Gospel Story Finder

Several years ago my family was going through a difficult time. My parents had separated, and our family began to forget God’s love.
To our great fortune, one of my mother’s friends saw our need to draw closer to God and introduced us to the full-time missionaries. As they taught us the gospel, we realized that God had a plan for us, and despite our many challenges, He had not abandoned us. After we had come to understand these principles, my mother, sisters, and I decided to be baptized.
As we attended our Sunday meetings, our testimonies of the gospel grew. I soon desired to serve a full-time mission. It was not an easy decision, however, because I was the man of the house. My mother needed my help. Moreover, I began to receive many job offers and was accepted by several universities. I concluded to ask God for help and direction.
After praying, I turned to my scriptures and came upon the following verses:
“Wherefore, your family shall live.
“Behold, verily I say unto you, go from them only for a little time, and declare my word, and I will prepare a place for them” (D&C 31:5–6).
In that instant I strongly felt the Spirit and knew that what I had read was Heavenly Father’s word to me.
Not long after that experience, I received my mission call. Before being set apart as a full-time missionary, I made a promise to my Heavenly Father that I would do His will as a missionary—that I would work diligently and sacrifice my all for Him. The only blessing I prayed for was to see my family together again someday.
My first year as a missionary was challenging, but my companions and I worked with all our hearts. About this time I received a marvelous letter from my mother telling me that my father had returned home! At that moment I remembered the promise I had made to God, and I recalled His promise in the Doctrine and Covenants: “I, the Lord, am bound when ye do what I say; but when ye do not what I say, ye have no promise” (D&C 82:10).
Several years have passed since my mission. Today my family and I still find joy in the gospel and through our covenants with God. I know that He lives. I know that He loves us. I know that He sent His Son to save us. I also know that when we make promises to Him and are faithful to those promises, He is faithful to us.

Sometimes, too, family prayer time helps establish an atmosphere in which we can do things together that don’t seem to happen at other times. Ann Banks wrote, “Our teenage son was tense and sullen whenever we tried to discuss any problem with him. We decided it was important to plan the discussion when he would be most receptive, and that seemed to be at family prayer time in the mornings. It was then that the house was quiet and we shared a humble, sincere feeling. We found the tenseness eased when prayer preceded our discussions.” (Ensign, January 1976, page 37.)

As I was interviewing the young people in our ward as their bishop. I asked each of them: “Are you going out with anyone who is not a member of our church?”
Susan said, “I go out with Bill. We know each other very well. We’re good friends.”
“Do you know him well enough to invite him to our student ward party?” I asked.
Susan brought Bill to our party and our ward missionaries did the rest. Bill is now in the bishopric in Houston, Texas, after having served a mission for the Church. And Bill and Susan’s experience has been duplicated all over the Church.

It’s 8:30 on a brisk Monday morning at the Harvard Business School. A wind that blows in off the Charles River hustles red, orange, and yellow leaves as they chase each other around the ivy-laden brick buildings. Students of all colors and sizes hurry to their classes, the difficulty of the material they studied the night before imprinted on their faces.
Once inside the classroom they place their name cards in front of them, arrange their notes, and chatter nervously. Who will be called on to open class, they wonder, hoping against hope that it won’t be them.
“Mr. Fullmer,” barks the teacher. “I believe it is your lucky day. You will open, please.”
Greg Fullmer leans forward, fingers his notes and begins. He is prepared. He should be. He was up until 2:00 A.M. poring over the text. Greg has to stay up studying a little later than most students because he has so many additional responsibilities. Last year he was elected to serve as the Harvard Business School’s student body president—the first Latter-day Saint to hold that position. School officials and students alike say he is one of the best they’ve ever had—that he did more in the first two months he was in office than most presidents ever do in an entire year. The six-foot-two, broad-shouldered former BYU student body president finishes his statement, and a number of hands shoot up. The discussion has begun.
Fifteen years ago, if you had told that 12-year-old farm boy from Rexburg, Idaho, that he would someday be a student body president of one of the most prestigious schools in the country, he probably would have smiled. Not laughed, mind you, because he always did believe that if your desires are righteous and if you’re willing to pay the price, you can accomplish what you want to. No, he would have smiled because you had just given him a new goal to work toward.
But then again, at that point in Greg’s life, you probably would have laughed right out loud when you tried to picture him as the handsome Harvard student who has a number of major corporations trying to recruit him. Greg was short, overweight, asthmatic, and not exactly what you’d call an academic standout. And although he was good-natured and had a positive disposition, he was no angel either.
“He was always teasing his sister and doing something to get you aggravated,” his grandmother, Loah Anderson will tell you. “I laugh with him now about it though, and tell him that if I had ever caught him, he wouldn’t be where he is today.”
His grade school bus driver would agree. Not long ago, he stopped Greg in church and said “You know, Greg, you’ve restored my faith in the youth of today.”
“How’s that?” asked Greg, flattered but slightly puzzled.
“You used to be the rottenest kid I knew,” the bus driver replied. “I just hated to see you get on that bus. But now I know that if you can make it, anyone can.”
Greg really wasn’t a troublemaker. He just liked to interact with people, and he was naturally curious. “We’d take him to a cafe,” his grandmother says, “and the kid would be up and out in a second. He wouldn’t sit at the table. He’d be over with the hostess, talking to the waitresses; then he’d go back into the kitchen to see what was cooking.”
Through most of Greg’s teenage years, he was six to eight inches shorter than his sister—his younger sister. She is 14 months his junior. In junior high school, he got along well with the other kids, but no one took him that seriously. “I ran for student body president in junior high and suffered a miserable defeat,” he said. “I didn’t even make it into the primaries, and that really hurt.”
So what motivated Greg to keep trying? How did he finally end up in the top student leadership position at Harvard Business School?
Well, you could say it was faith. Faith in the Lord, faith in himself, and the faith that his family showed in him.
Greg didn’t come from what most people would call the ideal, stereotypical family background. But he’ll tell you it was ideal for him. His parents were divorced before he was two, and he, along with his mother and his sister, moved in with his grandparents. Instead of lamenting the fact that he comes from a “broken home,” Greg makes the best of it. “I always felt like I had to excel to make up for not having a dad, so actually, it was kind of good for me,” he says. Besides, “it was like having the love and support of three parents, not just two.” His mother had to work during the day but made sure that when she came home she spent plenty of quality time with her children.
From his mother, Greg learned to listen to people, to understand their needs, and to try to help them. This became one of his greatest assets as he served in various student-government positions. From his grandmother he learned that you can achieve almost anything you want in life if you’re willing to work hard. He attributes his greatest achievements to that conviction, including funding his mission with the money he earned by opening a number of weight control centers in various parts of the country. From his grandfather, Greg learned patience and wisdom. “He didn’t have a formal education, so he’d get up early every morning and read books,” Greg relates. “He’s one of the most intelligent people I know.” Under that inspiration, Greg went from being an average student in junior high to being class valedictorian at BYU.
When Greg was 12, his family went through another change. After much deliberation, his mother decided to remarry, and although there was occasional strain, Greg adapted quite well to his new father, brothers, and sisters.
While other boys were out playing little league baseball, Greg spent a lot of time working on the family farm, milking and feeding cows, cleaning out the milk tank, you name it. He doesn’t regret the time spent—it taught him to work hard. But he won’t tell you he loved it either, although he did have a number of ways to make the long, tedious hours go by faster. He took great pride in trying to do the best job he possibly could. If he was working with others, he would talk to them, laugh with them, joke with them, and get to know them better. And then, when he had a spare second, he would dream about what he would try to accomplish in the future.
“I wasn’t the most athletic kid in the school, I wasn’t the most intelligent, and I certainly wasn’t the best looking, so I decided I’d try to be the friendliest,” he said. “One way to feel good about yourself is to make other people feel good about themselves.”
Included in his dreams was a desire to be a student body president. He got over his miserable junior high defeat and decided that he would run when he got to high school. But just a short time before he was to announce his candidacy, his best friend told him he’d decided to run and asked Greg to be his campaign manager. Greg complied and helped him win, deciding that he could run for the office when he got to Ricks College.
But when Greg got to Ricks, he decided to sacrifice his political ambitions in favor of serving a mission in Indonesia. “I had a lot of misconceptions about the mission field,” he admits. “When you hear missionaries come back and say those were the best two years of their lives, you think it’s going to be all roses, but it’s not. It’s the hardest thing you could possibly do, and that’s what makes it great. I really learned to appreciate things I had to work for and sacrifice for. I learned to accept, appreciate, and love people who were different from me.”
When Greg returned from his mission, he finished up at Ricks, then went on to BYU. He never had satisfied his dream of becoming a student body president, but the thought of presiding over BYU’s 27,000 students seemed overly ambitious to him. His sister Kristie was convinced he could do it though. She helped him find a running mate, served as his campaign manager, and after a lot of hard work, Greg was elected by one of the biggest margins in BYU history.
“That really helped prepare me for where I am now,” Greg says. And actually, he is quite surprised to be in this position at Harvard. He’d already satisfied his goal of serving as a student body president, and knowing how many hours he’d put into the position at BYU, he didn’t think he could handle it at graduate school. After much prayer and a lot of requests from fellow students, however, Greg decided to give it a try. A lot of hard work went into that election too, and it paid off.
Even though Greg has won a multitude of other awards and titles, he feels that some of his greatest satisfaction comes when his accomplishments put him in a position to answer questions about the Church. “I’m constantly being questioned about our beliefs,” he says with a smile. “And I’m always happy to talk with anyone.”
And they’re usually happy to listen. Fellow students scrutinize Greg a little closer than they do other classmates. Not only is he their president, but he’s also one of a handful of LDS people they might know.
Tomorrow he’ll probably be walking Wall Street, but today, on the brisk Monday afternoon, his class discussions are finished and he walks over to one of the numerous meetings he has each week. Many students call out to him, greeting him by name. Some glance at him with a mischievous look in their eyes and call out, “Hi, LARRY!” That’s Greg’s first name, but he hates to be called that and they know it. On the first day of class this year, the student body gave him a standing ovation and shouted out, “Larry! Larry! Larry!” It’s impossible to take yourself too seriously with classmates like that.
Still, many of them ask him how he’s accomplished what he has. “My theory of success,” he tells them, “requires two things—that you work hard, and that you pray hard.” Greg slides into his seat at the head of a large conference table, and the other student body officers begin to file in. He is prepared. He should be. He was up until 2 A.M. making use of his theory of success.

Jetta Pearl Stewart pulled off her bonnet and plopped down on the porch next to Father. “What’s a pearl?” she asked him.
Eight-year-old Jetta knew what a pearl was, but she loved hearing Father’s answer. Like always, Father explained how pearls grow in oysters, layer upon layer, until they become a bright, shiny jewel.
“Pearls shine like you, my little Jetta Pearl,” he said, smiling. Jetta smiled back. She liked being his Pearl.
At dinner that night, Father told Jetta he had an important question for her.
“Ever since you were little, you have had a special way with music,” Father said. “Would you like to learn the piano?”
Jetta’s eyes widened. “Oh, yes!”
“It would mean traveling far away and staying with your teacher for a while,” Mother said. “No one here in Milburn can teach you.”
Jetta’s smile faded. She had never been away from her family for more than a day. And to be far away …
“But it’s important for us to develop our talents, even when it’s difficult,” Father said.
Mother nodded. “You must work very hard,” she said.
Jetta loved music. And she had always wanted to play the piano. Slowly, a smile crept onto her face. “I’m going to play the piano!”
But the next morning, as Jetta watched Father hitch the horses to the wagon, she didn’t feel excited at all. Today she was just scared. She hadn’t expected to be leaving home so soon.
Jetta slowly climbed up into the wagon next to Father.
“You ready, Jetta Pearl?” he said.
She didn’t feel ready, but Jetta nodded. The wagon lurched forward.
After a while, Father glanced over at her. “Do you know how proud your mother and I are of you?”
Jetta nodded. “But what if you need my help at home?”
Father smiled. “We’ll sure miss you, but this is a way only you can help. You’ll be serving Heavenly Father by developing gifts He gave you.”
She hadn’t thought about it like that. Could her musical talent really be a gift from Heavenly Father?
Father continued. “It will take time, but little by little you’ll get better at playing piano. And then you’ll be able to serve lots of people.”
Jetta felt her fear start to fade. She was going to learn the piano and serve Heavenly Father. It would be scary, but she knew that He would help her.
Father winked. “Layer by layer, my little Pearl is getting bright and shiny.”
Just like Father had said, little by little Jetta learned to play the piano. She even learned how to play the organ.
After a few months, Jetta returned home. That Sunday she became Milburn’s very first organist! Her heart raced as she sat at the huge organ the community had worked to buy for her to play. It was so beautiful that Jetta was almost afraid to touch it. She had to sit on a book to reach the keys.
She took a deep breath and started to play. The notes soared across the room, full and beautiful.
Jetta sneaked a peek at the congregation. People were smiling as they sang. Jetta smiled too. Her playing was far from perfect, but she was using her talents to serve.
She remembered Father’s words: “Pearls shine like you, Jetta Pearl.”
Little by little, layer by layer, Heavenly Father was making her into a true pearl.

If we are not careful, the worldly rocks of pride and fear can keep us from being delivered. For example, let’s assume that a person is struggling to remove the weighty worldly rock of viewing pornography from their life. After each “viewing session,” feelings of guilt and shame well up, and a commitment to never do it again is made. This person can see how their senses are becoming dull and their mind is being warped by the graphic lies associated with pornography. In spite of the commitment that was made, this person continues to find himself or herself back in that same situation time after time, pledging those same promises to “never do it again” and “I’ll be stronger next time.”
Brothers and sisters, can you see pride in this example? This person is convinced that he or she can overcome their pornography problem without help, even though it’s obvious that help is needed. The heavy rock of pride is holding this person captive at the bottom of those dark, muddy waters. Vision is clouded, and direction is confused. Spiritual progression is impossible in this current condition!
Let’s assume that this individual realizes the need for outside help and considers meeting with their bishop. However, now the worldly rock of fear begins to pull and weigh on this person. Satan plays on that fear by telling them that everyone will be disappointed if this worldly rock comes to light, that the consequences are just too great, and that it will be easier to keep it hidden.
Fortunately, in our example, this individual overcomes the worldly rocks of both pride and fear and makes an appointment with their bishop. Through specific and loving counsel, this person begins to ascend towards the light and to draw closer to the Son.

I look back to 1967 as a time of change in my life, a time of growing into maturity in many ways. I was fifteen years old, and in January we had discovered that my mother was expecting her sixth child. We were all excited, and mother couldn’t have been happier.
Then, without warning, my mother began to have a miscarriage. My father took her to the hospital, where she was given a powerful drug to prevent the miscarriage. The doctor told my father that if the drug was successful, there was a strong possibility the baby would be either mentally or physically deformed.
My father didn’t share this news with anyone, not even my mother, and under that heavy burden he became depressed. He was inactive in the Church then, and had no testimony to sustain him. My mother became despondent, and when she learned that she would be confined to bed for the rest of her pregnancy, her distress deepened.
I sensed acutely the sadness in our home, and being the oldest child, I felt responsible for doing something about it. But I didn’t know what. Then, remembering the counsel in James 1:5 to ask God for wisdom, I decided to pray.
I remember tearfully kneeling, all alone, pleading with our Heavenly Father to let us have our baby, promising that we would always love and cherish it, that my mother would not be able to accept the child’s loss. As soon as I had uttered these words, I felt a warm, comforting hand upon my shoulder. I was told that all would be well. I stopped crying and stumbled to my feet, anxious to tell my sweet mother the wonderful news!
I remember her surprise as I walked into her room. She had just sent everyone out. I didn’t give her a chance to say a word, I was so excited. As I finished telling her of my experience, she wept. I bent and kissed her, and left the room.
Later she called me to ask if I remembered what I had said to her. I said yes, and related the story again. She looked puzzled and said, "What else?" I really didn’t know what she meant. She said that when I entered the room my face seemed to glow. It told her not to fear, our Father in Heaven knew of her deep desire to keep her child. She would be granted that, and the baby girl would be perfect in every way. I don’t remember saying all that to her, but the Lord knew of her need to hear it.
On May 18, a new baby girl joined our family.

Then it was time for another zone conference. It was a rainy April day as they got on the interstate to travel to the conference.

Scott was driving. As he rounded a curve, he saw a car pulled over to the side of the road. A young mother wrestled with a tire jack while two small children peered out the back of the station wagon at their dripping mother.

Scott slowed down.

“We’ll be late if we stop,” his companion warned.

“I know.”

“If we help, we’ll get wet.”

“I know,” he said, pulling off the road.

“Then why are you stopping?”

“She needs some help.”

“Maybe it’s a trap. How do you know there’s not a couple of guys hiding, ready to take our money?”

“We don’t have any money,” Scott smiled.

Scott stepped outside into the pouring rain. “Can I help?”

“I can’t figure out how to work the jack.”

“Why don’t you get out of the rain? No use both of us getting wet.”

He worked quickly changing the tire. As he worked, he realized that he was singing. He looked up once and saw the faces of the two children pressed against the back window of the station wagon. He winked at them and made a silly face. They both giggled.

When he was finished, he opened the back door of the station wagon and put the flat tire and jack in the back.

The woman got out to thank him. “Can I pay you something?”

“No, but there is something you can do,” he said, running back to his car. He picked up a copy of the Book of Mormon and ran it back to her.

“Read this,” he said, thrusting it into her hand.

Then he turned and ran back to the car.

He had never felt so happy in his life.

“You look like a drowned rat,” his companion complained as they continued down the road.

“At least my hair isn’t wet,” he answered, smiling.

“I suppose you know that we’re going to be late for the meeting.”

“I’m sorry for making you late. It couldn’t be helped.”

“Yes it could. You could’ve passed her by. Someone else would have come along.”

“Will that lady ever have a better reason for reading the Book of Mormon?” Scott asked with a wide grin.

“She doesn’t even live in our area. Even if she’s baptized, someone else will get the credit.”

Scott found himself humming.

“Why are you so happy?”

“Because I’ve just done something that the Savior would have done.”

May I close with a story of inconvenience, now well known to you. Two weeks ago Air Florida’s Flight 90 to Tampa, a Boeing 737 with 74 passengers aboard, began rolling down the runway at Washington’s National Airport. Nothing seemed very different about this; hundreds of planes leave that airport every day. But you all know what happened next. The plane slammed into the 14th Street Bridge, smashed five cars and a truck, and then skidded into the ice-clogged river. To quote one source:

For a moment, there was silence, and then pandemonium. Commuters watched helplessly as the plane quickly sank. . . A few passengers bobbed to the surface; some clung numbly to pieces of debris while others screamed desperately for help. Scattered across the ice were pieces of green upholstery, twisted chunks of metal, luggage, a tennis racquet, a child’s shoe. . . .

Within minutes, sirens began to wail as fire trucks, ambulances and police cars rushed to the scene. A U.S. Park Police helicopter hovered overhead to pluck survivors out of the water. Six were clinging to the plane’s tail. Dangling a life preserving ring to them, the chopper began ferrying them to shore. One woman had injured her right arm, so [the] pilot . . . lowered the copter until its skids touched the water; his partner [then leaned out and] scooped her up in his arms. Then [a young woman] grabbed the preserver, but as she was being helped out of the . . . river by [a] fellow passenger . . . she lost her grip. . . . A clerk for the Congressional Budget Office who was watching from the shore, plunged into the water and dragged her to land. But the most notable act of heroism was performed by [another] of the passengers, a balding man in his early 50s. Each time the ring was lowered, he grabbed it and passed it along to a comrade; when the helicopter finally returned to pick him up, he had disappeared beneath the ice. [James Kelly, “We’re Not Going to Make It,” Time, 25 January 1982, pp. 16–17]

I quote from an essay entitled simply “The Man in the Water”:

His selflessness [is] one reason the story held national attention; his anonymity another. The fact that he [has gone] unidentified invests him with a universal character. For a while he was Every man, and thus proof (as if one needed it) that no man is ordinary.

Still, he could never have imagined such a capacity in himself. Only minutes before his character was tested, he was sitting in the ordinary plane among the ordinary passengers, dutifully listening to the stewardess telling him to fasten his seat belt and saying something about the “no smoking sign.” So our man relaxed with the others, some of whom would owe their lives to him. Perhaps he started to read, or to doze, or to regret some harsh remark made in the office that morning. Then suddenly he knew that the trip would not be ordinary. Like every other person on that flight, he was desperate to live, which makes his final act so stunning.

For at some moment in the water he must have realized that he would not live if he continued to hand over the rope and ring to others. He had to know it, no matter how gradual the effect of the cold. In his judgment he had no choice. When the helicopter took off with what was to be the last survivor, he watched everything in [his] world move away from him, and he deliberately let it [go]. . . .

The odd thing is that we do not . . . really believe that the man in the water lost his fight. . . . He could not, [like Nature], make ice storms, or freeze the water until it froze the blood. But he could hand life over to a stranger, and that is a power of nature too. The man in the water pitted himself against an implacable, impersonal enemy; he fought it with charity; and he [won]. [Roger Rosenblatt, Time, 25 January 1982, p. 86]

In this world we are all, you and I, the man or the woman in the water. We often, like this man and Hamlet, must “take arms against a sea of troubles, and by opposing end them” (Act 3, scene 1, ll. 59–60). And sometimes the cost is very high. It was for Christ, it was for Joseph Smith, and it was for this lone man who counted the cost there in the Potomac—and paid it.

Every year when I was young, I helped my mother wrap the family Christmas presents. I had 5 married siblings and 13 nieces and nephews, so this was no simple task. But even in the colorful mess, I noticed that we seemed to always wrap a handkerchief for my sister. Even if my mother was giving her a nightgown or a blouse or some kitchen gadget, there was that handkerchief for Ann again. I understood that handkerchiefs were practical and inexpensive, but I began to wonder what my sister would think about receiving this gift so often.
One December, I finally commented: “Another handkerchief for Ann? Mom, it seems you give her one almost every year. Have you considered maybe she has enough by now? How many does she need? And another gift makes her family parcel more expensive to mail. I don’t think you need to do this.”
My mother put her scissors aside. “Let me tell you a story. Then maybe you’ll understand. This happened before you were born.
“You know how I came to this country.” (I did. My mother’s family was surprised when she married a widower with four children but shocked it meant she was leaving Holland for the United States.) “But some things you don’t know. When we came here, we had nothing. Life was hard. Your father was working two jobs but with little pay. I took in washing and ironing. Still we didn’t have enough money.
“Ann was 17 then and understood how much money we owed. She decided she could help. She went to work. She found a job in the city at a candy store. She had to take the bus there and stand at the counter all day. She gave us almost all her salary, keeping just enough for bus fare and to buy some lunch, since she couldn’t keep any food behind the counter.
“Ann would tell me she was glad she had a job and that her salary could help us. But she didn’t tell me she worried for her little brothers. Christmas was coming. Their new American friends were talking about the toys they had asked Santa to bring them. What if Santa didn’t bring any presents to our house?
“A few days before Christmas, Ann gave me some money. But it wasn’t her payday. I asked her where she got this money. She told me she had saved it by not eating lunch. It wasn’t a lot of money, but I knew it meant she hadn’t had lunch for weeks. She told me to take the money and buy Christmas presents for her brothers. She trusted me, the new stepmother, to buy what was right.
“I had to buy little things. But I decided I could make a Christmas for the whole family. Tangerines to eat, teddy bear soaps, crayons, little toy cars, socks for your father. And I bought Ann a handkerchief. It was plain, but I stayed up late at night to embroider it and make it pretty. I was so happy my new daughter was giving us Christmas. I wanted her to have something special for Christmas too.
“Christmas came. We were surprised when our church friends brought us a Christmas tree and a box full of presents. They apologized that it was simple things wrapped up in newspaper, but it was wonderful! There were so many useful things and good food to eat. And then another surprise, Ann’s and my secret surprise: Santa had come to our house! Your brothers were so excited! Soon they were on the floor of that little living room, running cars over and under the newspaper. Newspaper everywhere! And Ann opened her present and found the handkerchief. She cried. I cried a little too.
“We made our Christmas meal. Oh, we had treats we hadn’t had in such a long time! Then we cleaned up. Ann went to put her handkerchief away. But it was gone. We looked everywhere. And then I thought, oh no, your father had thrown the newspaper in the fire. Had the handkerchief gone in the fire? It must have because we never found it. But Ann didn’t complain. What had happened had happened. She said she was happy because her brothers were happy.
“The next Christmas, I gave Ann a handkerchief. I made sure that one didn’t get lost. When she got married and moved away, I mailed her a Christmas handkerchief. I don’t give her a handkerchief now because I think she needs it. I give her a handkerchief to tell her I will never forget what she did for our first Christmas together.”
Several years after my mother told me this story, we were able to celebrate Christmas with our entire family. In the commotion, I watched my sister unwrap a handkerchief. I saw her eyes glisten as she reached over and gave our mother’s hand a squeeze. I understood. It wasn’t just a handkerchief. It was their special remembrance of love, gifts, and sacrifice. And, in its simple way, it reminded me of why we celebrate Christmas—because of a very great and loving gift that required sacrifice.

At a Young Women leadership meeting in Eugene, Oregon, I had the privilege of meeting and talking with Sister Cammy Wilberger. The story Sister Wilberger shared with me was a witness of the power and blessing of one young woman’s knowing, living, and loving the gospel.
Sister Wilberger’s 19-year-old daughter, Brooke, was tragically killed several years ago while on summer break after her first year at university. Sister Wilberger recalled, “It was a difficult and dark time for our family. However, Brooke had given us a great gift. We didn’t recognize this as she was growing up, but every single year and moment of her brief life, Brooke had given us the greatest gift a daughter could give her parents. Brooke was a righteous daughter of God. … Because of this gift and especially because of the enabling power of the Atonement, I have had strength, comfort, and the Savior’s promised peace. I have no question where Brooke is now and look forward to our loving reunion.”

Illustration by Brad Teare
“Oh no! Here comes Pedro!”
Everyone at school knew that Pedro was a bully. He was big, and he was mean! He called other kids names, took their lunches, and chased them around the school yard. No one wanted to be around him.
Pedro walked by Lucas and his friend Arthur. He called them “losers” and pushed Arthur.
Lucas was tired of Pedro being so mean. Without even thinking, he shouted, “Stop it, Pedro!”
Lucas couldn’t believe it. He’d just stood up to the biggest bully in school!
Pedro stormed up to Lucas and grabbed his shirt. “What did you say?” Lucas’s heart beat so fast it felt like it would jump out of his chest! “I’ll give you one warning,” Pedro said. “But you’d better watch out!” He shoved Lucas and walked away.
After that, Lucas did his best to avoid Pedro, but Pedro always found him. He kept Lucas off the swings, pushed him during dodgeball, tripped him in the cafeteria, and always said mean things.
One day Lucas and Arthur were playing with Arthur’s soccer ball. Pedro jumped out from behind a tree and grabbed it.
“Please give it back,” said Arthur.
“Who’s going to make me?” Pedro pushed Lucas and laughed.
Lucas could feel his stomach twist in knots. He was so angry! “You know what, Pedro?” Lucas said. “You’re the meanest kid I know! Nobody likes you. Everyone wishes you’d go away!”
Pedro stopped laughing. Lucas felt great about what he said … until he saw the look on Pedro’s face. Was he about to cry? Pedro quickly looked down and walked away.
Lucas instantly felt terrible. For the rest of the day, no matter how hard he tried, Lucas couldn’t get rid of the terrible feeling. That night, he tossed and turned in bed. He kept thinking about how sad Pedro had looked.
How could Pedro feel bad? Lucas thought. He doesn’t care if he’s mean to other kids. I had to say something, right? The more Lucas thought about it, the more he realized he was right to stand up for himself and his friend. But he was wrong to say those mean things.
Lucas knelt by his bed and asked Heavenly Father to forgive him. He told Heavenly Father that he never wanted to hurt anyone like that ever again. He wanted to be kind. When Lucas said “amen,” he knew what he had to do.
After lunch the next day, Lucas found Pedro standing against a wall by himself. Lucas was nervous. What would Pedro do? Lucas took a deep breath and walked over.
“Um, I’m sorry about yesterday.”
Pedro looked surprised. “You’re sorry?”
“Yes. I said some really mean things to you, and I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”
Pedro stared down at his shoes. “It’s OK.”
The bell rang. Lucas started walking back to class. He felt so much better. But there was one more thing he wanted to say. He turned back around. “We could play soccer at recess tomorrow if you want.”
A small smile crossed Pedro’s face. “That sounds good.”
After that, things got better with Pedro. He was still a bully sometimes, but he wasn’t as mean. He even played with Lucas a few times at recess. And it was actually fun! At the end of the school year, Pedro told Lucas that he was moving away. Then he said something that really surprised Lucas.
“Thanks for being my friend,” Pedro said. “Even when I wasn’t nice.”
The warm feeling in Lucas’s heart let him know that being kind is always the right choice.

I received my patriarchal blessing and was counseled to serve a mission because the Lord reserved a special blessing in my mission that would change my life forever. I didn’t know what that meant, but I knew I would understand in time if I was obedient.
I served in the Brazil Curitiba Mission from 2000 to 2002. Through my association with a particular companion, I was able to go to the United States to study. I knew this would indeed change my life forever. I knew my Heavenly Father was aware of me and had a specific plan for me. This opportunity to further my education was an answer to my prayers.
I knew that it would be challenging to learn a second language, but I also knew it was possible if I worked hard enough. I studied at the Brigham Young University English Language Center and spent up to 10 hours a day in the library. One of my teachers suggested we pray for the gift of tongues, so every night I prayed and asked Heavenly Father for this gift. He certainly helped me.
After I completed my studies at the English Language Center, I was accepted at several universities. I decided to attend Brigham Young University–Idaho and apply for the nursing program. I heard that it was very difficult to get into the program, especially for international students. So I studied my hardest. My friends teased me, saying I should move into the library because I spent so much time there. Even when it closed, I went home and kept studying.
When times were difficult, I remembered the words of President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008): “You need all the education you can get. Sacrifice a car; sacrifice anything that is needed to be sacrificed to qualify yourselves to do the work of the world.”1 I knew those were the words of a prophet of God, and I took them seriously.
When I was accepted to the nursing program, my heart filled with gratitude and happiness. I knew it would be hard and I would have to continue to make sacrifices, but I knew the Lord would be with me.
While in school, I met my husband, and we were married in 2007. My mother also joined the Church that year. She told me that she had never known why I was so happy, even with all the terrible things that had happened to us. But once she joined the Church, she understood. The gospel of Jesus Christ has blessed my family, and I’m happy to see my mother blessed after all the sacrifices she has made. I will always be grateful for her.
By the beginning of 2010, I was preparing for graduation—and was pregnant with our first child. Two months before I was to graduate from the nursing program, I had complications with my pregnancy, and our baby was born via cesarean section. My teachers told me I should take time off from school and graduate later. But I was so close—only two months away!
So my husband and I carefully organized our time so we could properly balance our priorities and I could complete my education. I scheduled my study time so I could give my husband and our son the attention they needed. Sometimes my husband’s parents stayed with our son while I was in class. Two great classmates helped me review class materials. I felt that the Lord had sent all of these people to support me through this difficult time.
After graduation I passed the state certification exam and started working as a nurse to help support our family while my husband completes his education. Even though I am not planning on working once my husband starts his career, if a tragedy or economic hardship requires me to work in the future, my education helps me feel prepared to do so.
Mom was right: education does have the capacity to change lives. It has changed mine, and it will change the lives of my children. I hope they will realize that I am successful because I followed the Lord’s plan for me. He wanted me to get an education, and He helped me every step of the way. I hope my children learn how to work like I did and that they come to value education as much as I do.

Many years ago, some of my younger cousins were assigned to do a service project at our Grandpa Crozier Kimball’s farm. As a reward, they were promised Grandma Clara’s1 fabulous homemade cake.
When they had completed their tasks, they headed to the kitchen for their reward. Grandpa, however, blocked the kitchen door. My cousin Kathy Galloway, who was about 14 at the time, recalls that he sat down on a piano bench and invited the cousins to sit on the floor. He thanked them for their hard work and then said he had something important to share before they ate their cake.
“There will come a time in your lives when you will need to know and act on what I am about to share with you,” he said.
He explained that his grandfather Heber C. Kimball (1801–68) and other pioneer ancestors had faced arduous physical challenges. Grandpa said the pioneers quickly learned that to survive, they had to work together and love and serve each other.
“This is one of the great legacies they left to you!” he said as tears began to roll down his cheeks.
“In my calling as a patriarch and as your grandfather, when I look down the corridors of time, … my heart aches for you,” he said. “You will face emotional and spiritual challenges that most of your pioneer ancestors could never have imagined.”
Unless the younger generation honors the pioneers’ great legacy of love and service, he added, “many of you will fail because you will not be able to survive on your own.”
Then, with a spirit-to-spirit connection, Grandpa Kimball concluded: “We need each other. In addition to sharing our testimonies of the gospel with one another, our duty is to love and serve and strengthen and nourish and support and sustain each other, … especially in our family. Please remember that in the last days, your very survival may depend on your willingness to work together and to love and serve each other. Now, let us go eat cake!”

Not too long ago, I was working on our farm with my nephew Nash. He is six and has a pure heart. He is my favorite nephew named Nash, and I believe I am his favorite uncle speaking in conference today.

As he helped me come up with a solution for our project, I said, “Nash, that is a great idea. How did you get so smart?” He looked at me with an expression in his eyes that said, “Uncle Ryan, how do you not know the answer to this question?”

He simply shrugged his shoulders, smiled, and confidently said, “Jesus.”

Nash reminded me that day of this simple and yet profound teaching. The answer to the simplest questions and to the most complex problems is always the same. The answer is Jesus Christ. Every solution is found in Him.

Quinn has seen firsthand how trusting the Lord leads to success. His first big roping win came during the National Finals Rodeo in December 2005. Going into the competition, Quinn, then 12, decided that if he won, he would donate all of his winnings to the Church’s general missionary and perpetual education funds.
The day of the event arrived, and conditions were poor. It was windy, making it challenging to throw a lariat with accuracy. But Quinn remembered his decision and trusted that he’d be blessed. He roped well, and though he was by the far the youngest one there, he placed first and third against tough competition.
Even though there were a few things that Quinn might have wanted to buy, such as a new saddle, he put his money where his mouth was and donated the money.
“It opened my eyes—if you’re going to do something good for the Lord, He is sure to help you,” Quinn says.

My husband and I moved from Minnesota to Florida in 1995 with four kids in tow. The day we arrived, a powerful hurricane was heading to our area in Fort Lauderdale. As the movers were unloading our belongings, Elder Homer quickly went to the store to purchase water and canned goods, but he returned home a short time later with nothing. The shelves were completely empty. Panic started to set in as we noticed people boarding up windows in stores and homes.
Just as we were trying to figure out what to do, we saw a minivan pull up in front of our house. A woman got out and unloaded a wagon full of water and canned goods—and a homemade meal. A native Floridian, she told us all the things we needed to do: fill every sink and bathtub with water, except for one. This one we would all lie in and cover ourselves with a mattress, should the hurricane hit.
This woman, we learned, was the bishop’s wife, and she knew we were moving in this particular weekend. So, she had planned ahead for us, in addition to preparing for her own large family. We were overwhelmed with gratitude for this covenant-keeping woman. Through these kind acts, I felt deeply of Heavenly Father’s love for us and for me as His child.
The hurricane did not hit our area, but we were now well prepared for the next one.

Elders Upshaw and Jean Louis introduced the gospel to my family in 2007 when I was only 6. Challenges in our life continued but the special feelings of truth and eternal happiness for our family kept us faithful. My mom’s desire for me to serve a mission held a lot of power even when the worldly interests called me in a different direction, I felt the strength to finally hear the Spirit and follow the Savior. This mission has been a growing experience, and I am thankful for all those that got me here.

When I was young, my mother was the only member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in our family. Each Sunday she would go to church alone because my dad wanted his children to go to the Methodist Church. But my dad didn’t go to church at all.
Things changed in 1989. I was baptized, and within two months, my dad was baptized as well. He later became my bishop.
It was an amazing change for my dad, and I remember it very well. I now want to be like him. Here’s why.
Before my dad became a Church member, he was doing all the bad things of the world. He drank all the time. I saw my dad drunk. I saw him smoke. He just stayed home and watched TV. We weren’t very happy.
It’s totally different now. He’s very calm, and he talks to me about incorporating the teachings of the gospel into my life. Every night before we have our evening prayers, he talks to all of us about the gospel and its importance.
Before, we used to try to have evening prayers, but my dad wouldn’t participate. He didn’t seem to care. But now he makes it a priority that we all gather together each night to thank Heavenly Father.
It’s been great to see the changes in my family that the Church has brought. I know if my dad had gone on as he was before—smoking and drinking—I might have followed his example and felt that those were things I should do. And he couldn’t have told me to stop because he was doing them too.
But he’s a member of the Church, and because he lived that other life, he knows that it won’t bring me happiness.
My dad also stresses that since I’m the oldest son, my younger brothers and younger sister are looking up to me. He says they will follow me and I need to be a good example so they will follow me in righteousness. That’s what I’m trying to do.
It’s been a real blessing to me to have a father who honors the priesthood. He always talks to me about the priesthood before I give a talk or bless the sacrament. He reminds me that I’m a priesthood holder and that I should be thankful for the priesthood because not all men have it.
So many teenagers here in Western Samoa drink and smoke and do things they shouldn’t. My dad’s example is like a protection to me.
With my dad leading the way, it’s so much easier to follow the teachings of Jesus Christ. And for that I’m grateful.

One stake enrichment meeting focused on building faith in Jesus Christ with a sharing of testimonies. Stephanie Wilkey, stake Relief Society president, writes: “We had felt inspired to have a home, family, and personal enrichment meeting based on one of the principles of charity: kindness. It took every bit of faith we had to follow the promptings we had received as a presidency to carry through with this idea. My counselors assured me that the sisters would come and that they would stand and speak to us of the things of the heart. Oh, did they come! Close to 350 sisters poured into the chapel on a windy, rainy evening. They stood and poured their hearts out to each other in magnificent testimonies of applying the principle of kindness in their lives. As the sisters left the building an hour and a half later, they expressed with words and tears that they had felt the love of the Lord and were so very grateful they had come.”