Gospel Story Finder

As Fia returned once again to England, she was befriended by a group of missionaries on their way to Europe. The missionaries took Fia to the mission home with them in Liverpool, England, where Elder Heber J. Grant of the Council of the Twelve presided with his wife and young daughters. Sister Grant found Fia sobbing in the hall as she waited with the elders, who were to be interviewed by their mission president. Through an interpreter, Sister Grant learned of Fia’s unsuccessful attempts to go to Zion. Also discovering that the young girl had no place to go and no money, Sister Grant felt compassion for Fia and asked if she would like to remain at the mission home to work as a maid. Fia gratefully accepted, though she had never had any experience as a domestic servant.
As they became better acquainted, Sister Grant realized that Fia had received a good education and possessed impressive musical talents. In spite of the fact that she had never done housework before, Fia knew how things should be done. She took pride in her work. Her disposition was so delightful that the whole family soon grew to love her. They marveled at her abilities, her patience, and her sweet spirit. They said she never spoke a cross word but always sang and gave praise to her Heavenly Father for the blessings she had received. Along with housekeeping duties, her first responsibility was the care of the two youngest Grant girls, Emily and Frances. Elder and Sister Grant traveled frequently on the continent, supervising the many areas of the European Mission, and they felt fortunate to know their daughters were under Fia’s care.
Fia believed in cold-water “Swedish” baths. Without a water heater in the bathroom, those who wanted a warm bath had to heat the water downstairs and carry it upstairs to the bathtub a bucket at a time, so Swedish baths were much more convenient. Each morning Fia filled the tub with cold water, tying a bag of rock salt to the faucet and letting the water run over it to simulate sea water. The squirming, protesting little girls were then given their morning “dip in the ocean.” After a quick bath, Fia rubbed them vigorously with a large fluffy towel. They said later that they hated their baths, but they loved Fia so dearly they were willing to endure them to please her.

While he was attending a religious boarding school in Nigeria, Elder I. Raymond Egbo’s older sister kept inviting him to “come and see” what The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints had to offer. At 14 years old, he started going to seminary in the evenings.
While reading the seminary course of study, Elder Egbo came to Doctrine and Covenants 135 and the martyrdom of Joseph Smith.
“Something powerfully touched me, and I knew that the Prophet Joseph Smith was a prophet of God. I knew he was killed for the truth,” said Elder Egbo, who soon joined the Church. “I still feel right now how I felt that day when I read it.”
Later, while he was a university student, his sister encouraged him to serve a mission. Their father was angry with him for leaving his studies, but Elder Egbo regularly wrote him letters describing everything he was doing and what he was teaching.
To Elder Egbo’s amazement, near the end of his mission, his mission president read to him a letter from his father that said he had been baptized. “Tell him I will be waiting for him,” his father wrote.

I was excited to don the costume of the Easter Bunny at my school’s Easter egg hunt. I’d always loved children, so when a volunteer was needed to wear the rabbit suit for the event, I raised my hand. Setting aside for a moment the idea that a bunny isn’t the manliest animal costume you can wear (after all, there’s no such thing as an Easter Alligator), I knew I could make the most of it.
And I did.
I had dance moves. I had charisma! I passed out high fives by the dozen to the children. Kids of all ages wanted to take pictures with me while they waited for the hunt to start. I was a rock star.
That all changed about 90 seconds after the whistle blew to start the candy grab. What happened next has been seared into my brain ever since.
A tidal wave of older kids swept across the grassy hill we’d chosen for the hunt. The eggs vanished almost instantly while several dozen younger kids were left behind with nothing more to collect than candy wrappers, their young faces filled with disappointment.
I felt awful. Watching the excitement fade from their eyes was enough to make me want to sprint to the store and buy them buckets of chocolate eggs.
But then it got worse. These younger kids, the very ones who had been high-fiving and taking pictures with the Easter Bunny, all turned to me as if the whole thing had been my fault. I can still hear their voices: “I didn’t get any caaaaaaandy!”
Never mind I’d been their best pal only minutes earlier. Something had gone wrong, I was the guy in the rabbit suit, and that made me the main culprit.
The egg-hunt tradition at my school improved after that first year. For one thing, it became better organized so that different hunts were held for different age groups. And the person in the rabbit costume always had a basket of candy to hand out at the end, just in case. So at least the inaugural hunt proved to be a good learning experience.
For me, however, the big takeaway that I’ve thought about ever since was realizing how differently the children viewed me because of the uniform (costume) I wore. Never mind that there were plenty of other people running the event. Fair or not fair, the blame fell on me in the kids’ eyes because I was dressed as the Easter Bunny.

Early in my professional life, Sister Homer and I were asked to accept a change in job assignment. At the time, it seemed to us a huge decision. We studied, we fasted, and we prayed, but an answer was slow to come. Eventually, we made a decision and pressed forward. As we did, we felt settled and soon learned that it was one of the best decisions we had ever made.

As a result, we have learned that answers are sometimes slow to come. This can be because it is not the right time, because an answer is not needed, or because God trusts us to make the decision ourselves. Elder Richard G. Scott once taught that we should be grateful for such times and made this promise: “When you are living worthily and your choice is consistent with the Savior’s teachings and you need to act, proceed with trust. … God will not let you proceed too far without a warning impression if you have made the wrong decision.”22

During my years in the military, it was sometimes a challenge to find a Latter-day Saint chapel. With little notice, I could find myself in a new city or even a new country.
One Sunday I found myself in Amsterdam, Holland. At 8:30 a.m. our colonel unexpectedly announced that we had the day off. Already in uniform, I convinced a friend to drop me off at church. In his rental car, we had the following conversation:
Friend: “So where is your church?”
Me: “I don’t know because I’ve never been to this city before. But if you can get us to the city center by quarter to nine, we can find it.”
Friend: “Why? What happens at quarter to nine?”
Me: “That’s when we’ll see the Mormon missionaries heading to the chapel.”
Friend: “I thought you said you’ve never been here before?”
Me: “I haven’t.”
Friend: “So how do you know there’s a chapel here?”
Me: “There’s a chapel here all right and Mormon missionaries.”
Friend: “OK, here we are in the city center. It’s quarter to nine, and I don’t see any missionaries.”
Me: “There they are.”
Friend: “Where? You mean those small figures way up there crossing the street? We can’t even see who they are from here.”
When we caught up to the missionaries, I jumped out of the car and had an animated conversation with them, shaking hands, cracking jokes, laughing, and smiling.
Me: “Thanks for dropping me off.”
Friend: “I thought you said you didn’t know those guys?”
Me: “I don’t. We just met.”
Friend: “People don’t talk like that unless they already know each other.”
Me: “I’ll explain later.”
Friend: “I’m not sure I can find this place again, and you haven’t told me what time to pick you up.”
Me: “The meetings will last three hours. Then a family will invite me to dinner. After we eat and talk a while, they’ll drive me back to headquarters.”
Friend: “You don’t know that someone is going to invite you to dinner and drive you back.”
I reassured him that I would be well taken care of and thanked him again.
The meetings were inspiring. I accepted the first of three invitations to dinner. During dinner we had an enlightening conversation about the growth of the Church in Holland.
I have been blessed to find Church members many times during my life. Sometimes we have met in royal palaces and sometimes in humble huts. Sometimes we have met in abandoned, dusty barracks. Sometimes we have met in hospital chapels. Sometimes we have met in large tents or outside under the open sky.
Wherever we have met, I am always glad I made the effort to find the Church. For as the Lord has said, “Where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them” (Matthew 18:20).

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 of being president of the United States. But somehow I knew those things were not within the realm of probability—at least not for me.
I was not exactly what you might call an outstanding person. 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 I could do to make a difference in the world. She said getting through the school year without getting any low grades 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.
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 the names of all the people that I came in contact with regularly—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 social boundaries. At first I felt a little strange saying hello and calling people by name who 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.

One evening in April 1836 Elder Parley P. Pratt had retired early with pressing worries and a heavy heart. He didn’t know how he was going to meet his financial obligations. His wife had been seriously ill, and his aged mother had come to live with him. A year earlier the house he had been building had gone up in flames.
While he was deep in thought, a knock came at the door. Elder Heber C. Kimball entered and, filled with the spirit of prophecy, told Elder Pratt that he should travel to Toronto, Canada, where he would “find a people prepared for the fulness of the gospel” and that “many [would] be brought to the knowledge of the truth” (Autobiography of Parley P. Pratt, 130–31).
Despite his worries, Elder Pratt departed. When he arrived in Toronto, at first no one seemed interested in hearing what he had to say. Among those he met was John Taylor, who had been a Methodist preacher. John received Elder Pratt courteously but coolly. John Taylor had heard distorted rumors about a new sect, their “golden bible,” and stories of angels appearing to an “unlearned youth, reared in the backwoods of New York” (B. H. Roberts, The Life of John Taylor, 34).
A wise man, John Taylor had been seeking the truth all his life. He listened to what Elder Pratt had to say. Among other things, the stranger from America promised that anyone who investigated the gospel could know for himself, through the influence of the Holy Ghost, that it was true.
At one point John Taylor asked, “What do you mean by this Holy Ghost? … [Will it give] a certain knowledge of the principles that you believe in?”
The Apostle replied, “Yes, … and if it will not, then I am an impostor” (Deseret News, Semi-Weekly, Apr. 18, 1882).
Hearing this, John Taylor took up the challenge, saying, “If I find his religion true, I shall accept it, no matter what the consequences may be; and if false, then I shall expose it” (The Life of John Taylor, 38).
Not only did he accept the challenge, but he “received that Spirit through obedience to the Gospel” (Deseret News, Semi-Weekly, Apr. 18, 1882). Soon he knew for himself what millions of others have since known, that the gospel of Jesus Christ has been restored to the earth. Eventually, this man who had devoted his entire life to seeking the truth became the third President of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

For me and my wife, Karri, our experience at BYU–Hawaii was transformative. Though we met in the sixth grade (as a sidenote, I fell for her hard in elementary school—she took a little bit longer), it was as a young married couple at BYU–Hawaii when we became determined to put our faith in Jesus Christ. We entered with almost nothing and left tightly bound to each other and to the Savior, Jesus Christ. As our relationship with Jesus Christ grew during that time, it allowed the BYU–Hawaii experience to transform us. That experience prepared us for our lives today and will prove to have prepared us for the life to come. Just as our experience at BYU–Hawaii was transformative for us, your experience at BYU can be transformative if you involve Jesus Christ in the journey!

Really for us? I honestly thought that President Hinckley must be talking to those who weren’t reading. After all, we had nightly scripture study, family home evening, and family councils; we prayed together. We thought we would just continue reading a few verses a night.It was a few days later that it hit me: a prophet of the Lord asked us to read the Book of Mormon by the end of the year, and I’m going to ignore it? That night we met as a family, and I was astonished at the resounding “Yes” I received as a commitment to meeting the goal. I told the kids that we would have to read on vacations, birthdays, nights when we were tired. “No problem” was the response.It didn’t take long for the spirit of that great book to take over. We started to understand gospel principles, to communicate more as a family. My wife and I felt our testimonies were strengthened, and I heard the kids explaining scripture stories as if they had served missions and taught the gospel for years! Taking this challenge has changed our lives forever. Shawn O’Leary, Poulsbo, Washington, USA

Franklin D. Richards reports a day that Joseph and Emma came down from Temple Hill on the muddy slope and their buggy capsized. Neither was badly hurt, but when Joseph came to a meeting that afternoon, he spoke of what Emma meant to him. "The Prophet Joseph remarked in the meeting. . .how he rejoiced in the love of his faithful wife Emma, who had given her hand, her heart and her soul to him in Harmony, Pennsylvania, when first he had been called to the work of the Lord, and had braved all these difficulties with him; and he made this remark, that whatever happened to Emma, he would go, if he had to go to hell, to find her and bring her home, that she might share with him the blessings of his exaltation as she had shared with him his sufferings. He rejoiced greatly in the anticipation of these eternal family relations in the future." (Collected Discourses, Vol.5, Franklin D. Richards, October 5, 1896)

You may know that I am the mother of seven sons. I know boys! It has been an exciting life at our house! I’ve learned a lot from them and from their friends, both boys and girls, and I could tell you a few of their secrets. Maybe I could just share one and hope that I won’t get in trouble. This is it: boys hate to be embarrassed. I remember the time a young man I know had a date for the prom. He brought her to our house before the dance so we could take pictures. When they got there he came into the kitchen, where I was looking for the camera, and said: “Wait until you see my date’s dress. She looks so beautiful!” This boy had never said anything like that before so I could hardly wait to see what he meant.
When I saw her I understood; she was lovely. The dress she was wearing was beautiful; I learned that she and her mother had searched everywhere for it. When they finally found this dress, they knew it would be perfect with some added fabric and finishing touches to meet their high standards.
All their efforts were rewarded because she was absolutely radiant this night, but it was more than the dress that made her shine. It was her quiet confidence. As I looked at her, I was reminded of the scripture, “Let virtue garnish thy thoughts unceasingly; then shall thy confidence wax strong.” Where did this confidence that she had come from? I noticed that this young woman could focus on others because she was not worried about how she looked. She had taken care of that detail weeks before. The young man she was with felt comfortable and safe and happy when he was with her because her dress was not revealing. It was modest in every way, and this made her confident and happy. And that’s appealing. He wasn’t embarrassed by her; he was proud of her.

Recently I went to the bank to withdraw some money to pay my employees. Before the teller gave me my withdrawal, I asked him to change some 200-sol bills for some 50-sol bills. The teller changed the money for me, but I thought I saw him make a mistake as he counted the bills.

He gave me my 50-sol bills, and I stepped back to wait for my withdrawal. As I waited, I counted the money. I had given the teller 1,200 soles, but he gave me 2,200 soles in return—an extra thousand soles. At that moment I was tempted. I told myself that the bank had plenty of money. But I knew in my heart that the money wasn’t mine; I had to return it.

A few moments later the teller called me to complete my transaction. He counted my withdrawal, and as he handed me the money, he asked, “Anything else?”

“Yes,” I told him. “I gave you 1,200 soles to change into smaller bills, but you gave me 2,200 in return.”

I then handed him the 2,200 soles. With hands shaking, he counted the money twice. He could hardly believe what he saw. He looked at me and tried to speak, but he could only manage to utter twice, “Thank you so much.”

I left the bank happy. That week I was preparing a lesson for the young men in my ward on overcoming temptation. It was wonderful to be able to share with them my experience at the bank.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” some of them joked. “That was a thousand soles you gave back!”

“Happiness has no price,” I responded with a smile.

How grateful I am for this experience, which strengthened both my testimony and the testimonies of the young men regarding the importance of withstanding temptation.

Many years ago, as I was traveling by air to an assignment in southern California, a lovely young lady sat down in the empty seat next to me. She began reading a book. As one is inclined to do, I glanced at the title: A Marvelous Work and a Wonder.

I said to her, “Oh, you must be a Mormon.”

She responded, “Oh, no. Why would you ask?”

I replied, “Well, you’re reading a book written by a very prominent member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”

She said, “Is that right? A friend gave this to me, but I don’t know much about it. However, it has aroused my curiosity.”

Then I wondered, “Should I be forward and say more about the Church?” And the words of the Apostle Peter came to mind: “Be ready always to give an answer to every man that asketh you a reason of the hope that is in you” (1 Peter 3:15). I decided that this was the time when I should bear my testimony.

I told her that it was my privilege years before to have assisted Elder Richards in printing A Marvelous Work and a Wonder. I told her something about that great man. I told her of the many thousands of people who had embraced the truth after reading that which he had prepared.

Then it was my privilege, all the way to Los Angeles, to answer her questions relative to the Church—intelligent questions that came from a heart which was seeking the truth. I asked if I might make arrangements for two sister missionaries to call upon her. I asked if she would like to attend our branch in San Francisco, where she lived. Her answers were affirmative.

Upon returning home, I wrote to President Irven G. Derrick of the San Francisco stake and passed along to him this information. Can you imagine my delight when, a few months later, I received a call from President Derrick in which he said, “Elder Monson, I’m calling about Yvonne Ramirez, an off-duty flight attendant, a young lady who sat next to you on a flight to Los Angeles, a young lady to whom you said that it was not coincidence that you sat next to her and that she was reading A Marvelous Work and a Wonder on that trip. Brother Monson, she has just become the newest member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. She’d like to speak to you and express her gratitude.” Of course I was overjoyed. It was a wonderful call.

There is a living God who loves us and is constantly nearby and available. Doubt need not be part of our lives. The reality of God’s influence is felt by all Church members who comply with divine laws. It can also be tangibly felt by nonmembers, when it is his will. This is evidenced by the following experience in the São Paulo Temple.

The temple was opened to the public during the month of September 1978 before being closed in preparation for the dedication. Among the many visitors who felt the influence of this special temple was a certain nonmember newspaper reporter.

During the tour he eventually arrived at the door of the celestial room. Those few people who were accompanying him saw him abruptly stop and bow his head. He remained in that position for some time, with his eyes closed and head bowed. Then he slowly moved his head from side to side and at the same time opened his eyes, as if to inquire by this gesture “Who is there?” or “Is anyone there?”

After some time his head was raised and his eyes opened. His expression indicated that he knew something holy was there, and those about him witnessed the tears streaming down his face. He had felt the beautiful influence of the Spirit found so often in the temples. He knew something good was there and felt joy inside. It was a real, tangible feeling.

One Saturday a schoolteacher knocked on our door to talk to my father about my nephew. I found myself looking at a book he held, A Marvelous Work and a Wonder. Seeing my interest, he offered to leave the book. He also said I could attend a study group.
I spent almost the whole night scanning the book, stopping to take notes whenever I came across something new. Although I did not fully understand the doctrine, I felt no doubt about its truthfulness. I had a feeling of joy—as if I were discovering a genuine gem among thousands of imitations.
The next evening I joined five other people in a study group at the home of Mr. Kasongo. He had been doing research when he came across a book about American churches. “My heart pounded as I read the name of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints,” he said. After writing to the Church’s headquarters, he received some literature—including A Marvelous Work and a Wonder by Elder LeGrand Richards (1886–1983) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles.
For two years, our group met twice a week. When missionaries, Elder Roger L. and Sister Simonne B. Dock, arrived in March 1987, 50 people were studying together.
The Docks began teaching the missionary discussions in French in the public school. Because some people spoke only Swahili, I interpreted. I heard the missionary discussions for the first time myself while interpreting.
On 9 May 1987 I was one of 80 people baptized in a pool at an abandoned copper mine. For me, baptism was an outer confirmation of an inner conversion that had taken place years earlier. I had been waiting for this sacred ordinance so I could officially become a member of the Church.
I have received so many blessings—among them the time I spent translating for couple missionaries. They are as dedicated as if the Master Himself were physically beside them.
I thank my Heavenly Father for these rich experiences and for the opportunity my wife, Jolie Mwenze, and I have to raise our son in the Church. And particularly I thank Him for sending me the gospel—a gem beyond price.

Recently I read the true account of a dramatic manifestation concerning these promises. A faithful member of the Church, John A. Larsen, served during World War II in the United States Coast Guard on the ship USS Cambria. During a battle in the Philippines, word came of an approaching squadron of bombers and kamikaze fighter planes. Orders were given for immediate evacuation. Since the USS Cambria was already gone, John and three companions gathered their gear and hurried to the beach, hoping for a lift out to one of the departing ships. Fortunately, a landing craft picked them up and sped toward the last ship leaving the bay. The men on that departing ship, in an effort to evacuate as quickly as possible, were busy on deck and had time only to throw ropes to the four men, that they might hopefully be able to climb to the deck.
John, with a heavy radio strapped to his back, found himself dangling at the end of a 40-foot (12 m) rope, at the side of a ship headed out to the open sea. He began pulling himself up, hand over hand, knowing that if he lost his grip, he would almost certainly perish. After climbing only a third of the way, he felt his arms burning with pain. He had become so weak that he felt he could no longer hold on.
With his strength depleted, as he grimly contemplated his fate, John silently cried unto God, telling Him that he had always kept the Word of Wisdom and had lived a clean life—and he now desperately needed the promised blessings.
John later said that as he finished his prayer, he felt a great surge of strength. He began climbing once again and fairly flew up the rope. When he reached the deck, his breathing was normal and not the least bit labored. The blessings of added health and stamina promised in the Word of Wisdom had been his. He gave thanks to his Heavenly Father then, and throughout the remainder of his life, for the answer to his desperate prayer for help.

During a visit to a juvenile detention home some months ago, my attention was drawn to three young girls who were visiting with each other just prior to our religious service. They appeared to be ten to twelve years of age. I found later they were being detained for a few days to see if some problems could be resolved. As I was waiting to participate with them and others in the services, they seemed to be involved in serious conversation. “What could they be talking about?” I wondered to myself. My curiosity prompted me to step closer to them for a chance to catch a few of their words. I was moved when I heard one of the girls raise this question to her friends: “I wonder if someone will come today who will want to take me home. It would be fun to live with someone who wants me.”
Here was a ten-year-old who wasn’t wanted. Her parents had given the impression to those in charge that they were pleased when she was confined, because they were then free from putting up with her. What a pleasure it was later to learn she had been placed by licensed social services agents of the Church in a new home, adopted, loved, and was receiving parental direction. Loving foster parents are now helping her find her way in the warmth of family unity and oneness.

A few days ago there came to my office a man from Las Vegas, Nevada. His wife and married daughter were with him. When we had accomplished the purpose of his visit, the younger woman asked if I would accept something from her thirteen-year-old daughter. She unwrapped a painting of two butterflies around a flowering shrub.
The mother explained that her daughter had been struck by a car in a terrible accident when she was four years of age. Her body was badly broken. She was left paralyzed from the shoulders down, a quadriplegic—without the use of arms or legs. She had painted this picture holding a brush between her teeth and moving her head.
As I listened to that story, the painting grew in beauty and value before my eyes. It became more than a portrayal of butterflies. It represented remarkable courage in the face of blinding adversity; tenacious practice in holding and moving the brush; pleading prayers for help; faith—the faith of a child, nurtured by loving parents, that she could create beauty notwithstanding her handicap.
Some might say that this is not a masterpiece. Without knowledge of its origin, that could be the judgment. But what is the test of art? Is it not the inspiration which comes from looking at it?
I will hang this small painting in my study so that during occasional hours of struggle there will come into my mind the picture of a beautiful little girl, robbed of the use of her feet and hands, gripping the handle of a paintbrush in her teeth to create a thing of beauty. Thank you, Krystal, for what you have done for me. I hope the telling of your story will bring a new measure of strength to others who, facing discouragement, have felt they could not go on. I hope that your example will be as a polar star to lead them in the darkness through which they stumble.
It may not be easy. It may be fraught with disappointment and challenge. It will require courage and patience. I remind you of the faith and determination of the thirteen-year-old girl who, holding a paintbrush in her teeth, created the painting I showed you earlier. Love can make the difference—love generously given in childhood and reaching through the awkward years of youth. It will do what money lavished on children will never do.

In 1990 we were living in the small town of Sale, in Victoria, Australia. We were happily busy with family, Church, and work commitments. On a beautiful summer Saturday just before Christmas, we decided to visit some parks and a favorite beach. After enjoying a wonderful day playing as a family, we packed everyone into the car and headed home. While driving, I momentarily fell asleep and caused a head-on car accident. After some moments of recovery, I looked around the vehicle. My wife, Maxine, had a badly broken leg and was struggling to breathe. She had a broken sternum. Our three daughters were in shock but thankfully appeared to be OK. I had some minor injuries. But our five-month-old son was unresponsive.

Amid the stress and confusion of that accident scene, our eldest daughter, 11-year-old Kate, said with urgency, “Dad, you need to give Jarom a blessing.” After some struggle, my daughters and I managed to get out of the car. Maxine couldn’t be moved. Carefully I picked Jarom up; then, while lying on the ground on my back, I gently placed him on my chest and gave him a priesthood blessing. By the time the ambulance arrived about 40 minutes later, Jarom was conscious.

That night I left three family members in the hospital and took a hushed taxi ride home with two of my daughters. Through the long night, I pled with Heavenly Father that my family and those injured in the other vehicle would recover. Mercifully, my prayers and fervently offered prayers by many others were answered. All were healed over time, a great blessing and tender mercy.

Yet I continued to have deep feelings of guilt and remorse for causing such a terrible accident. I would wake during the night and relive the horrific events. I struggled for years to forgive myself and to find peace. Then, as a priesthood leader, while assisting others to repent and helping them to feel the compassion, mercy, and love of the Savior, I realized that He could heal me.

The Savior’s healing and redeeming power applies to accidental mistakes, poor decisions, challenges, and trials of every kind—as well as to our sins. As I turned to Him, my feelings of guilt and remorse were gradually replaced with peace and rest.

Let me give you an example of the principle of reaching out from the childhood of Thomas S. Monson, the president of the Church:
Again Christmastime had come. We were preparing for the oven a gigantic turkey and anticipating the savory feast that awaited. A neighborhood pal of mine asked a startling question: “What does turkey taste like?”
I responded, “Oh, about like chicken tastes.”
Again a question: “What does chicken taste like?”
It was then that I realized my friend had never eaten chicken or turkey. I asked what his family was going to have for Christmas dinner. There was no prompt response, just a downcast glance and the comment, “I dunno. There’s nothing in the house.”
I pondered a solution. There was none. I had no turkeys, no chickens, no money. Then I remembered I did have two pet rabbits. Immediately I took them to my friend and handed the box to him with the comment, “Here, take these two rabbits. They’re good to eat—just like chicken.”
He took the box, climbed the fence, and headed for home—a Christmas dinner safely assured. Tears came easily to me as I closed the door to the empty rabbit hutch. But I was not sad. A warmth, a feeling of indescribable joy, filled my heart. It was a memorable Christmas. 34