Gospel Story Finder

In addition to their regular youth conference activities—speakers, games, and dances—youth from the Jonesboro and Tucker Georgia stakes put on a carnival for 200 handicapped and underprivileged participants. The youth spent the morning of the carnival setting up booths and preparing for their guests. When they arrived, each visitor was assigned a youth host for the day. There were no losers at the “Carnival of Dreams”—each game was designed so that everyone would walk away from any game they played a winner. At the testimony meeting following the carnival, several youth shared experiences and expressed their love for their special visitors.

Joanne, a young Church member, married a man who everyone thought was unworthy of her. He was addicted to alcohol and reckless with money. Almost immediately, the marriage had difficulties. But Joanne seemed to possess the magic of being happy.
As the years passed, instead of becoming bitter and defensive, Joanne became even more patient. Her children were reared tenderly, and she taught them to be loving and kind with each other, with her, and with their father. Five of the eight went on missions and all were married in the temple. Miraculously, the year before her husband’s unexpected death, he accepted the gospel and was baptized.
What caused such a marvelous change?
Joanne’s sister says, “Joanne never allowed her children or anyone else to talk negatively about their father. Sometimes he would come home at two or three in the morning, and my sister would wake all the kids and say, ‘Your daddy is home! Come, kiss him, love him!’
“When the children grew older and questioned their father’s actions, she would say, ‘Honey, don’t judge your dad. He doesn’t have the gospel yet. All we can do is love him and forgive him. He is a good man, and he is head of this family.’”
But was she happy?
“To her family, to us, to everyone,” says Joanne’s sister, “she radiated happiness. But I’m sure she suffered. I also know how badly she wanted her husband to join the Church.”
Joanne talks about staying with a man many women would abandon:
“I never considered turning away from my love for and loyalty to my husband. He was a very good man, even though he did foolish things. He loved people. He helped others in need. We sometimes had a person, even whole families, live with us because my husband knew that they were out of work and needed someplace to go.
“We had great, genuine love in our family. I know that he loved me and the children and that he was proud of us. The good example of our children brought him into the Church. It was the happiest day of my life when he was baptized.” They were married twenty-eight years before that happened.

This monumental effort to build the House of the Lord occurred while enemies from Missouri and elsewhere continually threatened Joseph's life. When mobsters from Missouri or wherever pursued the Prophet Joseph, he sought refuge in one place or another. In Nauvoo, we are told that occasionally it was up through a trap door into the small attic of the home of Bishop Edward Hunter. Joseph Smith was over six feet tall, and while he was in that cramped and life-threatening situation, his mind was occupied with things more important to him than his personal safety. Without even being able to stand up for hours on end, it was there in that uncomfortable setting, he wrote letters of inspiration, one of which became section 128 in the Doctrine and Covenants. Listen to what was pressing on his mind at the time: I now resume the subject of the baptism for the dead, as that subject seems to occupy my mind, and press itself upon my feelings the strongest, since I have been pursued by my enemies.[6] Rather than to his own comfort and safety, his thoughts turned to the sacred ordinance work that would occur in the temple. Rather than being discouraged or depressed, he wrote positive, optimistic and even lyrical lines such as these:

Now what do we hear in the gospel which we have received? A voice of gladness! A voice of mercy from heaven; and a voice of truth out of the earth; glad tidings for the dead; glad tidings of great joy. How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of those that bring glad tidings of good things, and that say unto Zion: Behold, thy God reigneth! As the dews of Carmel, so shall the knowledge of God descend upon them!
Brethren, shall we not go on in so great a cause? Go forward and not backward. Courage, brethren; and on, on to the victory![7]

In the October 2012 general conference, President Boyd K. Packer related an incident that explains this very well. On one occasion he was assigned to a stake conference in Western Samoa. As part of the conference the group had to travel from Savai’i to Mulifanua on Upolu Island. They had originally planned to go by plane, but weather conditions prevented that, so they set out on a forty-foot boat. What they did not know is that they were headed into the center of a ferocious tropical storm. After many hours they crossed the rough seas and arrived at the harbor at Mulifanua. President Packer explained what happened next:

We arrived in the harbor at Mulifanua. There was one narrow passage we were to go through along the reef. A light on the hill above the beach and a second lower light marked the narrow passage. When a boat was maneuvered so that the two lights were one above the other, the boat would be lined up properly to pass through the dangerous rocks that lined the passage.
But that night there was only one light. Two elders were waiting on the landing to meet us, but the crossing took much longer than usual. After watching for hours for signs of our boat, the elders tired and fell asleep, neglecting to turn on the second light, the lower light. As a result, the passage through the reef was not clear.
The captain maneuvered the boat as best he could toward the one upper light on shore while a crewman held [a] flashlight over the bow, searching for rocks ahead. We could hear the breakers crashing over the reef. When we were close enough to see them with the flashlight, the captain frantically shouted reverse and backed away to try again to locate the passage.
After many attempts, he knew it would be impossible to find the passage [without the second light]. All we could do was try to reach the harbor at Apia 40 miles (64 km) away. We were helpless against the ferocious power of the elements.25

The group eventually made their way to safety, but it was a harrowing experience. President Packer observed, “I do not know who had been waiting for us at the beach at Mulifanua. ... But it is true that without that lower light, we all might have been lost.”26

Just a few years ago we converted a Reverend Cooke from up in the northwest–the state of Washington. He wrote a letter to my brother, who was then president of the Northwestern States mission, in which he said, “I have always thought that I had as much authority as any man to administer the ordinances of the gospel–until I met the Mormon elders. Now I have come to feel that I must accept baptism at their hands.” Then, after he was baptized, he came down to Salt Lake and to my office and said this: “When I joined the Church I did not feel I could say that I knew that Joseph Smith was a prophet, but I believed that he was. But when Brother Burroughs [and I know Brother Burroughs up there] laid his hands on my head and ordained me to the priesthood I felt something go through me like I never had felt before in all my life, and I knew that no man could do that for me. It must have come from the Lord.” Then he continued, “When I think of how little I had to offer my people as a Methodist minister compared with what I now have in the fulness of the gospel as it has been restored I want to go back and tell my friends what I have found. Now they won’t listen to me; I am an apostate from their church.” But he had given up his ministry (and that is an honorable calling) to run the elevator in our state capitol building so that he could join the Church. Through the window in my office he pointed to the temple and said, “I can’t wait until I can go there with my wife. I want to be sure I have her forever.” That is what it is when people really love truth and are called out of darkness, as Peter said, unto the Lord’s true light.

During general conference in 2001, President Gordon B. Hinckley introduced the Perpetual Education Fund. I needed the opportunities that such a program offered so I could lift myself economically, but I wondered whether I could meet the program’s requirements.
During sacrament meeting a few months later, our stake president spoke about the program. To my great surprise, I learned that I might qualify after all. I thought to myself, “This is my last chance. I can’t pass it up.”
I then began to consider the responsibilities the program would require of me, and I feared that I would fail and once again fall short in Heavenly Father’s eyes. But I overcame these thoughts, and gathering information from the local institute director, I applied. Considering my past, I had little hope that I would be accepted. I felt that I did not deserve such a blessing even though I had repented and returned to church.
When I received a positive response from Church headquarters, my family and I rejoiced. The amount granted was not enough for the entire academic year, but I went ahead and registered for a major in computer programming. I received high grades and earned a scholarship that paid for the rest of my schooling.
Since then I have done everything in my power to show my gratitude. I work hard, I study hard, and I fulfill my responsibilities in the Church. I attend institute classes to try to make up for the years I missed and to learn what the Lord expects of me.
The most important thing I know is that I have been forgiven for all the bad things I did in the past. All of my plans for the future are based on this knowledge. I will continue to help my family, but now I will be able to do so in a better manner.

I guess everybody at some time longs to feel important and to do something that will be remembered by the people of the world—something that will change the course of history and become legendary because of its momentous impact on society. At least that’s the way I felt when I was a teenager.
Of course, I could dream of being rich and famous, or of making a major scientific discovery, or of being the first woman on the moon or in the White House, but somehow I knew those things were not within the realms of probability. At least not for me.
I was not exactly what you might call an outstanding person. I don’t really remember standing out in anything, except maybe the rain. I was a great follower, but never a leader. I knew I’d never be class valedictorian or win any contests or talent shows, and I was too uncoordinated in sports to excel. It’s not that I didn’t try or didn’t care. I was just shy and lacked self-confidence. So how could a person like me possibly make a difference?
I asked my mother what she thought. She said getting through the school year without getting any C’s on my report card would certainly make a difference when it came time for me to go to college. I knew she was right, but that wasn’t the kind of thing I had in mind. I thought of rewriting the school constitution or taking a petition around for people to sign, but I couldn’t think of what to change in the constitution or what to petition for.
When I finally started to run out of ideas and hope, I turned to the Lord. I asked him to help me find something that wouldn’t take any special talents or qualifications, but would help me feel I was making a worthwhile contribution. Nothing earth-shattering just something suited to my capabilities.
It wasn’t long afterwards that I got this genius idea. It was so right for me that I knew it had to be inspired—I never would have thought of it myself. The idea was that I should get to know people’s names—everyone that I came in contact with on a regular basis—and greet them by name whenever I saw them.
I started with my own neighborhood and learned the names of everyone—even the children and pets. Then I went on to memorize the names of all my ward members. When I had successfully completed that, I started on my high school.
It was a big school in a large city and it took me quite a while, but I did it. I didn’t pay any attention to racial or clique boundaries. At first I felt a little strange saying hello and calling people by name that I didn’t even know, and I embarrassed myself quite a few times by accidentally calling people by the wrong name, but I got better at it as time went on.
It became a game to see how many new names I could learn in a day. Once in a while I got some puzzled looks and some questions like, “Are you trying to win an election or something?” But for the most part, everyone acted like they really appreciated it.
Did it make a difference? I think so. Once Brother Barton, the oldest man in the ward said to me, “Young lady, I think you are the only young person in this ward who knows my name. It sure is nice when you speak to me and remember who I am.” Then one day at school I found an anonymous note stuck into my locker that said, “Thanks for saying hi to me today. I’m new at school and I didn’t think anyone even knew my name. Thanks for making me feel welcome.” I even got to like some of the people I’d previously thought were unfriendly or snobbish. When I started being nice to them and calling them by name, they were usually very nice in return.
The greatest difference it made, though, was in me. My whole attitude changed. I didn’t feel average or ordinary anymore. I felt that I was a special person who was doing something worthwhile because I was helping others. I could see them light up inside whenever I said their name and greeted them with a smile. It may have made only a small difference to them, but with the Lord’s help, it made a big difference to me.

Many years ago LaVene Call and her visiting teaching companion visited a less-active sister. They knocked on the door and found a young mother in her bathrobe. She looked ill, but they soon realized her problem was alcohol. The visiting teachers sat and talked with the struggling young mother.

After they left, they said, “She is a child of God. We have a responsibility to help her.” So they visited often. Each time, they could see and feel a change for good. They asked the sister to attend Relief Society. Though reluctant, she eventually attended regularly. After encouragement, she and her husband and daughter attended church. The husband felt the Holy Ghost. He said, “I’m going to do what the bishop suggests.” Now they are active in the Church and have been sealed in the temple.2

In still another case, a young woman from Hamburg, Germany, was struggling to find spiritual meaning to her life. She began to pray and ask God what she should do. One morning, after three days of some fasting and much prayer, she walked from her home to the bus stop. As she arrived, she realized she had left some keys at home that she needed that day. She returned home, picked up the keys, and walked again to the bus stop. She was quite distraught as she realized she had missed the bus she would have normally taken.
Meanwhile, two missionaries were traveling on a bus near the city of Hamburg. As they were traveling, they suddenly had an impression that they should talk to the first person they met after exiting the bus. The two elders got out of the bus and instantly saw this young woman. They spoke to her briefly about the Church and set up an appointment to teach her. She had an immediate feeling that somehow the elders were sent to her as an answer to her prayers. The good members of the Church joined with the missionaries in teaching her and helping her feel a special part of their ward. She accepted the message of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ and was baptized. Now she is working in the ward Young Women program.

In the end, one story kept coming back to me—a story that has been imprinted on my memory for many, many years. It isn’t about farming, animals, nuclear engineering, or pigeons. It is as you might have guessed—about aviation. I call it “The Story of the Lightbulb.”
On a dark December night 36 years ago, a Lockheed 1011 jumbo jet crashed into the Florida Everglades, killing over 100 people. This terrible accident was one of the deadliest crashes in the history of the United States.
A curious thing about this accident is that all vital parts and systems of the airplane were functioning perfectly—the plane could have easily landed safely at its destination in Miami, only 20 miles (32km) away.
During the final approach, however, the crew noticed that one green light had failed to illuminate—a light that indicates whether or not the nose landing gear has extended successfully. The pilots discontinued the approach, set the aircraft into a circling holding pattern over the pitch-black Everglades, and turned their attention toward investigating the problem.
They became so preoccupied with their search that they failed to realize the plane was gradually descending closer and closer toward the dark swamp below. By the time someone noticed what was happening, it was too late to avoid the disaster.
After the accident, investigators tried to determine the cause. The landing gear had indeed lowered properly. The plane was in perfect mechanical condition. Everything was working properly—all except one thing: a single burned-out lightbulb. That tiny bulb—worth about 20 cents—started the chain of events that ultimately led to the tragic death of over 100 people.
Of course, the malfunctioning lightbulb didn’t cause the accident; it happened because the crew placed its focus on something that seemed to matter at the moment while losing sight of what mattered most.

Young people, God requires hard things of you. One 14-year-old young woman participated in competitive basketball. She dreamed of playing high school basketball like her older sister. She then learned that her parents had been called to preside over a mission in Guatemala.
Upon arrival, she discovered that a couple of her classes would be in Spanish, a language she did not yet speak. There was not a single girls’ sports team at her school. She lived on the 14th floor of a building with tight security. And to top it all off, she could not go outside alone for safety reasons.
Her parents listened to her cry herself to sleep every night for months. This broke their hearts! They finally decided they would send her home to her grandmother for high school.
When my wife entered our daughter’s room to tell her our decision, she saw our daughter kneeling in prayer with the Book of Mormon open on the bed. The Spirit whispered to my wife, “She will be OK,” and my wife quietly left the room.
We never heard her cry herself to sleep again. With determination and the Lord’s help, she faced those three years valiantly.
At the conclusion of our mission, I asked my daughter if she was going to serve a full-time mission. Her answer was “No, Dad, I have already served.”
I was just fine with that! But about six months later, the Spirit awoke me in the night with this thought: “I have called your daughter to serve a mission.”
My reaction was “Heavenly Father, she has given so much.” I was quickly corrected by the Spirit and came to understand that her missionary service was required of the Lord.
I soon took my daughter to lunch. From across the table, I said, “Ganzie, do you know why we are here?”
She said, “Yes, Dad. You know I have to serve a mission. I do not want to go, but I am going.”
Because she gave her will to Heavenly Father, she served Him with all of her heart, might, mind, and strength. She has taught her father how to do a hard thing.

I still remember how anxious I was as I prepared to see my bishop about serving a mission. I wondered if I was good enough. Like the Prophet Joseph Smith, I wasn’t “guilty of any great or malignant sins” (Joseph Smith—History 1:28), but I was nervous just the same.

I was nervous because I couldn’t help but think about my friend Danny.* For months Danny had been talking about how much he looked forward to serving a mission. But that changed after he met with the bishop.

Because Danny had engaged in unworthy behavior with several young women, he later told me, he had disqualified himself from full-time missionary service. He was no longer free to choose a mission.

Danny, in the words of President Boyd K. Packer, President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, had fallen to Satan’s temptation “to misuse [his] moral agency.”1

True freedom, as For the Strength of Youth teaches, comes when we use our agency to choose obedience. Loss of freedom, as Danny learned, comes from choosing disobedience.

“While you are free to choose your course of action, you are not free to choose the consequences. Whether for good or bad, consequences follow as a natural result of the choices you make.”2

Because the scriptures teach that we are “free to choose,” “free to act,” and free to do things “of [our] own free will” (2 Nephi 2:27; 10:23; D&C 58:27; see also Helaman 14:30), we often use the term “free agency.”

But did you know that the phrase “free agency” does not appear in the scriptures? Instead, the scriptures teach “that every man may act in doctrine and principle … according to the moral agency which I have given unto him, that every man may be accountable for his own sins” (D&C 101:78; emphasis added).

Elder D. Todd Christofferson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles has taught: “The word agency appears [in scriptures] either by itself or with the modifier moral. … When we use the term moral agency, we are appropriately emphasizing the accountability that is an essential part of the divine gift of agency. We are moral beings and agents unto ourselves, free to choose but also responsible for our choices.”3

President Packer adds, “Agency is defined in the scriptures as ‘moral agency,’ which means that we can choose between good and evil.”4 This God-given gift means we are “free to choose liberty and eternal life, through the great Mediator of all men, or to choose captivity and death, according to the captivity and power of the devil” (2 Nephi 2:27).

Because moral agency plays an important role in the plan of salvation, Satan sought to destroy it in the premortal world. He was cast out for his rebellion and now seeks “to deceive and to blind men, and to lead them captive at his will” (Moses 4:3–4).

Satan wants us to make choices that limit our freedom, lead to bad habits and addictions, and leave us powerless to resist his temptations. The beauty of the gospel is that it makes us aware of our choices and the consequences of those choices. Wise use of agency keeps our choices open and improves our ability to choose correctly.

When the plan of salvation was presented in the Grand Council in Heaven, the Savior showed us how to use our moral agency correctly. He said, “Father, thy will be done, and the glory be thine forever” (Moses 4:2). Because He was willing to do the will of the Father then and later in the Garden of Gethsemane and on the cross (see Matthew 26:39; Luke 22:42), Jesus paid the price for our bad choices and provided a way for us to be forgiven through repentance.

If we follow the Savior’s example, instead of saying, “I do what I want,” we will declare, “I do what the Father wants.”5 Using our moral agency this way will bring us freedom and happiness.

As I went to see my bishop for my first mission interview, I was grateful I had made good choices. A few months later I was serving the Lord in Guatemala—teaching others the plan of salvation and the vital role moral agency plays in that plan.

I was reminded of this lesson again a few years ago when Debi and I were at the University of Utah hospital. She had just embarked on her first of seven surgeries for those next fifteen months and I was in the waiting room, pacing the floor and wondering, "Why is this happening?" I questioned, "Why me? Or Why us?" as I stood there looking out the window gazing across parking lots and Salt Lake City traffic, where everyone was hurrying on their way someplace. I thought, "Nobody even cares that we are here or that life for us is changing." I was scared and I was angry and really I was having my own little pity party. I was all-alone and I had forgotten that this story was not all about me [or us].

I sat in an uncomfortable chair alone and away from everyone else, silently praying and then writing some of my thoughts in my journal. But, I felt so alone. I felt terrible as I pondered Debi's pain and our frustration--this didn't fit with our plans. After a long hour of self-pity, I walked to the window again avoiding contact with anyone that might interrupt my self-centered thoughts.

I was only there at the window for a few minutes before I noticed an ambulance coming into the parking lot with lights and sirens on; simultaneously a helicopter was landing on the emergency helipad. I could tell something traumatic had happened and doctors and nurses were hurrying into and out of the emergency room area on the other side of the hospital. Suddenly my attention turned to the several cars following the ambulance into the parking lot and people hurrying to get inside the hospital with their loved ones. My thoughts went heavenward as I offered a simple, silent prayer for these people who I didn't even know who were facing some unknown emergency. While praying I also thanked Heavenly Father for our wonderful family and for our temple marriage. I thanked him for our wonderful children that He had entrusted to Debi and me.

As my mind shifted back to the waiting room where I was actually standing, and away from my own worries about Debi and myself and our situation, I became aware that there were several families there in the waiting room, and all of them had looks of worry and loneliness and fear. Everyone there seemed to be worried and they were either praying to God or talking amongst themselves trying to reassure each other in one way or another that their family members would be okay.

Then, it happened, I realized how self-absorbed I had been. I remembered the truth: it's not all about me. "Awake, my soul."[13] Nephi's words rang in my mind. Wow,it was an ah ha moment and I was being taught by the spirit. I had been so focused on my own feelings I had completely ignored or been unaware of those immediately around me who were in need.

I turned to the lady closest to me and asked who she was waiting for and why they were in surgery. Her story unfolded over the next forty-five minutes, and I had the wonderful opportunity to share my belief in God, priesthood power, the plan of happiness and the importance of families. That day turned out to be a wonderful experience getting to know all but one group there in the waiting room.

I learned that day that we all have the opportunity to struggle, and the more we learn about other people's lives the more we appreciate the personal trials that we have to face. That day I realized how much the Lord loves all of His children. I even had the privilege of using the priesthood for blessing one of the men in the waiting room. It was a choice experience to feel our Heavenly Father's love for His children as testimonies were shared and love was expressed.

That day proved to be the beginning of many trips to the hospital where I loved meeting people and sharing my love for my Heavenly Father. I had learned there in the waiting room for sure we can find many who need a lift. They are all there worried about their own families and friends. But if we can remember that truly the story is not about us but about how we lift others, wow, the world opens up for all of us just like it did that day for me. And we don't have to go to the waiting room to find them--we can find them in our own apartments, wards, and neighborhoods every single day.

Our lives were forever touched and changed by the generosity of others when we bought our home on Moana Street in 1984. It was a momentous time for us. I had just had a very spiritual confirmation that we should stay in Hawaii in connection with my calling as bishop of the Laie 5 th Ward. We had, with fear and trembling, mortgaged ourselves up to our eyeballs. In the final days of the transaction, the mortgage company inspected the house and made the condition that the home had to have a new roof within 30 days of closing. We were quite depressed when we got estimates of $5-7,000 for the job. We were basically penniless at that point.

In the midst of this, a generous brother-in-law said he would pay for the cost of the materials and the ward leaders came forward and organized a roofing party. On a Saturday morning at 6:00 a.m. a crowd descended on the house (or ascended, I should say) and began to remove the 20-year old, rotten cedar shakes. Leading the way were John Feinga, David Almodova, Sione Langi and Likitoni Kauvaka along with dozens of others from both high priests and elders quorums. Two or three Polynesian brethren from other wards drove by and spontaneously stopped and joined in the work. They said, "This looks like fun. Can I help?" The whole YM-YW program was there. Easter Logan (Bishop Vonn Logan's father) brought his flat-bed truck and supervised the young men loading up the old roof parts being thrown down on the sides of the house.

When the old roof was gone from the top, the ground was clean, as the trash was shuttled continuously to the dump. The relief society and young women had a delicious meal for all participants at noon. By the end of the day, new plywood sheets and tarpaper covered the roof. The whole scene was repeated on Monday, which was the Memorial Day holiday, with the new shingles being laid in orderly fashion. We felt like we were at a barn-raising in the old West. We were also filled with love and gratitude for our brother-in-law, neighbors and ward friends. They had done something for us we could not do for ourselves.

I conclude with a story from Dr. William Weaver who was the Chairman of Surgery at the Morehouse School of Medicine in Atlanta for 13 years. He shared this story about his father, Ted Weaver, who worked as a janitor and chauffeur in Nashville, Tennessee, when William was growing up:
When I was in high school, I was taking algebra, and I was sitting at the kitchen table trying to do my homework. And I got frustrated, said, “I just can’t figure this out, I’m just . . .” so my father said, “What’s the problem?” And I said, “It’s just algebra.” And he said, “Well, let me look at it.” And I said, “Dad, they didn’t even have algebra in your day.” And I went to sleep, and around 4 o’clock that morning he woke me up and he said, “C’mon, son, get up.” He sat me at the kitchen table, and he taught me algebra. What he had done is sit up all night and read the algebra book, and then he explained the problems to me, so I could do them, and understand them. To this day, I live my life trying to be half the man my father was, just half the man. And I would be a success if my children loved me half as much as I loved my father."

This past spring I was with a group of nursing students in the United Kingdom on a Study Abroad program where we were learning about the health care system. It was a wonderful trip, and like past Study Abroad programs that I have participated in, you do not expect everything to go exactly as planned. However, this trip seemed to bring on more challenges than usual. Now, in the nursing program classes are a bit different because we not only have our required classroom time but we also have a required number of hours that students must spend in a clinical setting such as a hospital or (for people like me, a public health nurse) in the community in a school or public health department.

In England we had partnered with a university that had arranged for us to be in the local hospital. After only about one and a half weeks into our clinical rotation, I was told that due to some changes in the visa rules and how they had interpreted them, we had to immediately stop going to the hospital. The news was shocking. We still had many hours we needed to complete in order to comply with the clinical hour requirement. More important, our main purpose in coming to England was to be involved in the health care system. What were we going to do? Well, we scrambled and prayed hard and were able to arrange alternative experiences for the students in other parts of the health care system besides that one hospital. In the end the students even acknowledged that the unexpected change in events had actually been a blessing in disguise because we were able to see a much broader view of the health care system and were exposed to so much more. A change that at first seemed devastating became a blessing because we changed our perspective.

I am grateful for the students and their positive attitudes during this trip. Numerous things didn’t work out as planned on the trip. It got to the point that we would literally just laugh when the next scheduled event did not work. In many ways “be still and know that I am God” literally became our motto. Along with some wise counsel, a friend of one of the students shared, “It isn’t what happens in life that matters but only how we react to it.”

I have heard the account many times of the arrival of the pioneers in the Salt Lake Valley under the direction of Brigham Young. Although I live in Mexico, my own story is similar. I had been praying to find the true Church and the purpose of my life. A friend of mine, Sandro, introduced me to the missionaries, and soon I was listening to their message. One day while they were teaching me about the Restoration of the Church of Jesus Christ in the latter days, I was suddenly filled with a great joy. I knew I had arrived, or as President Young said: “This is the right place. Drive on.”

Perhaps many of you have read the story of President George Albert Smith that he referred to as “Your Good Name.” He described an experience he had in his later years.

I became so weak as to be scarcely able to move. It was a slow and exhausting effort for me even to turn over in bed.
One day, under these conditions, I lost consciousness of my surroundings and thought I had passed to the Other Side.
George Albert Smith described what he saw and then wrote:
I saw a man coming towards me. I became aware that he was a very large man, and I hurried my steps to reach him, because I recognized him as my grandfather. . . . I remember how happy I was to see him coming. I had been given his name and had always been proud of it.
When Grandfather came within a few feet of me, he stopped. His stopping was an invitation for me to stop. Then—and this I would like the . . . young people never to forget—he looked at me very earnestly and said:
“I would like to know what you have done with my name.”
Everything I had ever done passed before me as though it were a flying picture on a screen—everything I had done. Quickly this vivid retrospect came down to the very time I was standing there. My whole life had passed before me. I smiled and looked at my grandfather and said:
“I have never done anything with your name of which you need be ashamed.”
He stepped forward and took me in his arms, and as he did so, I became conscious again of my earthly surroundings. My pillow was as wet as though water had been poured on it—wet with tears of gratitude that I could answer unashamed.
President Smith continued:
I have thought of this many times, and I want to tell you that I have been trying, more than ever since that time, to take care of that name. So I want to say to . . .the young men and women, to the youth of the Church and of all the world: Honor your fathers and your mothers. Honor the names that you bear, because some day you will have the privilege and the obligation of reporting to them (and to your Father in heaven) what you have done with their name. [George Albert Smith, Sharing the Gospel with Others (Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Company, 1948), p. 111–12]

I thought about you a lot on Christmas Day. I imagined you and your mom and dad around the Christmas tree, opening presents and later eating turkey and pumpkin pie. Our Christmas in Paraguay was very different, and I thought you might like to hear about it.
We had decided to visit the Ugarte family for Christmas. They live 80 kilometers (50 miles) through the jungle, in a little village called Itakyry. There is a small chapel there, where we could spend the night. In the Ugarte family are a grandmother, a mother and father, and eleven children. Their house has only two rooms and two beds, so we couldn’t stay with them. We packed some small gifts in the back of the car and left early in the morning of the day before Christmas. Two young elders went with us.
In Itakyry, Sister Ugarte was very sad. It was the day before Christmas, and she had no presents to give her children. It took all their money and time just to provide the essential things that such a large family needed. Nothing was left for gifts or even a special treat for Christmas dinner.
All that morning she worked. She washed clothes in the stream and spread them on the bushes to dry. She tended the garden and cooked black beans and rice for their midday meal. After they ate, she rocked the baby and mended clothes. As she worked, she prayed, “Heavenly Father, please send our good friends, the missionaries, here for Christmas. I know it is a long way for them to come, but it would make this day special. Please, Heavenly Father.”
We didn’t know that she wanted us to come. The Spirit just told us that it would be good if we did. A bridge was washed away, so we had to walk the last few miles through the jungle. My goodness, how happy the Ugarte family was when they saw us coming through the trees!
That night we had a very special family home evening in the little wood chapel. The beautiful story of the birth of Christ was told, and testimonies were shared. Then for a long time we sat, watching the silent tropical stars and singing the sacred hymns of Christmas.
The Ugarte children didn’t understand when Grandpa tried to act like Santa Claus the next morning. They did enjoy the simple gifts we passed out, though. There was a small doll for each little girl, sweet-smelling soap for the older girls, and windup toys for the boys. Grandpa had to show the boys how to wind them up, because they had never seen toys like that before.
We missed our own dear grandchildren, but this Christmas in Paraguay was a very special one for us. The best gifts that we can give or receive at Christmastime are love and service.

In mid-July 1984, just weeks after my wife, Carol, and I were married in the Los Angeles California Temple, we were on our way to Utah, where I would begin my career and Carol would finish her college education. We were driving in separate cars. Between the two vehicles, we were transporting everything we owned.

About halfway to our destination, Carol pulled up alongside my car and began to motion to me. This was in the days before cell phones and smartphones, texting and Twitter. Seeing the expression on her face through her car window, I could tell she was not feeling well. She communicated that she could continue driving, but I was worried for my new bride.

As we approached the small town of Beaver, Utah, she again pulled alongside, and I could tell she needed to stop. She was ill and could not continue. We had two cars full of clothes and wedding gifts, but unfortunately we had little money. A hotel room was out of our budget. I was not sure what to do.

Neither of us had ever been to Beaver, and not really knowing what I was looking for, we drove around for a few minutes until I saw a park. We pulled into the parking lot and found a tree with some shade, where I laid out a blanket so Carol could rest.

A few minutes later another car drove into the nearly empty parking lot and parked next to our two cars. A woman, about the age of our mothers, got out of her car and asked if anything was wrong and if she could help. She mentioned that she had noticed us as she drove by and felt she should stop. When we explained our situation, she immediately invited us to follow her home, where we could rest as long as we needed to.

We soon found ourselves on a comfortable bed in a cool basement bedroom of her home. Just as we had settled, this wonderful sister mentioned that she had a number of errands to run and that we would be left alone for a few hours. She told us that if we were hungry, we were welcome to anything we could find in the kitchen, and that if we left before she returned home, to please close the front door.

After getting some much-needed sleep, Carol felt better and we continued our trip without stopping by the kitchen. When we left, the kind woman had not yet returned home. To our chagrin, we didn’t make note of the address and have never properly thanked our own good Samaritan, who stopped along the way and opened her home to strangers in need.

Sincerely seeking to be more like the Savior will allow us to see what we may not otherwise see. Our good Samaritan lived close enough to the Spirit to respond to a prompting and approach a stranger in need.

Only those who had seen with spiritual eyes, recognizing the need, acted and blessed those who suffered. Our good Samaritan recognized the need as she saw with spiritual eyes.

We may act by giving our time and talents, a kind word, or a strong back. As we seek and see, we will be placed in circumstances and situations where we can act and bless. Our good Samaritan acted. She took us to her home and provided us with what she had. In essence she said, “Such as I have give I thee.” It was exactly what we needed.