. These pages are mine.
1:15 P.M.—In algebra, Angie ignored Mr. Bott’s explanation on quadratic equations and laid the two pages across her desk. Angie looked at the red and blue drawings of Christ surrounded with people.
“Shall we send them away?” his disciples questioned.
Christ said no.
The next picture was of Christ teaching, feeding 5,000 individuals long into the night.
Was John forgotten? No.
The assurance, the strength, swept her from the room full of quadratics and out into the hall. “You’ll need a hall pass,” Mr. Bott said.
“Yeah,” she managed, running to the nearest bathroom.
Alone in the bathroom, she let her finger trace the outlines of his face as Carrie had done earlier. New tears of gratitude and understanding wet the pages. Christ had felt the same grief for John that she felt for Mike, but he had continued teaching, loving—and living. She would too, she promised. Peace surrounded her and this time the soul-filling love sank in and completely pushed the gray out.
3:45 P.M.—Angie walked home carrying a detention slip for skipping out of algebra. She came up the back porch and grabbed an apple on the way in the door.
“Carrie—you home?” she yelled, then took a bite of the apple. It tasted good. She took another bite and wandered through the house. She found Carrie playing with a doll.
“Hey, want to read a story?” she asked.
Carrie’s eyes looked up from the doll she was rocking.
“Come on,” Angie coaxed, reaching out a hand. “I have this great story.”
She pulled out the crumpled pictures and sat down next to her sister. “It all started when Jesus’ friends came to him with some news, sad news.”

A few years after my baptism, my family became refugees for a second time. The political regime in East Germany perceived my father as a dissident. His life was at risk, and we had to leave the country overnight, leaving behind everything we possessed. Again we had only the clothes we wore, some food for the trip, and family records as well as family pictures. By the time I was 11, we had been refugees twice within only seven years. But this time we had already received the gospel of Jesus Christ. We had made covenants with the Lord through baptism, and we came to a branch in Frankfurt, West Germany, with other members who had the same principles and precious values.

Into this branch, just a few years later, came a young widow with her two daughters. The missionaries had found this beautiful family, which included my future wife, Harriet.

When I saw Harriet for the first time, with her dark brown eyes, I thought, “These missionaries are really doing a great job!” Even as a teenager I liked Harriet quite a lot. My bold advances, however, showed only marginal success. I tried, for instance, to influence the seating at the sacrament table so I could pass the sacrament to her. This did not impress her very much. On my way to Church activities during the week, I usually rode my nice bicycle and often stopped at their home to ask if Harriet would want to have a ride to church on my bicycle. Harriet always declined. Sometimes, however, her mother was there and would say, “Harriet will walk, but I will gladly ride with you on your bike to church.” This wasn’t really what I was hoping for at the time, but I later realized it is an advantage to be on good terms with the mother of the girl of your dreams!

My mother and my mother-in-law both had the same strong faith that blessed them with the gifts of the Spirit. And they blessed not only my life, but the lives of generations to come.

President David O. McKay (1873–1970) said the principal reason the Church was organized was “to make life sweet today, to give contentment to the heart today, to bring salvation today. … Some of us look forward to a time in the future—salvation and exaltation in the world to come—but today is part of eternity” (Pathways to Happiness [1957], 291–2).

What you do today will determine how the restored gospel principles can influence the nations of the world tomorrow. It will determine how these heavenly rays of the gospel will light every land in the future.

By living up to this mission—in whatever life circumstance you find yourself—the Lord our God has responsibilities and blessings in store for each of you individually, far beyond your imagination.

May I invite you to rise to the great potential within you. But don’t reach beyond your capacity. Don’t set goals beyond your capacity to achieve. Don’t feel guilty or dwell on thoughts of failure. Don’t compare yourself with others. Do the best you can, and the Lord will provide the rest. Have faith and confidence in Him, our Savior, and you will see miracles happen in your life and the lives of your loved ones. The virtue of your own personal life will be a light to those who sit in darkness, and it will be because you are a living witness of the fulness of the restored gospel.

Wherever you are on this beautiful, but often troubled earth of ours, you can be the one to “succor the weak, lift up the hands which hang down, and strengthen the feeble knees” (D&C 81:5).

President Shumway has agreed to read from his journal, an experience his mother recited to him illustrating this principle.

One day when I was very young, someone told Mom that they were pretty sure that my dad had quit smoking. Dad had not been active in the Church because of his habit, but never smoked around the home or family. Mom was so overjoyed by this news that she started walking down to his workplace just to be around her "hero" for a few minutes. As she rounded the corner, she caught a glimpse of Dad, but to her great disappointment, he was "lighting up" right at that moment, .and she was pretty sure he saw her. Broken hearted, she turned and ran home. She had been so patient and waited so long already: enough was enough!

She began getting her angry speech ready. She was going to let him have it, he deserved it. But then a thought came into her mind: "You had better pray about this." She went out in the moonlight and knelt down on the ground. "Heavenly Father, please help me! What should I do?" Almost instantly a warm and comforting feeling came over her, and all her anger disappeared. In its place came the words that she should say to my dad.

It wasn't long before Dad came home, perhaps expecting an irate wife. Instead, he was greeted with a loving hug and kiss. A little later that evening Mom took hold of both of his hands and said, "Darling, I just want you to know how much we appreciate how hard you work and what a good provider and head of the family you are. We love you so much, and our greatest desire is to be with you for eternity."

Well, you can guess the happy ending. Mom's loving patience over those eight years of marriage paid off. We were all sealed in the Mesa Temple shortly thereafter.

My husband and I lived in Hong Kong for ten years with our children. The Hong Kong mission president and his wife, the Lowes, were close friends. Sister Lowe told the story about one of the missionary sisters. We also knew this sister as she had come to our home before, but I can't quite remember her name. In Hong Kong the missionaries usually teach the investigators at church because the apartments are small and the buildings have guards that keep people out who don't live there.

This sister missionary and her companion were teaching a young woman whose mother refused to give her permission to be baptized. They had never met her mother. One day they were getting off a crowded bus and saw a woman struggling to carry a heavy bag (we called them amah bags-old ladies use them often and they are red and white in color, water proof and light-I love these bags! In Hong Kong I never left home without one of them!)

The sisters offered to help this older woman carry her bag home and then said good-bye. The next day the investigator called them full of excitement and told them that her mother had given her permission to be baptized! She said her mother was impressed by the missionary sisters as they had helped her carry her bag! The missionaries did not know it was her mother. You must know that Hong Kong has over seven million people and is very crowded and the odds of meeting someone you know by accident are very low. That one act of service produced results that could not be foreseen.

A lifetime of spiritual experiences for Lorenzo Snow was climaxed following the death of President Wilford Woodruff. President Snow, who was then serving as President of the Quorum of the Twelve, went to the Salt Lake Temple. Dressed in his temple robes, he knelt to pray, reminding the Lord that he had often prayed that President Woodruff would outlive him, so that he would not be required to carry the heavy responsibilities as President of the Church. But he then told the Lord that he would do whatever was required of him.
After his prayer, President Snow waited for an answer from the Lord, but nothing came. Later, as he was walking through a corridor, a glorious manifestation was suddenly opened up to him: The Lord Jesus Christ appeared to him. President Snow later told his granddaughter about the experience, showing her the spot in the temple where it had occurred. She wrote:
“Grand-pa came a step nearer and held out his left hand and said: ‘He stood right here, about three feet above the floor. It looked as though He stood on a plate of solid gold.’
“Grand-pa told me what a glorious personage the Savior is and described His hands, feet, countenance and beautiful white robes, all of which were of such a glory of whiteness and brightness that he could hardly gaze upon Him.
“Then he came another step nearer and put his right hand on my head and said: ‘Now, grand-daughter, I want you to remember that this is the testimony of your grand-father, that he told you with his own lips that he actually saw the Savior, here in the Temple, and talked with Him face to face.’”

“Dad loves to take his grandchildren on an imaginary lion hunt, where they all try to find a make-believe lion. First, they pretend to sit on the seat of a car. Then when they arrive at the airport, they climb invisible steps to get on the airplane. Once inside the plane, everyone fastens his safety belt and leans way back in his chair as the plane takes off. When the plane lands, everyone comes down the stairs and walks over to a jeep. They climb in and, because the jeep ride is bumpy, everyone joggles up and down.
“When the jeep stops, everyone jumps out and gets an imaginary rope and gun to put over his shoulder. They wade through long grass and reeds—swish-swish-swish. They come to a bridge and everyone crosses over it—clump-clump-clump. Then they come to the place where the lions are, and they throw their ropes up around a rock to secure them. They all climb up the rope to get into a cave so they can creep up on the lion. The lion roars—GRRRR!! All of the brave lion hunters run out of the cave, slide down the rope, go clumping over the bridge, run swishing through the reeds, take off their ropes and guns, get back into the jeep, and take the bumpy ride back to the airport. Finally they arrive back home safe and sound after a great trip!”

Permit me to read you a few lines from a letter sent to a bishop.

“Dear Bishop:

“It has been almost two years since I desperately called you asking for help. At that time I was ready to kill myself. I had no one else to turn to—no money, no job, no friends. My house had been taken, and I had no place to live. The Church was my last hope.

“As you know, I had left the Church at the age of 17 and had broken just about every rule and commandment that there was in my search for happiness and fulfillment. Instead of happiness, my life was filled with misery, anguish, and despair. There was no hope or future for me. I even pleaded with God to let me die, to take me out of my misery. Not even He wanted me. I felt that He had rejected me, too.

“That’s when I turned to you and the Church. …

“You listened with understanding, you counseled, you guided, you helped.

“I began to grow and develop in understanding and knowledge of the gospel. I found that I had to make certain basic changes in my life that were terribly difficult, but that within me I had the worth and strength to do so.

“I learned that as I lived the gospel and repented, I had no more fear. I was filled with an inner peace. The clouds of anguish and despair were gone. Because of the Atonement, my weaknesses and sins were forgiven through Jesus Christ and His love for me.

“He has blessed and strengthened me. He has opened pathways for me, given me direction, and kept me from harm. I have found that as I overcame each obstacle, my business began to grow, enabling my family to benefit and making me feel as though I had accomplished something.

“Bishop, you have given me understanding and support through these past two years. I never would have reached this point if not for your love and patience. Thank you for being what you are as the servant of the Lord to help me, His wandering child.”

For eight American seminary students living with their families in Quito, Ecuador, Christmas is a special time of year. In an effort to give something of themselves at this time of the year, they decided to share Christmas with an orphanage in the northern city of Latacunga.
The first efforts began in making gifts for the 70 children, ranging in age from 10 days to 12 years. For the boys they made bean bag mice, and for the girls they made soft snow-women dolls. Trying his hand at running a sewing machine, Bryon Bowers said, “I felt needed making those presents.”
When the big day came, the students wrapped each gift and loaded a basket with extra goodies like formula for the babies, rice, school supplies, and candy canes for everyone. At the orphanage, the students sang Christmas carols, helped the children reenact the Christmas story, and introduced Santa. Lamont Loveland recalls, “It was a very good experience for me because I had to play the part of Santa. It was fun to see the children’s faces when I handed them their presents.” Cory Goodman adds, “I’ve been here before, but I’ve never seen the children so excited.”
The seminary students brought five piñatas filled with candy and set them up for the children to break. Brenda Reinhart observed, “Seeing the love and unselfishness these orphan children showed was a lesson to me. After the candy from the piñata was collected by the children, they looked around to see who hadn’t received any so they could share theirs.”
During the two-hour drive back to Quito that evening, Carrie Reinhart expressed a wish, “I want to spend my next birthday here sharing with these wonderful children.”
Paulette Kaudelka spoke of the yearning most of them had felt during the day. “When I left the orphanage, I wanted to take all those little children with me and give them a better life.” Penni Kaudelka and Clayton Bowers felt their testimonies grew with this opportunity to serve.
In summing up the feelings of the group, I can only say we were all touched by the love given and then returned tenfold that day.