Gospel Story Finder

Here is another example of the effect on the future of decisions made in the present. This example concerns the choice to make a present sacrifice to achieve an important future goal.
At a stake conference in Cali, Colombia, a sister told how she and her fiancé desired to be married in the temple, but at that time the closest temple was in faraway Peru. For a long time, they saved their money for the bus fares. Finally they boarded the bus to Bogotá, but when they arrived there, they learned that all seats on the bus to Lima, Peru, were taken. They could go home without being married or be married out of the temple. Fortunately, there was one other alternative. They could ride on the bus to Lima if they were willing to sit on the floor of the bus for the entire five-day and five-night ride. They chose to do this. She said it was difficult, even though some riders sometimes let them sit in their seats so they could stretch out on the floor.
What impressed me in her talk was this sister’s statement that she was grateful she and her husband had been able to go to the temple in this way, because it changed the way they felt about the gospel and the way they felt about marriage in the temple. The Lord had rewarded them with the growth that comes from sacrifice. She also observed that their five-day trip to the temple accomplished a great deal more in building their spirituality than many visits to the temple that were sacrifice-free.
In the years since I heard that testimony, I have wondered how different that young couple’s life would have been if they had made another choice—forgoing the sacrifice necessary to be married in the temple.

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.

Jane Johnson
Although I have been a member of The Church all my life, I have never felt as close to the Saviour as I do now. I was brought up in a home with faithful parents who served the Lord to the fullest.
I had bad epilepsy for most of my life, which in turn caused me to have depression, a skin graft on my arm, and two unsuccessful brain surgeries. Losing my memory and losing our family home were also among things that happened while my husband was Stake President.
Fasting and praying during these times comforted us.
However, it wasn‘t until I had cancer that things seemed to change about the way I felt. As a result, I had to have my full leg amputated. My sister passed away while I was in hospital.
A year later I started to feel angry. A good friend, who is paralysed from the waist down, said it might be because I was mourning the loss of my leg. I was feeling sorry for myself. I had to pray for help to get over how I was feeling. I had a blessing which said I‘d been given this to help others. Since that blessing, four members of my Ward were diagnosed with cancer and others around the country have called to speak to me. I was able to be there for them.
In 2020, my cancer unexpectedly returned! After the initial crying from us all, I felt calm. I had another wonderful blessing and could feel peace. I play the piano, and playing songs helped me get through it.
I love the April 2020 General Conference talk from President Nelson called Hear Him.1 Playing and listening to music is a way I Hear Him. I prayed to Heavenly Father and said I didn‘t mind having chemo as long as I suited being bald.
The cancer went, which was a surprise, and a nurse who was an atheist said, “You know I don‘t believe in God, but someone is watching over you”. I‘d spoken to them all during my treatment about members fasting and praying.
In June 2022, the cancer had returned for the third time in 4 places! I‘ve never been an anxious person but waiting for the result was horrible. My husband and I hugged and cried yet again. We said a prayer to ask Heavenly Father to help us get through it. Another talk from President Nelson came to mind. It was Let God Prevail.2
This time the monthly chemotherapy has affected me psychologically. I‘m a strong-willed person and I‘ve never said, “Why me?”. Instead, I ask the Lord what I need to learn. My prayers have never been as heartfelt. Yes, sometimes I cry out during the night when I‘m so fatigued with my chemo. We have a picture of Christ on our bedroom wall, and when I‘m awake during the night I ask for His help. I have the words ‘Let God Prevail‘ in my mind every day. Whenever my husband is stressed about his business, he knows I‘m going to smile and he says, “Let God Prevail.”
Although we‘re going through these trials, and I still have down days where I cry and feel hopeless, most days I Let God Prevail and feel at peace. I‘m still serving as our Ward Relief Society President, and blessed to be able to help the members with their trials in their lives.
Let us not put off praying and asking for help getting through challenges in our lives. The Lord is there, waiting for us to ask for help- “Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28).

My dad had said that we could go away for the weekend—just the two of us. We were going to a campground outside of town. Then Dad lost his job.
He had been working at a local warehouse, but it burned down last month. All the money that Dad had been saving was used up when my little sister, Elizabeth, was born. She was born the day after the fire. Then our car broke down, and we couldn’t afford to get it fixed right away.
We had a family council and talked about us not having enough money and about Dad’s not having found another job yet. Dad said that, if needed, the Church could help us with food for a while. Then he stopped talking, and got tears in his eyes. That had happened before, when he bore his testimony one fast Sunday.
I went and got the money that I’d been saving and gave it to Dad. It wasn’t very much—one dollar and seventy-six cents—but it was all that I had. I told him that I wanted to help.
Dad didn’t say anything. He just pulled me close to him and held me longer than I could ever remember. I think that he was crying again, because my cheek felt wet.
After supper that night Dad asked me if I wanted to sleep out in our backyard. It’s a lot smaller than any campground, but the sky looked just as big in the yard as it did at the camp. And there weren’t any more stars there than there were right here.
We lay in our sleeping bags and looked at the sky. We saw a falling star. It seemed to go by about as fast as summer did. And that was too fast.
We talked, too, about lots of things. We talked about how far dandelion seeds can fly and we talked about the dent in the blade of the old cavalry sword that was handed down to Dad from his great-great-great uncle.
Most of all we talked about something else that was on my mind. I told Dad that I had been praying all week for something to happen so that we could still go to the campground. But nothing had happened. And looking up into the night sky and seeing how really big space was and how really small I was, I started thinking that maybe I was too little for God to bother with.
Dad turned his head toward me, his lips turning up into a big smile. “God hears everyone’s prayers, Nathan,” he said. “And that includes children’s. Maybe especially children’s. And when a person prays with all his heart, he receives answers.”
“But I didn’t get an answer!”
Dad took a small crawly insect off my pillow and put it on the grass. I think that maybe he was giving me time to think. I looked over at Dad, looking more intently at them than I’d ever seen him look at anything before. Then he looked at me in a gentle way. “You are a child of God,” he said softly. “That means that you are very special. Heavenly Father loves you even more than I do—and I love you with all my heart and soul.
“The Lord created this whole world for you,” he continued. “Our Elder Brother Jesus gave His life for you—and for all of us. So don’t ever think that you are too small for God to bother with. Heavenly Father is happy when you’re happy. And so am I.”
Now that I think about it, I guess that it isn’t important where Dad and I spend time together. In fact, I’m glad that we camped out in our backyard. I liked it just as much as I would have at a campground. Maybe even more—because we talked about some very important things that night that we might not have discussed at the camp because things would have been different. I would have gotten a “yes” answer to my prayer and not wondered about things. But as it was, we had spent a special night together. Just me, my dad, and the stars.

Many of us are descendants of hardy pioneers, and we feel grateful and inspired by their faith-promoting examples of sacrifice. My great-grandmother, Margaret McNeil Ballard, recorded in her journal a pioneer experience of sacrifice that occurred when she was between nine and eleven years of age. [She had come from Scotland by boat with her family.] She wrote:
“After landing we planned to go west to Utah. … The company we were assigned to had gone on ahead and as my mother was anxious for me to go with them she strapped my little brother James on my back with a shawl. He was only four years old and … quite sick with the measles; but I took him since my mother had all she could do to care for the other children. I hurried and caught up with the company, traveling with them all day. That night a kind lady helped me take my brother off my back. I sat up and held him on my lap with the shawl wrapped around him, alone, all night. He was a little better in the morning. The people in the camp were very good to us and gave us a little fried bacon and some bread for breakfast.
“We traveled this way for about a week, before my brother and I were united with our family again.”

My teeth hurt. I got my braces tightened yesterday, and they still hurt. I hope they feel better by next Tuesday when we have our party with the Scouts. We’re all going over to Sister Marshall’s house to make pizza and play games. I hope Doug Richards goes. He hardly ever comes to church anymore. No one knows why either. He lives around the corner from me. I see him a lot because he walks past our house to go home from school. We never talk though. Jenny, my best friend, thinks he’s cute. She always comes home from school with me and makes me sit on the front step in the cold to talk with her until he goes by. The whole time he walks by our house she sits and giggles. That’s so dumb. She never says anything—just giggles. He always looks mad, and yesterday he walked on the other side of the street. I feel dumb on the front step. I hope he doesn’t think I’m like Jenny. I wish I knew what to do when he walks by so I could make a good impression on him. He is kind of cute.
Jenny was sick yesterday so she didn’t come over and sit on the front porch, but I was coming home from the store with my mom the same time Doug walked by. My mom used to teach him in Primary, so she waved and yelled practically loud enough for the whole neighborhood to hear, “Hi, Doug! How are you?” I was so embarrassed. Sometimes I think my mother embarrasses me on purpose. He said he was fine, and then before I had a chance to run in the house he said, “Hi, Marcy.” My temperature shot up, and I probably turned red, but I said, “Hi.” I hope he heard me. I didn’t say it very loud. I don’t know why I was so embarrassed and warm all of a sudden. It was even cold outside. My body is so stupid sometimes.
Church was really good today. In Sunday School Brother Ferguson tried to give a lesson on missionary work. Our class is so noisy all the time. We’ve had three teachers now, but no one wants us. Robin and I are the only ones who ever listen except Leslie Powell, who is the teacher’s pet, and Kyle, because his dad is the teacher. The lesson was really good though. He said that a good place to start missionary work is trying to get the people in the ward who are inactive to come. That gave me an idea. I’m going to be a missionary to Doug. I can’t be shy forever. Next time I see him I’ll tell him about the ward dinner we’re having in a couple of weeks. His whole family is inactive. They used to come to church a long time ago, but then they just kind of quit. I’ll get Doug first; then I’ll help him get the rest of his family. This is a great plan! Sometimes I’m smarter than I think.
I blew it! I saw Doug at school today, and I blew it. I was just getting out of my French class and he was getting out of art, which is across the hall from my classroom. He was walking toward me to go to his locker, and I was walking toward him to go pick up Robin from her orchestra class. We looked at each other and put on our half-and-half smiles. I just kept walking toward him, staring at him with that stupid grin on my face, and before I could get enough courage to say anything, he had gone past me. Boy, am I stupid. I feel like a complete failure. I don’t even want to think about it anymore.
I tried again today, and this time it worked. It was really a nice day outside, so I decided to go out in front and play with Maynard, our dog. I had just barely thrown a stick for him and he had gone to get it when I looked up just in time to see Doug coming down the street. My first reaction was to run, but I caught myself and decided I’d better do it now or never. By this time, Maynard was bringing the stick back to me so I took it and very cleverly happened to throw it almost right next to where Doug was walking. Then Doug did something I didn’t expect. He picked up the stick before Maynard got to it and threw it back to me. Before I knew it we had a fun game of Keep Away going with poor Maynard in the middle. Maynard didn’t think it was so fun, so I dropped the stick on purpose, and he took it and fell asleep under the tree. Doug asked me why I did that, so I had to explain that Maynard was getting old and he can’t exercise much. He said, “Oh,” picked up his books, and started walking away. This time I called after him. I asked him if he wanted to do me a favor and buy a ticket to the ward dinner this Friday night. I made it sound like I really had to sell them fast, but no one was buying them. Actually my dad was really the one selling them, but I felt like I should help out. I told him how much they cost. I told him to bring his whole family if he wanted to because they could get a good deal on family tickets. He said he’d ask his mom, and then he left. I finally asked him! I couldn’t believe it was actually me talking, but it was and I’m not so dumb after all.
Doug’s mom called my mom today asking about the ward dinner. She wants to go. She always wanted her family to come back to church, but her husband didn’t seem interested. He’s out of town this week, so she wants to do it. My mom was surprised because she didn’t think Doug would even remember about the dinner. Doug’s mom bought a ticket for the whole family. I’m so excited!
Tonight was the dinner. It was pretty good. The best part was when Sister Richards and all six kids came in. The whole ward was so nice to them. They sat across the table from us, and Sister Richards and my mom got to be good friends. I talked to Doug a little bit, like when I asked him if he liked his dinner. After he got through eating he went off with Kyle Ferguson and Scott Sullivan. Doug seemed like he was really having a good time. I was glad Kyle and Scott were nice to him because I didn’t know what to say to him. His mother and little brothers and sisters seemed to be having fun too. All in all, I would say that tonight was a very good night.
Today in church everyone had the shock of their lives when they turned around and saw the whole Richards family walking in, led by Brother Richards! He seemed happy to be there. I was embarrassed at how noisy our Sunday School class was for Doug, but it was quieter than usual, and he was making some of the noise.
Doug’s family has been coming to church just about every week now. The whole family just fits right in. I think they’re going to come back in for good now. I’m glad I got up enough courage to ask Doug to that dinner. I must admit that it wasn’t all me though. I just know that Heavenly Father had something to do with the Richards family too. I’ll bet he’s even happier than I am that they’re back in the Church. Anyway, being a missionary is so much fun. It makes you feel so good inside. I think I’ll do it again. Watch out world! Marcy Elizabeth Burnham, the girl with the hair that does something and straight teeth, is on the move.

Banana trees are common where I live in Sri Lanka. They have soft trunks, which are easy to cut with a knife, but no one hurts the banana tree because it gives fine fruit.
Many years ago when I was small, there was a terrible storm. When it finally ended, I went outside and saw that one of our banana trees had blown over; it was uprooted and stripped of leaves. I thought cutting the trunk of the ruined tree would be fun, so I went to the house and found a knife. But just as I was about to strike, my grandfather stopped me.
“You mustn’t hurt the banana tree,” he said.
“But why?” I asked. “It’s not good anymore, and it would be fun.”
My grandfather said nothing but beckoned for me to follow him. He told me to cut a big stick. Then he brought me back to the yard where the banana tree lay. Though it appeared useless, we went to work pulling it upright. Once the trunk was straight, we braced the frail tree with the stick.
“Anton,” my grandfather said, “I want you to watch this banana tree every day and make sure it stays straight. Every day you will need to water it and give it nourishment.”
So every morning I checked the banana tree to make sure the trunk was straight. Every day I filled a water bucket and carefully poured it around the roots. I was diligent in giving the tree the nourishment it needed.
Soon there were blossoms and, shortly after that, bananas. When the fruit was ripe, Grandfather handed a banana to each member of the family. I watched with pleasure as they peeled and ate them. No bananas ever tasted as good as those, and it brought me joy to see my family enjoying them.

Let me just conclude with a little experience I had recently in New England.

I think one of the greatest thrills that a mission president experiences is to receive a new missionary. I received notice from the First Presidency that eight young men were to be assigned to New England. Shortly they arrived. This was a great treat for Jeanne and me, as we greeted these new missionaries in the mission home. One by one, as they came in, we tried to set them at ease.

The first one was a brilliant-looking boy. I won’t describe him, but I thought, “Thank heaven he is here.” The second was just like him, and the third and the fourth. Now this, I thought, will put our mission on top.

Then I got down to number seven, and I don’t mind telling you some of the concerns of my heart. I thought, This will be a challenge. I couldn’t believe it; and unlike the counsel that President Tanner gave us not to judge our neighbors, here I was judging him. I thought, This kid just doesn’t have the image.

My wife gave me a glance, and her look said, “Good luck for the next two years.”

Let me just describe him to you. He was wearing a shirt that was size 17; his neck was an 11. I could have pulled out his collar and put another elder in it. He had on a coat that he inherited from his dad, and you couldn’t see his hands. He had a trench coat that he got from an uncle from World War I, and he had a haircut that was an Idaho original.

The New England Mission contains six of the United States and four provinces of Canada, including Labrador. As my wife and I lay in bed that night, she said, “What are you going to do with him?”

I said, “It’s time to open up Labrador.” I thought I had to protect the Church’s image from this interesting-looking elder.

Well, that morning before I made my assignments, I knelt in prayer—thank the Lord for prayer—and I asked the Lord what I should do now; and the Spirit whispered, “Keep him in Cambridge.”

And I said, “Spirit, I won’t.” I said, “I am the president of this mission.”

And the Spirit seemed to respond with the counsel, “Yes, but you will keep him in Cambridge.”

Cambridge is a very sophisticated area, with all of those universities and art centers. Well, I kept him. When I went down to breakfast, my two assistants were sitting there; and they said, “What are you going to do with him?”

I said, “We are going to keep him in Cambridge.”

And they said, “President, you are kidding.”

I said, “I have been seeking guidance all night, and we will keep him in Cambridge.”

Two days later I got a call from a distinguished professor. I haven’t time to give you the details. He said, “Paul, Friday night may I be baptized?”

I questioned him a bit. He had been through several score of missionaries the past nine years. I said, “What happened?”

He said, “This little fellow you sent me.” (He was referring to my new elder.) And then he described the experience.

He said, “No sooner had he and his companion entered the office and shook my hand when he asked, ‘Would you mind if we had a word of prayer?’” (This was a meeting over in his school office.) The professor said, “Not if it will do you any good.” Then he remarked, “Before I could get back to my desk, this little fellow fell on his knees and started to talk to the Lord.” And he said, “Paul, I looked up three times to see if the Lord was standing there.” He said, “I don’t know what happened to me; you describe it, but I had the most wonderful feeling come over me, and I now know what the Spirit is. I want to be baptized.”

We baptized him, and he is doing a fine work for the Church and is a great asset on campus. It was all accomplished because this young elder from Idaho, whom I had misjudged, guided by the Spirit, gave himself to the Lord.

And I learned as President Tanner has taught us. Don’t judge! “Within the oyster shell uncouth, the purest pearl may hide, but oft you’ll find a heart of truth within a rough outside.”

One sweltering July day, I helped my brother-in-law build a retaining wall. This project eventually pitted me against the roots of a blossoming cherry tree that was in the way.
“Easy,” I thought.
I gathered the appropriate tools and dug around the roots to make room to work. Then I grabbed a saw and, without a second thought, went to work cutting the roots. The smaller roots cut easily, but when I moved to the larger roots, I quickly realized that they weren’t going to be as easy. One root in particular was difficult.
Gritting my teeth, I was determined to cut through that root. Sweat rolled down my neck from the glaring sun overhead as I squeezed the saw tighter. The saw vibrated until my entire body shook. I could feel my right hand—the one squeezing the saw trigger—start to burn with pain. I ignored the pain and kept holding on.
Finally, the saw cut through the root. I released the trigger and felt the sweet pleasure of victory. As I removed my glove, however, I noticed a small piece of skin had been torn from my hand.
As I thought about this experience, I realized that holding on to the saw was, in a way, like holding fast to the iron rod. We are told to hold fast to the iron rod as we move through life. But just because we hold fast to it doesn’t mean we won’t experience moments of pain. I injured my hand as I clung to the saw. In a similar way, we will pass through trials and tribulations as we continually hold fast to the iron rod.
Heavenly Father knew that the journey back to Him would be fraught with peril. That’s why He has given us the scriptures and words of the prophets to help us. As we hold on to these things through our trials and tribulations in mortality, we will one day return to His presence.
When we return to Him, we will be able to look down at our hands, which held fast to the iron rod, sometimes in spite of pain or difficulty. And we will know that with the help of Heavenly Father and through the atoning power of Jesus Christ, we held on tightly, no matter what obstacles we encountered.

At age 15, Michael M. found his first job. A local cafeteria was the only place around hiring people his age. Most job duties revolved around dishes: busing tables, loading the dishwasher, and so forth. Employees would read their task for the day when they showed up for work.
“If it was busing tables, we’d rejoice,” Michael says. “But the worst thing, what you didn’t want to get, was pots.”
Picture a medieval knight poised in battle armor, sword in hand, ready to battle an angry dragon. Now replace the armor with a full-body rubber apron, the sword with a high-pressure sprayer, and the dragon with a greasy, scorched-bottom pot.
That was pots.
The black rubber apron was heavy and hot. The water was even hotter. And the high-powered spray from the hose practically guaranteed a drenching even with the rubber apron and hat. “It was a hot, dirty, stinky job,” Michael says about pots. “We all hated it.”
A lot of teenagers couldn’t cut it. They’d hire on and then bail within weeks. However, Michael and a friend made an agreement with each other to stick it out an entire summer, and they both did.
For Michael, the experience he gained from that job far outweighed the downsides. “That first job, as awful as it was, made me appreciate the easier jobs I had later.”
After saying good-bye to the cafeteria, Michael worked at a fast-food restaurant, then at a grocery store, and next at a movie theater concessions stand. At each job he had a positive attitude toward the work because of what he’d learned from his first job. “You learn lessons at your first job,” Michael says. “Something good can come out of every job experience.”

As Kevin entered the park, he saw his friends David and Nathan playing in the sandbox. They had some empty milk cartons and raisin boxes that they were using for buildings. Kevin could see that the boys had toy soldiers armed with swords.
“Hi, guys!” he called. “Are you playing Roman soldiers again?”
“Hi,” both boys called in return.
“No, we’re not playing Roman soldiers today,” David said. “We’re playing Book of Mormon soldiers.”
“What are Book of Mormon soldiers?” Kevin asked as he sat next to them in the sand.
“They are Lamanites and Nephites,” Nathan told him. “We read about them in the Book of Mormon.”
“What’s that?” asked Kevin. “I’ve never heard of that book. Or of Lamanites and Nephites.”
“The Book of Mormon is a book of scriptures, like the Bible,” David explained, “except it’s written about the people of ancient America.”
“Yeah,” Nathan added, “and the Lamanites are always fighting the Nephites.”
“So the Lamanites are the bad guys?” Kevin asked.
“Well,” David started, “the Lamanites refused to keep the commandments of God, so I guess, in a way, you could call them the bad guys. But the Lamanites weren’t always bad, and the Nephites weren’t always good. In fact, the part we’re getting ready to play now started with some bad Nephites. Especially one, a man named Amalickiah.”
“Amalickiah wanted to be king of the Nephites, but the Nephites didn’t believe in having kings,” Nathan explained. “They had judges, instead. So Amalickiah got mad and took all the people who would go with him and went over to the Lamanites. When he got there, he tricked the Lamanites into letting him be their king.”
“That’s right,” David said, “only that wasn’t enough for Amalickiah. He still wanted to be king of the Nephites.”
“And that’s where we are now,” Nathan said. He pointed to one of his figures. “This is King Amalickiah, and my army is the Lamanite army. We’re getting ready to fight the Nephites.”
David picked up one of his figures. “This is Captain Moroni,” he said. “He is the chief captain of the Nephite army. He has ordered all his men to dig a dirt ridge around the city of Ammonihah to protect it and has placed men all the way around it.”
David pointed to another spot where they had made a fort. “That is the city of Noah,” he said, picking up another figure. “And this is Captain Lehi. He is in charge of the army in Noah. You can be him if you want to play.”
“All right!” Kevin said enthusiastically. “Let’s play!”
On the walk home from the park, David and Nathan told Kevin more about the Book of Mormon.
“It sounds like a great book,” Kevin said.
“Oh, it is!” agreed David. “My parents have some extra copies. Maybe they’ll give you one.”
David’s parents said that they would be happy to give Kevin a Book of Mormon if it was all right with his father and mother.
The next day at school, David and Nathan could hear their names being called. They looked around to find Kevin running toward them and waving.
“I told my mom and dad about the game we played and about the story of Amalickiah and Captain Moroni in the Book of Mormon,” he said. “I asked them if I could have a copy of the book to read.”
“What did they say?” asked David.
“As soon as my dad heard that the bad guys were the ones who didn’t keep the commandments of God, he said yes!”
“That’s great!” Nathan said.
“My mom said she felt much better about me reading a good book than she does about me reading comics all the time,” Kevin told them. “Then she said, ‘Now, if we can only do something about those videos you watch!’”
David smiled at Nathan and put his arm around Kevin’s shoulder. “Kevin, speaking of the Book of Mormon,” he said, “have we got some videos at home for you!”

My mother was also a Relief Society teacher, and when I was in the fifth grade, she taught lessons about the United States Constitution. Mother made a chart that she took to Relief Society every time she taught. It explained the different parts of the Constitution and what it meant. I found the chart interesting and asked her all kinds of questions. In school that year, we were learning about United States history, and I asked my teacher if I could bring the chart to school and explain to the class how a bill became a law. Learning about history fascinated me. I began reading Mother’s books about government and history. Her commitment to fulfilling her Church calling blessed me in many ways. Later, when I went to college, I decided to major in history. Certainly that decision was at least partly influenced by these experiences.

The Lord can help you see the danger in taking a rest because you feel you have done enough. He helped me by letting me have a conversation with one of His aged servants. He was feeble, his body weakened by decades of faithful labor and by illness. His doctors no longer allowed him to leave his home. At his request, I reported a trip I had taken in the Lord’s service, across several nations, in dozens of meetings, and in many private interviews, helping individuals and families. I told him of the gratitude people expressed to me for him and his many years of service. He asked me if I had another assignment soon. I told him about another long trip soon to come. He surprised me, and he gave me an inoculation against complacency which I hope will last forever, when he grabbed my arm and said, “Oh, please, take me with you.”

Twenty years later as a bishop, I had the opportunity to see the effectiveness of a council not just in the meetinghouse but also in the mountains. During a Saturday activity, a member of our quorum had been lost in the forest overnight. As far as we knew, he was alone and without warm clothes, food, or shelter. We searched for him without success.
My memory is that we prayed together, the priests quorum and I, and I then asked each to speak. I listened intently, and it seemed to me that they did too, to each other. After a while, a feeling of peace settled on us. I felt that our lost quorum member was safe and dry somewhere.
It became clear to me what the quorum was to do and not to do. When the people who found him described the place in the woods where he had gone for safety, I felt that I recognized it. But the larger miracle for me was to see a united priesthood council’s faith in Jesus Christ bringing revelation to the man with the priesthood keys. We all grew that day in the power of the priesthood.

Brother Saw Polo was 58 years old when he was introduced to the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. When I met him, he had been serving as a branch president for several years, but I learned that he had never read the Book of Mormon because it was not yet available in his native Burmese. When I asked him how he knew that the book was true without having read it, he replied that he had studied the Book of Mormon Stories picture book every day by looking at the illustrations, using a dictionary to translate the English words, and taking careful notes of what he learned. He explained, “Every time I studied, I would pray about what I learned, and I would feel peace and joy, my mind would be clear, and my heart would be soft. I felt the Holy Ghost testifying to me that it was true. I know that the Book of Mormon is the word of God.”

The moon was big and round and bright, just as it should be on the night of the Moon Festival. I held my glowing paper lantern higher, hoping that the Old Man in the Moon would see me amid the other children. The whole park gleamed with brilliant Chinese lanterns.
I dashed up the hill to where my parents and sisters sat on a blanket, nibbling moon cakes. My eldest sister, Mei Lai, was gazing at the moon. I knew that she was probably dreaming about that boy who took her to the dance last Saturday. That’s a girl for you! I thought. I’m glad that I’m not a girl.
Not that Mei Lai didn’t have a right to think about love tonight. Everyone thought about love during the Moon Festival, or Mid-Autumn Festival, the proper name that my sister preferred to call it. On this night the Old Man in the Moon supposedly wove an invisible red thread around couples who would one day get married.
Even I was thinking about love. But not that kind. I was thinking about how I could love my neighbors. My Primary teacher had told us last Sunday that we should, and ever since then, I had been wondering how I could ever do it. I couldn’t think of any neighbors in our apartment building that I even liked—especially not that new boy down the hall! Why, he didn’t even speak Chinese! The first time I saw him, I just kept looking at his eyes. I had never seen such blue eyes, except maybe on TV.
Once I had tried talking to him in the English that I was learning in school. “Where are you from?” I asked.
Looking at me oddly, he lifted up his nose and declared, “I’m an Aussie.”
Whatever an Aussie was, I certainly didn’t know. I went home and asked Mei Lai, who knew English well.
“An Aussie is someone from Australia,” she told me.
My mother’s voice interrupted my thoughts. “Sun Ling, it will soon be time to go home.”
“Oh, let me run once more through the park.”
“Well, you be careful with that lantern. Remember that you have a lighted candle in it.”
“I will.” As I sprinted down the hill, I looked up at the Old Man in the Moon to see if he was still watching me and my glistening paper lantern. I ran and ran, with my eyes turned upward toward the beautiful full moon.
Suddenly—CRASH! Was it a wall? No, it was a body. Another person and I tumbled over and over each other. It was the Aussie. When we finally stopped, we raised our tousled heads and looked at each other. I blurted out, “What are you doing here? This is a Chinese holiday!”
It was a good thing that he couldn’t understand my Chinese. I indignantly grabbed my lantern, which miraculously lay unharmed on the grass. In my mind I grumbled, Even if I wasn’t looking where I was going, it wasn’t really my fault. After all, he’s the one who doesn’t belong here.
A sizzle and a flare made us both jump up. His colorful paper lantern was in flames. My mother’s words flashed through my mind, “Be careful with that lantern.”
I looked at him. Then I cocked my head in amazement. Out of those blue, blue eyes tears were dribbling! It had never occurred to me that an Aussie could cry too.
The boy’s lips began to quiver, and he said, “My dad gave me that lantern.”
I didn’t understand all his words, but I understood what he meant. And I felt awful! I tried to remember how to say I’m sorry in English, but all my words came out in Chinese.
Suddenly, in Chinese, he said, “I’m sorry too.”
I blinked with surprise. Why he knew some Chinese words after all. He smiled at me. I smiled back.
The next day I strode into the house, banging the door happily behind me.
“What’s that huge grin for?” Mei Lai asked as she stirred vegetables and pork together in the wok.
“Oh, I’ve been learning to love my neighbor. Jim’s my friend now.”
“Who’s Jim?” she asked
“He’s the Aussie I told you about,” I replied, peering over the sizzling wok. I perched on a tall stool. “Do you know what? Before he came here, Jim had never even heard of moon cakes. So I gave him one with an egg-yolk center. When he bit into it, he sort of shriveled up his nose and tried to smile. I could tell that he didn’t like it.”
“So, do you think he’s still your friend?” Mei Lai laughed.
“Well, I did let him try a lotus-seed moon cake after that, and he ate every bit of it and smacked his lips.”
“I’m glad that you gave him something he likes,” said Mei Lai.
“I did give him one other thing that I hope he likes. I gave him my Book of Mormon.”
“Your Book of Mormon!” exclaimed my sister. “Whyever did you do that?”
“Well, because it’s the most special thing that I could share with a friend,” I answered.
“But how do you expect him to read it?” she said. “He doesn’t even read Chinese.”
“Joseph Smith translated the characters of the Book of Mormon from another language. Maybe God will give Jim the gift to translate too.”
“Look,” Mei Lai explained, “Joseph Smith was a prophet. Not everyone receives the gift to translate another language.”
I looked at my sister intently. “Mei Lai, I’m still glad that I gave the Book of Mormon to him.”
It was the week before Christmas. Someone knocked at our door, and Mei Lai opened it to blond-haired Jim. My friend didn’t see me sitting in the corner, so he spoke in English to my sister. “I read your book,” he said, holding up a blue book with Chinese characters of the Book of Mormon engraved on it.
“You read it!” she gasped. “But—but you don’t know Chinese, do you?”
“No. What I meant to say,” Jim explained, “was that my tutor read it to me. He comes every day to teach me Chinese, and so we have been reading it together. In fact, my tutor was wondering if he could get a copy of his own. Also, would it be possible to get a copy in English for my father?”
My sister finally closed her mouth from her astonishment. She smiled, motioning to me.
Jim turned and saw me. “Oh, Sun Ling,” he said in halting Chinese, “this book you gave me is very interesting. I am curious to find out more about it. Can you help me?”
“I’ll be happy to help you,” I replied slowly to make sure that he understood my words. “I can think of no better way to love my neighbor from Australia.”

I recently read the story of Sugar Ray Leonard—one of the great boxing athletes of our time. He tells how when he was a little boy he would have to walk fifteen miles on Saturday morning to go to the Smithsonian Institution. He stood in front of the museum and watched the tourists. As the tourists came to the entrance—there being no food allowed inside—they would take a last bite out of their hamburger and then deposit it in the garbage.

“We would get those hamburgers and we would finish ’em off,” Sugar Ray said. “It’s embarrassing now. But it filled my stomach then, and that was more important than anything else.”

He first became an athlete involved in fencing. He was in a championship match to win the gold medal, but the referee was not giving him the points he was making. Finally, he turned to the referee and said, “If you’re not going to call my points, I’m not going to continue.” The referee ordered him to continue. He created such a fuss that 500 people gathered around them.

“I needed all the witness I could get that knew I was winning the points.” He was down, according to the referee at that point, seven to two. He won his match nine to seven. He had put forth the effort. He had to make a decision, and he made it well. After he had finished with fencing, his manager asked him what he was going to do with his life. He said, “I don’t know.”

What a difficult position it was to be of a minority race and have to struggle to get to the top. Sugar Ray Leonard decided to become a boxer. His story is well known. He became a world champion. His statement, after all the struggles and the things that he went through, was simply this: “If it’s going to get done, it’s up to you.”

Several months later, with my mother’s story crowded into the recesses of my mind by school and work, I received an assignment in one of my classes at Brigham Young University to find 8 to 10 primary documents containing the name of one of my ancestors.
My genealogical training to that point consisted of singing the Primary song “Family History—I Am Doing It,” but grades weren’t negotiable in my mind, so I began at the only place I could think to start—Orla’s family. I looked her up on a pedigree chart and traced her line back until I found her grandfather, Joseph Argyle Jr.
One afternoon, I made the trek across the BYU campus to the library and into the family history library. I explained to a worker who Joseph Argyle was and the little information I knew about him.
For the next two hours, that worker guided me through a treasure hunt, which took us all over the library. We searched records of Mormon passengers on emigrant vessels, discovering that Joseph and his family crossed the Atlantic on a ship. Later that year, he traveled to Salt Lake Valley with the Ellsworth handcart company, which we found in a record book of handcart companies. We looked through the Endowment House records (found where he received his temple ordinances), the Utah death index (he lived to 84), and old Church membership records (there he was).
In an online database of Utah newspaper archives, I found a front-page obituary for my great-great-great grandfather. Published in the Davis County Clipper in February 1927, every sentence contained an interesting fact, such as Joseph’s contribution to the building of the Salt Lake Temple.
“He has the credit of having hauled the largest stone put in that building which weighed 13,000 pounds,” the article read.
I began to get a glimpse of the impact we can have on future generations when I discovered he had 88 descendants at the time of his death, a number which increased exponentially in the past 79 years.
Every time I found another document with my ancestors’ names on it, I felt a little tingle of excitement run through my body. It was like a mystery novel, putting all the pieces together, little by little beginning to understand who this man was. I became so immersed in learning about my ancestor, I didn’t leave until late in the afternoon, almost missing work!
I completed the assignment and received an A, but even more importantly, I created a tangible connection with one of my relatives. Joseph Argyle left his home, sailed across the ocean, traveled to Utah and helped build the temple, all because he believed in the gospel of Jesus Christ, a legacy which I inherited and which gives me the strength to fight my own battles in the 21st century.

My husband, Max, and I were married in the fall, and the next spring we both graduated from BYU. During this time the military draft was in force, and Max had received a letter indicating that he would be drafted into military service upon graduation. During Max’s two years in the service I taught school near my hometown so that I could be near my family. After his service, Max worked with his family ranching operation for a year. Then we decided he should come back to BYU to get more education. Finances were tight, and I was expecting our first baby, but we were able to find a tiny basement apartment that fit our budget, and he started school. Shortly after, Max was called to be the Young Men president. He was a little concerned because his studies were rigorous and took a lot of time, but he accepted the calling.
One day my husband came home quite devastated. He had received a C on his first test in a class that was critical to his major. He had studied hard, and he began to doubt his ability to compete in that major. His shoes were filling with the sand of discouragement and doubt. For several days he couldn’t eat or sleep as he worried about what to do. He considered giving up and going back to life on the ranch to do what he knew best and what he was comfortable with. After a lot of prayer and soul-searching, he decided to continue with his education, and he graduated with honors.
In hindsight, the C on a test was such a little thing, but often it is the little things—the little grains of sand—that distract us and keep us from seeing with an eternal perspective. I will always be grateful that my husband was willing to dump the sand from his shoes and move on. Because he was willing to pay the price and move beyond his comfort zone, many doors of opportunity were opened to him. Throughout his life he has used his skills and knowledge not only to bless our family but many others as well.

The Grant Third Ward youth committee terrified its way to a lot of money with a Halloween spook house. The location was Brigham Young’s Carriage House. The production featured such treats as a man having his legs sawed off, a girl’s severed head speaking from the oven of a kitchen range, a zoo of starving children, coffins full and empty, electric shocks, horrifying sounds, and other thrills. The funds will be used to sponsor a youth conference.