Gospel Story Finder

One class was really difficult for Yvette—computers. The computer terminals and commands were all in English, and that made the class hard for her. She didn’t believe she could pass the class, even if she did study, so she didn’t study. She thought that if she just prayed and prayed and prayed, Heavenly Father would help her. But she found out that wasn’t so. She took her test and didn’t pass. She learned she has to study in order for Heavenly Father to help her succeed. After that, she studied and prayed and did much better in computer class. “I have to do my part,” she says.

I also remember learning the importance of prayer. When I was about five or six, my baby brother David would sometimes get such high fevers that he would go into convulsions, making his body shake and tremble. This worried my parents. I remember how they put David into a cool bath one day, trying to bring down his fever and stop his convulsions. I took my four-year-old sister, Helen, into another room, where we kneeled and prayed that everything would be all right. We finished our prayer and told our mother that David would be all right. And he was. David never had another convulsion. Prayer is real, and it works.

Last Sunday I decided that I wanted to try to fast for the first time. My dad is a pilot in the Air Force, and he had been gone for two months flying over Afghanistan and Iraq. I really miss my dad when he is gone for so long. He was finally scheduled to start his trip home, but his connections for the military flights were not working out, so he was going to be a week late coming home. I told my mom that I was going to fast for my dad so he would be safe and be able to come home on time—something my dad said was impossible.
It was really hard to fast, but I knew I was doing it for a good reason, and that made it easier. We were so excited to get the news that my dad made the connection he thought would be impossible to make. He was able to come home on time, and he was safe—just what I had fasted and prayed for.Hunter Johnson, age 7 Penn Valley, California

This story from a Utah rural area: “Twenty-four years ago, as a young man, I was called to teach a Sunday School class of thirteen- and fourteen-year olds. I thought my first lesson was pretty good, but I didn’t have enough material to last through the class period. During my second lesson, again I was out of material. I resolved it would never happen again, but it did the next Sunday. I gave the books back to the Sunday School superintendent. All of these years I have carried a feeling that I was a failure as a teacher, yet I still wanted to teach.
“Now I have taken the basic course. I know what a teacher should be. I know how to prepare. I know how to involve my class, and now I am teaching and fulfilling my lifelong desire. I have developed a foundation for teaching.”

Although it was the middle of Guatemala’s rainy season, the sun was out in full force at noon when they arrived in Cahabón, about halfway home.
“We’ll stop for soft drinks here,” President Andersen said as he pulled over next to the town square. “This town is tradition-oriented and wouldn’t let the protestant missionaries construct a chapel. I want you to meet the lady who owns the cafe; she has a special spirit. She will join the Church someday.”
The elders wanted to look around awhile before going into the cafe. The rest went inside and talked with the owner while they enjoyed their soft drinks. Several minutes passed, but the missionaries did not come in. “I wonder where they are,” President Andersen said.
They finished their drinks, paid the owner, and walked outside. There the mystery of the missing missionaries was solved.
Seated on a step, Elder Bringhurst was addressing about 50 Indians in their tongue, telling them about their ancestors. He held a copy of the Book of Mormon as he spoke.
In the following 20 minutes the missionaries explained the origin of the book, and bore their testimonies. The Indians seemed impressed, and several invited the missionaries to return another time to tell them more. Elder Bringhurst assured them that someone would return with the book and tell them many important things about themselves and about God.
Later, as they drove homeward, President Andersen said, “The Indians want to know about the book of their ancestors. We have something no one else can give them, the gospel. We have the religion of their forefathers and we tell them so.”

On a recent trip to New Zealand, I met with a mission president who wore a beautiful tie tack with the inspiring CTR, or “Choose the Right,” emblem. I had the impression that there must be a story behind this unique pin. When I returned home, I wrote him a thank-you letter and asked him about his tie tack. I received this answer:
“You are very perceptive. Yes, there is a story. I have a number of tie tacks I really prize. They have been gifts from my children, my wife, and friends. However, I choose to wear this silver shield inlaid with lovely blue turquoise, with the inspiring CTR emblem of our Primary.
“Why? I suppose it started back when I was a bishop. I had an interview with a good-looking young man who was to receive the Aaronic Priesthood. He told me a special story. One day after school, he and some of his friends found a package of cigarettes. They lit up, and the young man said as he was looking down at the smoldering cigarette he held between his fingers, he saw his CTR ring. He quickly put the cigarette out and made a very wise choice never ever to do such a thing again. He chose to choose the right, as he remembered what the emblem stood for. From this story I gained a special love for the CTR emblem.
“Now for the story of how I received the CTR tie tack. A few weeks before coming to New Zealand as a mission president, I was in the Kayenta Ward in Arizona. As I was saying some tender farewells to many of my Navajo friends, a remarkable young Navajo bishop gave me a big hug, then removed his tie tack and pinned it on my tie. He asked me not to forget him.
“Now here in New Zealand, the last thing I do every morning as I dress for this great calling is to pin my tie with this beautiful silver and turquoise CTR emblem. I love it! It helps this old boilermaker make the right choices throughout the day. I know it also helps fulfill the prophetic promise made to my wife and me by President Gordon B. Hinckley as he set us apart.
“He said words to this effect: ‘You will have an instant bonding of love for every missionary in your mission.’ I can’t tell you how many times a missionary, during a visit, has said something like this: ‘President Gardner, I love your tie tack.’ And then he or she will show me their CTR ring.
“I believe that Navajo bishop was inspired to give me the tie tack and that I make the right decision every day when I choose to wear it. And the beautiful blue and silver CTR pin is helping bond me to a royal army of missionaries in the New Zealand Wellington Mission.
“I appreciate the opportunity of relating to you my special experience associated with this great Primary children’s motto, ‘Choose the Right.’”

Four years earlier, her family had left their home in an eastern city to join the Saints in Nauvoo, on the edge of the western frontier. The trip should have taken just a few days by river. But because many Black people were slaves in the United States at the time, Jane’s family frequently had to show papers proving their freedom. And some places had strict laws preventing people of color from traveling through the area—including charging up to $500 per person for passage.
Perhaps because of this outrageous fee or perhaps because of other prejudices, the riverboat crew refused to take Jane and her family members any farther. Undeterred, they left behind many of their possessions and set out on foot with whatever they could carry.
Jane’s family walked for more than 800 miles (1,287 km). They walked through humid days and pitch-black nights. Once they trudged through a forest, sleeping under the open sky. When they awoke, their clothes were white with frost.
“We walked until our shoes were worn out, and our feet became sore and cracked open and bled,” Jane recollected. “… We asked God the Eternal Father to heal our feet and our prayers were answered.”1
While enduring this hard journey, Jane sang hymns with her parents and siblings, praising God. Finally, after nearly three months of walking, they arrived in Nauvoo. Years later, when faithful Saints left to cross the plains, Jane was among the first pioneers to start walking the trail.

Sometimes people judge us for being members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and for being different. Last year I got bullied a lot by people at school. But I felt God’s help when others helped me defend myself from the bullies. It was like a shield of protection from God.
I prayed that I would be able to forgive the people who bullied me. I have forgiven them in my heart, and now I smile at them and say hello when I see them.
I like to help others, like my soccer teammates, not to judge people. I want others to see the whole picture of who I am and who others are.
Matthew H., Arizona, USA

Silhouetted with their boats against the evening sky, they looked like a party of mountain men or trappers. Just like the early explorers of the great Northwest, they had portaged their canoes over rugged terrain, retraced their tracks, and then carried food and equipment to the site of their camp.
They had been pushing hard. Muscles and spirits were tired. They were probably as sore and stiff as any group of travelers ever could be. But now the tents were pitched, supplies were stashed (safe from bears) high in the trees, dinner was steaming in the pot, and the campfire beckoned anyone near to mellow in its warm, yellow glow.
It was time to recover from the strains of the day, to let nature calm and soothe with a serenity unique to the out-of-doors. Snowcapped peaks stood like an honor guard in white dress uniform. The sun, small on the horizon, dipped through strands of gray, leaving an orange tinge in the sky.
“This day has not been a piece of cake,” said Eric Peterson. “But now is when you know you’ve earned it. The view is marvelous, worth every blister.”
Eric was one of the younger members of our group, but after a few days on the Bowron Lakes, he, like the other boys and fathers of Troop 266 from Tacoma, Washington, already felt like a seasoned veteran. Paddling and portaging all day, sleeping out in the woods with your father and your friends and leaders, getting up early and working hard—it makes you feel responsible for yourself.
Our decision to head north into the Canadian wilderness between Kamloops and Prince George, British Columbia, had initiated months of work, preparation, and planning. Fall and winter months had been filled with passing merit badges, repairing the troop’s canoes, fundraising, and the gathering of food and clothing, all under the direction of Scout and priesthood leaders in the Tacoma Sixth Ward. Then came the high excitement as spring gave way to early summer, school let out in June, and we were on our way. It was the second trip to the area for some of the older boys. As much as possible, fathers accompanied their sons and were assigned to the same canoe with them.
And what memories we made! Fighting stiff head winds that could have pushed us across the water easily, if only we’d been traveling in the opposite direction. Sudden storms that pelted us with rain and ice. The sweet “sleep of a labouring man” (see Eccl. 5:12). The one bear that did wander near camp climbed a tree and tried to get into our food. The aches, the pains, the blisters—and going on in spite of them. The wind that did, once, mercifully fill our makeshift sails as we raced across Spectacle Lake in record time.
It all served to bring us closer together, as young men and leaders, as brothers in the priesthood, as fathers and sons. How can you not talk to someone while paddling across the 26-miles of choppy waves on Lanezi Lake? Especially when he has struggled with you, side-by-side, to carry a canoe through rocks and underbrush on the banks of the Caribou River; and shivered with you when “deadheads and sweepers” (submerged logs in the language of Canadian rangers) tipped your canoe into the bone-chilling waters.
None of us will forget the 18 hours we spent drying out around an old potbellied wood stove heated to a red hot glow. Or the ranger who entertained us with tales of his Montana cowboy days. Or the impromptu testimony meeting when Lynn Wilbur read to us from the Book of Mormon.
Sure, we returned home eager for pizza, bathtubs, and nice clean sheets. But we returned home richer and stronger—and ready to head north of the border again just as soon as we are able.

“Make it work for you.” That’s how Mia Maid Megan Ross sums up her advice about participating in Personal Progress.
But her mother, Deborah, the Young Women president of the Colfax Ward, Greensboro North Carolina Stake, adds this additional suggestion, which makes Personal Progress even more meaningful: “Use it to help those around you.”
The point is that Personal Progress can be a blessing both to you and to others. By working on six Value Experiences (three required and three elective) and one 10-hour project in each of the seven Young Women values, you can strengthen yourself as well as those around you. (See Young Women Personal Progress [2001].)
Megan and her mother point to another family member, Rachel, as an example of what that means. Rachel has already completed her Young Womanhood Recognition. She has enjoyed the self-improvement and the service to others so much that now she’s setting additional goals, mentoring others in the program (including her mother), and constantly looking for ways to help other people.
For example, one of her Value Projects was about modesty, and the ward young women all worked together on a modest fashion show. Then Rachel put together her own modest fashion magazine, using photos and ideas from the event. After that, she and her mother went to a fabric store, picked out fabric, cut it, pinned it, and sewed a modest dress.
Another time, Rachel worked with all of the young women as well as the adults in the ward to put together a cookbook. Everyone learned about cooking, shared recipes, and the adults noticed that the youth took an interest in them, too. That prompted her mother to work on a book of her own, what she calls an “heirloom” cookbook. “It includes recipes like my grandma’s recipe for rolls,” Sister Ross explains. “But it includes her photo next to the recipe so you get a feeling for her as a person.”
Megan remembers that for one of her projects, she did research on her ancestors and focused on their faith. “Before I started, I thought I realized what a blessing it has been for our family to be members of the Church for several generations,” she says. “But when I started reading my ancestors’ testimonies, that was really something. I saw how strong their faith in Jesus Christ was, right from the time they joined the Church.”
“Rachel has been a great example to me even though I’m her older sister,” Megan says. “She took the time to get her projects finished, and that’s made me work to get mine done too. But even more important is that we have two younger sisters, Allison and Sarah, and when they see how hard we’re working on Personal Progress, they know it’s important too.”
In fact, all of the young women of the Colfax Ward help each other as they work on Personal Progress. They offer encouragement and suggestions when a project is best done alone but join in when participation is a plus. Older girls and those who have finished serve as mentors for those who are younger or who haven’t finished.
“One of the best things we do,” Megan explains, “is that whenever someone receives their Young Womanhood Recognition, at an Evening of Excellence or at New Beginnings we have them show what they’ve done for their projects. But they don’t just talk about the projects. They tell how much the projects have helped them, and they usually bear their testimony. It gives the other girls lots of ideas, but it also shows them that the point of it all is to become closer to Heavenly Father and more like the Savior.”
That most important point is also clear for young women in the Lexington Ward, West Columbia South Carolina Stake. They are particularly grateful for the spiritual goals in Personal Progress. Meilian Campbell explains that there are opportunities to study scriptures, read general conference talks, and follow a pattern of prayer to see how their faith in Jesus Christ grows. Sandra Campbell says that because of those experiences, she now thinks about the Savior whenever she is sad, and that makes her feel better. Macy Adams says Personal Progress “has helped me form the habit of prayer,” and Meilian agrees. “Now I can’t go to sleep without saying my prayers. It instilled that habit in me.”
Rasha Stacey, a Laurel, sees how Personal Progress translates easily into opportunities to serve. She often helps other young women work on their Value Experiences. For example, another Laurel, Rachel Odom, set a goal of learning how to cut hair. “She cuts her own but had never done it on anyone else,” Rasha says. “So twice last year, my family invited her over. She cut all of the girls’ hair, including my mom’s. I really loved what she did, and we all had fun. It was a great learning experience—for me and for her.”
Rasha helped Macy put together a cookbook. “No one was giving her recipes,” Rasha says, “so I gave her several from our family and asked the other youth in the ward to bring some to church. Pretty soon everyone was helping her.”
When Rasha found out that Malina Tracy, a Beehive, would be the only one to move up from Primary that year, she came to her aid. “I know what it’s like to feel left out, and I didn’t want her to go through that,” Rasha says. “So I talked about Personal Progress, and I told her what I loved when I was a Beehive, and how much the other young women love her.”
Rasha also helped her sister Karen, a Mia Maid, to memorize her Scripture Mastery verses for seminary and worked with their mother to help Karen put together a memory book.
Meilian, a Laurel, was having a hard time thinking of projects, so Rasha invited her over to cook meals and desserts every Saturday for a month. “I did it for my Knowledge project,” Meilian says. “I learned to make food for my family. And now when I go to college I’ll be able to cook for myself. That helps me be self-reliant, because take-outs get expensive.”
Meilian says that Value Experiences are great because they carry over into everyday life. “At school I’m in a fashion merchandising class, and for one of our big projects we produced a fashion show,” she says. “Because we’d already talked about modesty as part of Personal Progress, I chose to wear modest clothes for the whole thing. The experiences that go with each value help you have a better understanding of how to turn values into actions.”
Macy says Personal Progress is meant “to prepare you for life through personal experiences, and to build self-confidence through preparation and spirituality.” Rasha agrees. “Take scripture study, for example,” she says. “It builds you up for when you have trials, so you know where to find answers.”
In another part of the West Columbia Stake, Sarah Shurtleff, of the Irmo Ward, also recognizes that Personal Progress encourages personal growth as well as service to others. “When we have the Evening of Excellence and the New Beginnings programs, we talk about what we’ve done throughout the year,” she says. “If I find out that other girls need help, I help them. I’m not assigned to or anything, I just help where people need it.”
She likes to brainstorm ideas with girls, leaders, and parents to come up with meaningful projects. Once she helped her mother complete a quilt for her niece and then used what she had learned to make another quilt on her own. “I’m going to save it for my own children someday,” she says. Sarah taught a friend how to play hymns on the piano, and they performed “Joseph Smith’s First Prayer” (Hymns, No. 26) at a stake talent show.
But one of the most meaningful parts of Personal Progress for Sarah is that “they have you read scriptures and write in your journal about what they mean to you. Personal Progress is about who you are—a daughter of God. I’ve learned that I can do anything I put my mind to, as long as I work hard and don’t quit.”
Sarah’s mother Catherine, the ward Young Women president, sums it up this way: “Personal Progress builds their testimonies, helps them set goals and work to achieve them, and then to feel that sense of accomplishment as they finish what they set out to do. It’s exciting to see what they are able to do. It builds faith and strengthens testimonies.”
Perhaps it all comes back to what Rachel Ross says. “Personal Progress teaches us things we need, and it builds our testimonies along the way. It’s spiritual improvement, but it’s also emotional, physical, and mental improvement. The point is it’s really well rounded if you let it be.”

The Kaohsiung Seventh Branch at the Taipei Taiwan Temple in December 2001.
In 2000 we were called to serve as branch president and Primary president of the smallest unit in the Kaohsiung Taiwan Stake. We had about 20 people at sacrament meeting, including our young family, four active elders, and the missionaries. We later sent out two elders on missions, trusting that the Lord would replenish our branch.
As we worked with our branch, we remembered President Gordon B. Hinckley’s (1910–2008) counsel that every convert needs “a friend, a responsibility, and nurturing with ‘the good word of God.’”1 We felt impressed that our new members should quickly be given callings so they could grow by serving. The missionaries introduced us to each investigator, and within two weeks of each of their baptisms, they received a calling. They developed friendships as they served with other members.
Within a month, every newly baptized brother received the Aaronic Priesthood, and each blessed and passed the sacrament. We also prepared them to receive the Melchizedek Priesthood by the next stake conference.
New elders were taught how to perform ordinances, and then these elders taught the newer elders. We believed in learning by doing and in retaining learning by teaching. Branch members were responsible to model and mentor, teach and train, and sustain and support each other.
We used home and visiting teachers, family home evenings, ward activities, and potlucks to fellowship new converts. They were nurtured with the word of God through Sunday and weekday religious instructions. Institute grew from 2 to 25 students. To further nurture our small branch, we attended and served in the Taipei Taiwan Temple every month—a 10-hour round-trip by bus. Normally, our stake struggled to fill a second temple bus. As our branch grew and families prepared for their temple blessings, we set a goal to fill our own bus. Twice that first year, while the rest of the stake filled one temple bus, our small branch filled a second one. Soon after, the stake asked each ward to fill one temple bus at least once a year.
By the second year, our convert retention increased from 30 percent to more than 90 percent, and our sacrament meetings grew to about 100 people, including 25 active elders. Our branch became a ward, and our old building was renovated into a new chapel.
The smallest branch had become the strongest ward in the stake because every convert had been blessed with friends, callings, and nurturing with the word of God.

Shirley Mwelase of South Africa exemplifies these principles as well. She used a PEF loan to finish a computer programming course and, after getting a job at an insurance company, quickly paid off the remainder of her loan, helping her feel “reliable and trustworthy.”
Shirley explains, “A better-paying job meant a better quality of life. It meant I could help out my parents and family, and the skills and refinement I have since acquired from working have helped me greatly to be of better service in all my Church callings.”
Working as a programmer, she has accomplished much. She says, “I feel that if it were not for my studies and my constant participation at church, I would not have had a job, nor would I have been able to achieve any of these good things.”

Earlier this year, my husband and I moved across the country from Texas to New Jersey. A couple of months after settling in, I decided I was ready to brave the journey to the Manhattan New York Temple.
Getting to the temple from our house requires me to walk a quarter mile, catch a bus, walk a couple of blocks, and then take the subway.
On that first journey to the temple, I saw a lot of people, cars, buses, and bikes. I saw people playing instruments, taking photos, shopping, commuting to work, and eating at restaurants. I didn’t think much of it at the time; it was just another day in the city.
When I finally stepped out of the subway tunnel, I walked until I reached the temple doors. I was relieved that I’d made it and had time to spare before the session started.
As I walked in, I saw paintings of the Savior. I saw the beautiful, white, perfectly clean interior of the temple. I was greeted by the smiling faces of loving temple workers, welcoming me and directing me where I needed to go.
Out of nowhere, I was overcome with emotion. My heart filled with gratitude, and I realized my eyes were filling with tears.
I’ve thought about that moment a lot. I was overwhelmed by the stark contrast of my day—I experienced the hustle and bustle of the city and then the immediate and peaceful calm that the temple offers. I was moved by the tangible sense of refuge in the Lord’s house and the peace the gospel of Jesus Christ offers each of us.
I don’t think there’s anything inherently bad about living in a busy, fast-paced world. There are times when I really love it! But I learned that there is so much power in being willing to slow down and focus on what matters most.
President Russell M. Nelson said: “If you don’t yet love to attend the temple, go more often—not less. Let the Lord, through His Spirit, teach and inspire you there. I promise you that over time, the temple will become a place of safety, solace, and revelation.”
I went to the temple that day simply because I thought it had been too long since my last visit. I didn’t necessarily go with a question in mind or a desire for a certain prayer to be answered. Regardless of my intentions, I walked into the temple and knew it was the best possible place I could be that day. As President Nelson taught, the temple really did become a place of solace for me.

• Alcohol. One couple grieved deeply and suffered throughout much of their lives because at the age of 13 their son began regularly consuming great quantities of alcoholic beverages. He never recovered from the alcoholism that eventually caused his premature death.
Shortly before the son’s illness that ended his tortured life, a brother asked him, “When did you take your first drink?” The answer was both startling and revealing. He explained that one day when he was only five years old and playing at a friend’s home while the parents were away, he was offered a drink of beer. Not knowing anything about alcoholic beverages and thinking his friend meant root beer, he tasted his first alcoholic drink. He liked the taste and effect of it. By age 13 he was an alcoholic.
For the rest of their son’s life, the parents spent a major part of their time praying, worrying, and struggling unsuccessfully to reclaim and assist him. They found him in pool halls and bars, with drinking buddies, and in prison. Some years they did not know where he was, a sad state of affairs in which imagination can be even worse than reality. During other years, with the help of Alcoholics Anonymous and the loving attention of others who had struggled with similar problems, he was sober and lived a productive existence.
Throughout all their years of heartache, these parents never gave up. They spent countless hours on their knees praying for their son, often pleading to know where he was. When his mother became seriously ill, no one knew where the son was, but the Spirit summoned the young man to the telephone and brought him home. It was he who helped his father and sister care for his dying mother during her last days on earth.

My father-in-law became very ill with cancer, and as death approached, he felt the need to express the importance of the Church to his children. Something about his simple testimony touched my heart, and I decided to find out for myself the truth regarding this church. I began by cross-referencing the scriptures, and found to my surprise that there were no inconsistencies between the Bible and the Book of Mormon. To me, the Bible was the precious word of God. I believed it without question. Could Mormon doctrine possibly be proven within the Bible? I set out to find the answer.

In going through my husband’s Church books, I came across A Marvelous Work and a Wonder by Elder LeGrand Richards. As I read it, I felt as if it had been written for me. I discovered New Testament scriptures regarding baptism for the dead and Christ’s mission during the time prior to his resurrection. I discovered Jesus’ words to Mary Magdalene at the empty tomb: “Touch me not; for I am not yet ascended to my Father.” (John 20:17.) Had he not returned to his Father immediately after his death? But I had used his words to the thief on the cross, “To day shalt thou be with me in paradise” (Luke 23:43) to prove deathbed repentance! I had read these same scriptures countless times before but had never really understood them. Now I realized I had been deceived about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

As I studied and prayed, I began to find answers to the questions I had quietly pushed aside. Finally, I knew that this church was the Savior’s church, and its doctrine was his doctrine. In 1984 I was baptized.

I am grateful the Lord waited so patiently for the moment when my heart would open so that his Spirit would lead me to the truth.

Cindy swung open the door of the Middleton post office and went inside. “Hi, Mrs. Tyler, remember me?” she asked the tall woman standing behind the counter.
“Why of course, Cindy. My, how you’ve grown!”
“No more standing on my toes to buy stamps.”
“No, indeed.” Mrs. Tyler opened a half-door in the counter. “Come in so I can give you a big hug. How’ve you been? Do you like your new home?”
“It’s not new any longer,” said Cindy. “I’ve been living in Rockville for three years now. I love it.” She stepped behind the counter. “It seems so long ago when Dad was transferred and we had to move away from Middleton. I thought I’d never be happy again.”
“I remember that. When you came here to say good-bye to me, I never saw a more somber-looking child. By the way, there’s the African violet you gave me that day.”
“You still have it?”
“Of course. After all, you gave it to me so that I wouldn’t forget you.”
“I know, but it was such a puny thing. I’m surprised it lasted this long.”
Mrs. Tyler picked up the plant. “Can you believe all these violets are blooming? Every year it gets bigger and better.”
“Then I guess my leaving was just the thing it needed,” Cindy joked.
“Now, now—you remember how sad we all were to see you go.”
Cindy remembered the good-bye party her parents had had. She’d invited all her school friends and Mrs. Tyler and Mr. Nealy. That reminded her. … “Mrs. Tyler, I went by the train station to see Mr. Nealy, but it was closed.”
“Oh, they changed the hours again. But you wouldn’t have seen Mr. Nealy, anyway. He retired as stationmaster the year after you left. You and he were good friends, weren’t you?”
“I saw him every school day when I was in third grade.”
“Why was that?—I don’t remember.”
“The train station was where the school bus stopped. Mom couldn’t get back from taking care of Grandma until four-thirty, so I spent about an hour waiting at the station until she came. Have you seen him lately?”
“Yes, and you need to know that he’s very sick. He has Alzheimer’s disease. Do you know what that is?”
Cindy nodded slowly. She thought of Mrs. Clark, her friend Linda’s grandmother. Cindy’d seen Mrs. Clark once. She was hunched over in a rocking chair, staring at the wall. She didn’t answer Linda’s questions but just sat there, constantly rubbing the chair arms with her hands. Linda had said that her grandmother seemed happiest when she sat in the rocker. It bothered Cindy; she never visited Mrs. Clark again.
“I’m sure Mrs. Nealy wouldn’t mind your seeing him,” said Mrs. Tyler. “I have their number. You can call from here.”
“That’s OK. I think I shouldn’t bother them.”
“Oh, I see.” Mrs. Tyler busied herself with some packages.
She sees all right, Cindy thought. She sees what a chicken I am. I don’t care—I can’t bear to see Mr. Nealy be like Linda’s grandmother.
As she watched Mrs. Tyler place stamps on the packages, Cindy thought about the first time she saw Mr. Nealy. She’d been too shy to talk to him, and the time had really dragged while she waited for her mother. But after Mr. Nealy made friends with her, that hour flew by. Later she realized that Mr. Nealy enjoyed her company as much as she enjoyed his. Between three and four o’clock was a slow period when there were few travelers. She helped him sweep the floor, wash the windows, check for burned out light bulbs. He talked about trains, and she talked about school.
He was fond of black licorice and often asked her to go to the nearby store and buy him a package of it. She remembered how he always said, “Black licorice, Cindy. Not red. And not the shoestring kind, either.” And he always gave her extra money to buy candy for herself.
As the memories flooded her mind, Cindy saw him standing very tall, with beautiful silver hair and a thick mustache. He was strong, picking up cargo as if the crates were empty. That Christmas she gave him a conch shell that she’d found in Florida while on vacation, and he gave her a pin in the shape of a caboose. She still had the pin.
Thinking of that shell made Cindy smile. Mr. Nealy kept it at his office, where it lay among the forms and tickets and stamps. It looked out of place, but he never moved it, except to put it to his ear sometimes and listen to the sound of the sea. “That’s where I should be right now,” he’d say, “lying on a beach, loafing my life away.” Then they would laugh.
To see him like Linda’s grandmother—Cindy shuddered at the thought. Turning now to go, she said, “It was nice seeing you again, Mrs. Tyler.”
“You, too, dear.” Mrs. Tyler gave Cindy a good-bye hug. “Come back to visit.”
“I will.”
As Cindy passed the train station once more, she tried to not think of Mr. Nealy. But the thoughts kept coming.
The store had not changed. Cindy quickly found the black licorice at the candy counter. Maybe he won’t be as sick as Linda’s grandmother, she thought. Maybe he just started getting that way. And I don’t have to stay long. She fumbled with the licorice, trying to make up her mind. Should I go? She saw a pay phone on the wall. Should I call?
Fifteen minutes later she pushed the doorbell of the Nealy house. Patting the package of licorice in her jacket pocket, she felt good about her decision.
“I’m glad to finally meet you, Cindy,” Mrs. Nealy greeted her. “Henry will love seeing you again.”
“I hope I’m not bothering you.”
“Of course not. As I told you when you phoned, we love to have company. Come in.”
Cindy felt a little strange. She’d never pictured Mr. Nealy having a regular house. The station had seemed like his home—he’d cared for it and cleaned it as if he lived there day and night.
“Mr. Nealy doesn’t get many visitors anymore. At first he might look strange to you, but it will pass after a little while. He’s in the living room.”
Cindy followed Mrs. Nealy toward the sound of a TV. She could see the back of Mr. Nealy’s head as they entered the room. He was sitting in a swivel chair in front of the television.
Mrs. Nealy bent over the chair. “Henry, look who’s come to see you. It’s Cindy.”
Cindy watched the chair swivel toward her. Mr. Nealy was hunched over, his eyes showing no recognition. He pushed the chair around and around, and each time he passed her, his eyes remained blank.
“Sit here, Cindy.” Mrs. Nealy pointed to the sofa. She asked Cindy questions about her new hometown, her school, and her new friends. After most of Cindy’s answers, Mrs. Nealy said, “Isn’t that nice, Henry?” or “Did you hear that, Henry?”
As she watched the retired stationmaster circle that green chair round and round, Cindy thought that it was hopeless to even pretend that he knew what they were saying. Seeing him was worse than seeing Linda’s grandmother, because Cindy could not forget how he used to be. As she talked to Mrs. Nealy, memories of his deep laughter, his wide smile, his stories and silly jokes swirled within her until she could no longer bear the sight and sound of his chair. “I have to go, Mrs. Nealy. It’s getting late.”
She pulled the licorice from her jacket. “Would you give these to Mr. Nealy. He used to like black licorice.”
“He still does. He’ll be pleased.”
“Mrs. Nealy, he doesn’t even know I’m here.”
“In his way, he knows. Please—you give him the candy.” She got up, and Cindy followed her to the swivel chair. “Henry, Cindy has a present for you.” She stopped the chair.
“Mr. Nealy, these are for you.” Cindy waved the candy in front of him, trying to catch his attention.
When he saw the licorice, he grabbed at it. Close to him now, Cindy saw that he wasn’t so different, after all. He still had the lovely silver hair and thick mustache, his eyes were still deep blue, and he still wore his railroad ring.
“Cin, Cin,” he uttered, staring at her.
“Yes, Mr. Nealy. It’s me, Cindy.”
He raised a hand, and Cindy stooped to let him touch her face. He smiled, then pointed to a table. Cindy could not understand his words, but she recognized the conch shell.
“You still have this?”
Cindy picked it up and took it to him. But when she tried to place it in his hands, he pushed the shell back to her.
“Thank you, Mr. Nealy. It will remind me of you.”
He smiled, and Cindy decided that somehow he understood. Then he ripped open the licorice and started his chair whirling again, and she knew that he was back in his own world. She turned to Mrs. Nealy. “It hurts to see him this way—is he in pain?”
“No, Cindy. He isn’t in pain.”
“He isn’t, but we are.” Cindy put the shell to her ear and listened to the sound of the sea. She looked up again at Mrs. Nealy and managed a brave smile. “I’m glad that at least we have some happy memories.”

I was sitting in a church meeting one day and caught myself staring at the variety of shoes people were wearing in the chapel. I saw leather dress shoes, black boots, bright sandals, colorful heels, and sparkly flats.
And my favorite pair of shoes? Someone’s pink buckled shoes, complete with embroidered strawberries.
It was then that I remembered the story of Christ washing His disciples’ feet.
In the times of the New Testament, I imagine most people’s feet were dirty, seeing that many wore sandals on the dirt roads and didn’t have access to regular bathing. So washing someone’s filthy feet back then probably wasn’t the most enjoyable act of service.
Thinking about this, I opened my scriptures to John 13 and read the interactions between the Savior and His Apostles as He washed their feet. I found an appreciation for Peter’s response to the Savior when it was his turn to be served. Peter replied, “Thou shalt never wash my feet” (John 13:8).
Perhaps Peter’s reluctance had to do with his love and respect for the Savior. I can imagine that, as a devoted disciple, Peter felt it was wrong to receive such treatment from someone so divine.
I realized then that some of us seem to share Peter’s reluctance to receive the Savior’s help.
The colorful selection of shoes I saw in my ward that Sunday symbolized, for me, what we each bring to our Master.
Everyone is different.
We all come from different walks of life, bringing different struggles, different perspectives, different experiences, and different questions.
However, despite all our differences, we all come to church every Sunday to partake of the sacrament, to renew our covenants, and to allow the Savior to serve us as we repent and, by doing so, accept the gift of our Savior’s atoning sacrifice.
President Russell M. Nelson reminds us that “Jesus Christ … stands with open arms, hoping and willing to heal, forgive, cleanse, strengthen, purify, and sanctify us.”1
So why are we sometimes reluctant to invite His grace and mercy into our lives? And what can we learn from His act of service?
Maybe our reluctance to accept the Savior’s help comes from feelings like shame, unworthiness, or even just our own stubborn pride. President Nelson has taught that “too many people consider repentance as punishment—something to be avoided except in the most serious circumstances. But this feeling of being penalized is engendered by Satan. He tries to block us from looking to Jesus Christ.”2 When we sin, it can be easy to feel like we aren’t good enough or we have too many flaws to be cleansed by Jesus Christ. But this is where we can take a closer look at this specific act of service for His Apostles.
I believe that Christ washing His Apostles’ feet symbolized His great love for us and His willingness to clean the spiritual dirt from our lives. He was willing to humbly serve His Apostles by cleaning one of the dirtiest parts of their bodies. Just hours later, through His atoning sacrifice, He descended below all things so He could wash us clean from the dirtiest parts of our own lives and succor us (see Alma 7:11–12).
This act, along with all His teachings, helps us understand that as we come to Him with repentance in our hearts, accepting His offer of service, we can find healing and redemption through His divine power.
As Sister Amy A. Wright, First Counselor in the Primary General Presidency, recently taught, “Because of Christ, our decision to ‘go forth and change’ can also allow us to ‘go forth and heal,’ for He is the source of healing all that is broken in our lives.”3
After washing His beloved disciples’ feet, the Savior gave them an invitation: “Ye also ought to wash one another’s feet” (John 13:14). In other words, He told them to love and minister to others as He did.
Jesus Christ is our Master Healer and our Savior. As we follow Him, we can also offer love and service to our fellow brothers and sisters in need of healing.
President Thomas S. Monson (1927–2018) taught: “We are surrounded by those in need of our attention, our encouragement, our support, our comfort, our kindness—be they family members, friends, acquaintances, or strangers. We are the Lord’s hands here upon the earth, with the mandate to serve and to lift His children. He is dependent upon each of us.”4
It is my testimony that as we seek the Savior—especially as we renew our covenants on Sunday—we will see that He desires to wash us of our sins, our mistakes, and even our heartaches and sorrows. And we can extend His love to those around us.
We only need to accept His help by exercising “faith unto repentance” (Alma 34:17) and seeking his grace (see Ether 12:27).
We all face circumstances and challenges as different as the variety of shoes on our feet, but we are all in need of the same love and grace our Savior offers.
I am grateful that I can follow in His footsteps and serve those around me who are in need of healing. As I allow myself to be healed and cleansed by Him, He gives me strength to do unto others what He has done unto me.

I first went to the Church College of Hawaii (now Brigham Young University—Hawaii Campus) and remained there after my mother died on 2 April 1964. (My father died when I was very young.) My mother fully supported me financially, and her death left me destitute.
Several months after her death, I became very discontent with college and my life in Hawaii and subsequently requested relocation on another campus. Since my brother, Tu‘ualofa, was living in Tempe, Arizona, at the time, I was encouraged to apply to Arizona State University. My application was accepted, and Tempe became my new home for a year.
In 1966, I felt a desire to move to Salt Lake City and pursue my education there. Upon arriving in Salt Lake, I investigated a business college and became very impressed with its curriculum. I decided to pursue my studies there but had only $30. Fortunately, arrangements were made for me to attend school and pay my tuition in installments during the first quarter. So I had to find a way to earn money.
During my first week in Salt Lake City, I must have walked thirty long blocks each day searching for part-time employment. Most of the businesses I contacted needed full-time employees, but I left my application at several places for possible part-time work. To my surprise, within a few days I had a number of offers to choose from. Unfortunately, all of the jobs required me to work on Sundays, beginning in the afternoon. This meant I would miss sacrament meeting every Sunday.
I pondered the matter very carefully. I needed the money very badly; yet to work on the Sabbath would mean breaking one of the Lord’s Commandments I had learned to obey even as a child. I knew that if my parents were living, they would not allow me to take any of these jobs. So to help me make the right decision, I sought counsel from a good friend. “I have never in my life worked on Sunday,” I told him. “It disturbs me to think I would miss church. I don’t want to break the Lord’s Commandments.”
“I am sure the Lord is aware of your needs,” he said. “If it’s the only kind of job the Lord has given you at this time, perhaps you’d better take it.” Somehow I felt uncomfortable with this counsel. “Do you really think the Lord will excuse me if I work on Sunday and miss sacrament meeting? “I asked.
“I’m sure the Lord is mindful of your needs,” he said. “Right now you need work to meet your financial needs. I suggest you take the job.”
So I decided to work as a cashier at an ice cream store. The following Saturday I went for instructions and was asked to start work the following Wednesday. But on Monday afternoon, I was back in my friend’s office.
“I don’t think it’s proper for me to work on Sunday,” I told him.
He looked serious. “What are you planning to do then?” he asked. “The payment on your tuition is due pretty soon.”
After some discussion he again urged me to take the job, and I told him I would think about it. But I still was not comfortable with his counsel, and on the way home I decided that the only thing I could do was take my problem to my Heavenly Father. No one else seemed to understand how deeply I felt about this commandment, which I had lived all my life.
So, alone in my room I knelt and prayed to my Heavenly Father. In detail I told him my problem and said that I wanted to do his will in all things. Then I expressed my faith in whatever his answer would be. Afterward I felt very relieved, as if a burden had been lifted from my shoulders. I picked up my books and went to class, feeling completely happy and at peace.
That same afternoon I received a call from the manager of a large store downtown. I had applied to the store for employment some weeks before, but hadn’t heard from them. I learned that I had passed their math test with a high score and they wanted me to replace one of their sales clerks who was leaving. I could start work the very next day after my morning classes, and I would be working six days a week, Monday through Saturday.
I hung up the phone and ran to my room overwhelmed with tears of joy and gratitude. Again I went down on my knees to thank my Heavenly Father for his goodness. Instead of allowing me to break one of his commandments, he had provided another job.
After my prayer, as I sat quietly on my bed, these words formed in my mind, as if I were reading large printed letters: “REMEMBER THE SABBATH DAY, TO KEEP IT HOLY.” The message was repeated to me.
Now I knew for myself that the Lord does not make compromises when it come to his commandments. I know without a doubt that the Lord can and will provide a way for us to meet our personal needs in a pleasing and righteous manner before him. Nothing is impossible with the Lord.

Preceding the comforting revelation to Joseph and Oliver, the Prophet endured a poignant, painful experience that taught him to look to the Savior and not fear the opinions, pressures, and threats of men.
In June 1828 Joseph allowed Martin Harris to take the first 116 pages of the Book of Mormon manuscript from Harmony, Pennsylvania, to show to family members in Palmyra, New York. After Martin failed to return as promised, an anxious Joseph traveled by stagecoach to his parents’ home in Manchester Township, New York. The Prophet immediately sent for Martin. When Martin arrived, he admitted that he did not have the manuscript or know where it was.
Joseph exclaimed: “Oh! My God, my God. … All is lost, is lost. What shall I do? I have sinned. It is I that tempted the wrath of God by asking him for that which I had no right to ask. … Of what rebuke am I not worthy from the angel of the Most High?”
The next day the Prophet returned to Harmony. Once there, he said, “I commenced humbling myself in mighty prayer before the Lord … that if possible I might obtain mercy at his hands and be forgiven of all that I had done which was contrary to his will.”2
After chastising Joseph for fearing man more than God, the Lord told him:
“Thou art Joseph, and thou wast chosen to do the work of the Lord, but because of transgression, if thou art not aware thou wilt fall.
“But remember, God is merciful; therefore, repent of that which thou hast done which is contrary to the commandment which I gave you, and thou art still chosen, and art again called to the work” (D&C 3:9–10).
“For a time, the Lord took the Urim and Thummim and the plates from Joseph. But these things were soon restored to him. ‘The angel was rejoiced when he gave me back the Urim and Thummim,’ the Prophet recalled, ‘and said that God was pleased with my faithfulness and humility, and loved me for my penitence and diligence in prayer, in the which I had performed my duty so well as to … be able to enter upon the work of translation again.’ As Joseph moved forward in the great work before him, he was now fortified by the sweet feelings of receiving the Lord’s forgiveness and a renewed determination to do His will.”3

On a recent sunny summer day, the noise and excitement that 75 young people can generate brought life back to the area. The youth and leaders of the Highland Utah Ninth Ward came to help clean, fix, paint, weed, clear wood, scrub, and repair what they could of the old town. They wanted to participate in a service project that really meant something. Their bishop, LaMar Hatch was born in Gem Valley. He knew that the history foundation working to preserve the Mormon ghost town of Chesterfield needed a lot of donated muscle power, so he suggested the project to the Young Men and Young Women class presidents. They loved the idea.
As the caravan of cars and vans pulled into the valley, loaded with youth and leaders ready to work, the group was a little surprised by what they saw. Somehow they imagined a ghost town like they saw in the movies with swirling dust blowing tumbleweeds down the streets. On this day, the valley was lush and green with alfalfa to feed the cattle that are still grazed in the area. More than one person described it as looking like a big, green golf course.
The group scattered among the old buildings doing things some of them had never tried before. Several girls were enthusiastically sloshing white paint on themselves and on the outhouse behind the old chapel. After lunch the same group, with the paint thoroughly dried on their clothes, was dusting all the old framed photographs lining the back wall of the chapel.
Heather Nelson was fascinated by the faces she saw in the black-and-white photos of the people who once attended church here. “This is more fun than painting, and I had a blast painting.”
Some of the young men helped pour new concrete steps in front of the school. It was the first time they had ever tried their hand at pouring concrete. Of course, they had plenty of expert supervision, and they weren’t shy about getting into it up to their elbows when holes needed to be filled or excess moved from one place to another.
Many of the jobs that needed to be done were just plain hard work, like clearing dead wood away from old houses. But you didn’t hear many complaints. Everyone was busy.
While resting for a minute after lunch, Scott Sheffield said, “I thought we’d come up here and no one would be working. I thought we might end up destroying the ghost town instead of fixing it up.” But as they started clearing away the weeds, it almost immediately started looking better.
When the group was gathered on the benches inside the little one-room chapel, they couldn’t help noticing how some things about the Church were very much the same as they were one hundred years ago.
A hundred years ago, the young people would push back the benches and hold a dance after working hard all day. Today, this group was looking forward to the dance that evening hosted by the Chesterfield Ward. A hundred years ago, the youth might get together for ice cream after sending a wagon covered with canvas into the mountains to bring back snow to use in the ice cream freezers. Today, the youth would cool off with ice cream from the drive-in and a swim in the big outdoor pool at nearby Lava Hot Springs.
And one hundred years ago, young people gathered in their chapel to be taught about a Heavenly Father who loves them and the way to return to him. Today, the Highland Ninth Ward enjoyed being together to learn about those same gospel truths.
Although the youth in this group don’t really consider themselves pioneers, they are in much the same way that the residents of old Chesterfield were. By living the gospel and in turn teaching their children to stay close to the Lord, they can influence dozens and maybe hundreds of people. By looking back at the example set by teenagers a hundred years ago, maybe the youth of Highland Ninth Ward can know that they live their lives not just for themselves but for all those who come after.