Gospel Story Finder

About 15 years ago, my family had the blessing of feeding the full-time missionaries in our home. At the conclusion of the meal, the missionaries shared a short message with my family. After the message, I thought I knew what was coming next. The missionaries would ask us if we knew anyone who they could share the gospel with. I always found this a bit difficult. I want to share the gospel and, as a former missionary myself, I knew that member referrals were the most productive way to introduce others to the gospel of Jesus Christ. But it seemed that all my friends, family, work colleagues, and neighbors were already members of the Church. But this time, instead of asking for referrals, the missionaries challenged us to pray for missionary opportunities. I remember thinking to myself, “I can definitely do that.”

Praying for missionary opportunities became part of our family and personal prayers, that continues to this day. A few weeks later I was working upstairs in the Lorenzo Snow Administration Building. It was the late afternoon and most people had gone home for the day. There was a student worker from an Eastern European country, who was a new student and had just started working for our department. He turned to me and asked me a question. He asked, “Who is Brigham Young, and why is the university named after him?”

I responded that Brigham Young was a prophet who led the Church after the martyrdom of Joseph Smith. His next question was, “Who is Joseph Smith?” I quickly realized that this student did not know anything concerning the Church or the restoration of the gospel. I received a prompting to share with him the account of Joseph Smith’s first vision and to share my testimony of it, which I did. I taught him about the restoration of the gospel and how we have a living prophet on the earth today who leads and guides us. I felt the spirit as I taught and testified. I could tell that this student felt the spirit as well. We had other conversations about God and the gospel of Jesus Christ. I was thankful to have this missionary opportunity. To receive a prompting and to have the courage to act upon the prompting. This student didn’t stay long at BYU–Hawaii and I do not know where he is today, but I do know that he knows who Joseph Smith is and has an understanding of the restoration of the gospel.

I will mention just part of one such account. Two weeks ago I received a touching letter from a father of seven who wrote about his family and, in particular, his son Jason, who had become ill when 11 years of age. Over the next few years, Jason’s illness recurred several times. This father told of Jason’s positive attitude and sunny disposition, despite his health challenges. Jason received the Aaronic Priesthood at age 12 and “always willingly magnified his responsibilities with excellence, whether he felt well or not.” He received his Eagle Scout Award when he was 14 years old.
Last summer, not long after Jason’s 15th birthday, he was once again admitted to the hospital. On one of his visits to see Jason, his father found him with his eyes closed. Not knowing whether Jason was asleep or awake, he began talking softly to him. “Jason,” he said, “I know you have been through a lot in your short life and that your current condition is difficult. Even though you have a giant battle ahead, I don’t ever want you to lose your faith in Jesus Christ.” He said he was startled as Jason immediately opened his eyes and said, “Never!” in a clear, resolute voice. Jason then closed his eyes and said no more.
His father wrote: “In this simple declaration, Jason expressed one of the most powerful, pure testimonies of Jesus Christ that I have ever heard. … As his declaration of ‘Never!’ became imprinted on my soul that day, my heart filled with joy that my Heavenly Father had blessed me to be the father of such a tremendous and noble boy. … [It] was the last time I heard him declare his testimony of Christ.”
Although his family was expecting this to be just another routine hospitalization, Jason passed away less than two weeks later. An older brother and sister were serving missions at the time. Another brother, Kyle, had just received his mission call. In fact, the call had come earlier than expected, and on August 5, just a week before Jason’s passing, the family gathered in his hospital room so that Kyle’s mission call could be opened there and shared with the entire family.
In his letter to me, this father included a photograph of Jason in his hospital bed, with his big brother Kyle standing beside the bed, holding his mission call. This caption was written beneath the photograph: “Called to serve their missions together—on both sides of the veil.”
Jason’s brother and sister already serving missions sent beautiful, comforting letters home to be shared at Jason’s funeral. His sister, serving in the Argentina Buenos Aires West Mission, as part of her letter, wrote: “I know that Jesus Christ lives, and because He lives, all of us, including our beloved Jason, will live again too. … We can take comfort in the sure knowledge we have that we have been sealed together as an eternal family. … If we do our very best to obey and do better in this life, we will see [him again].” She continued: “[A] scripture that I have long loved now takes on new significance and importance at this time. … [From] Revelation chapter 21, verse 4: ‘And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away.’”

Photograph courtesy of the author
I have a best friend. Her name is Barbara. We love watching and singing along to movies. We go on walks together and look at the flowers on the temple grounds. We read princess stories together every night. When I’m around Barbara, I can be myself. Not only is she my dearest friend, but she is also my sister.
Barbara has cerebral palsy, a condition that affects her physically and mentally. She can’t walk, and she needs to be fed through a tube. She loves singing but struggles to verbally communicate her feelings, wants, and needs. And although Barbara is 29, mentally she acts like a toddler.
Even though Barbara is four years older than me, I’ve always felt like the “big sister.” My family’s whole world revolves around her. She is the sun, and we are the circling planets. While the situation sometimes has amazing benefits—like being able to skip lines at amusement parks—other times it means making sacrifices, like not going to certain activities or needing to host events in our home. Each day we review our schedule to make sure someone is always taking care of Barbara and her needs.
To help my parents take care of her, my older brother and I matured very quickly. We had to learn how to identify when Barbara was having a seizure and what to do, how to feed her through a tube, how to change her diapers, and how to prepare her medications when we were very young. While this early maturity helped me have confidence in myself, it did make socializing a huge struggle.
I felt so different from everyone my age. Even if I was invited to hang out with friends and my parents encouraged me to go, I struggled to have fun because I felt guilty that my parents had so much to do at home. Other times I would have a hard time enjoying myself when Barbara was struggling with her health. Most of the time, I just wanted a friend to sit down with me and listen.
Sometimes I felt like no one understood what I was going through. But a few things helped remedy that loneliness. I decided I’d try to reach out to people who might be feeling similarly. When I did go to activities or church, I tried to include those who were sitting alone or who looked like they were having a bad day. As Elder Gerrit W. Gong of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles taught, “Miracles occur when we care for each other as He would.” 1 And I saw miracles come into my life. I felt much more comfortable going to activities and was happier when I offered love to others.
Another thing that helped was realizing how much the Savior truly understood me. I realized that He knew exactly what I was going through and would always be with me. I focused more on getting to know Him through the scriptures and prayer. Sometimes when I prayed, I would imagine that He and Heavenly Father were sitting with me and listening. When I have difficult feelings and feel overwhelmed at how unfair Barbara’s situation seems at times, I remember that Christ will help me find peace and reassurance. Elder Dale G. Renlund of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles explained this perfectly when he said, “In unfair situations, one of our tasks is to trust that ‘all that is unfair about life can be made right through the Atonement of Jesus Christ.’” 2
Having a loved one with a disability can require near-superhuman strength. It affects your life physically, mentally, emotionally, financially, and spiritually. For the past 29 years, my parents have awakened nearly every day at 2:00 in the morning to care for Barbara. We all go to the gym regularly so we can be strong enough to lift and carry Barbara when necessary. And so many other responsibilities can take a toll on us all.
How do we possibly do everything?
This can be described in one word: grace.
“Grace [is the] enabling power and spiritual healing offered through the mercy and love of Jesus Christ. …
“The grace of God helps us every day. It strengthens us to do good works we could not do on our own.” 3
What do I love most about Barbara? With her I’ve learned more about the Savior’s love for us. You can’t help but feel of His love when you’re around Barbara. Despite all her difficulties, she is always smiling, singing, and making us laugh. However, there are also days where I feel helpless, when nothing seems to make her feel better. But because of my experiences, I know with certainty that the Savior understands what both Barbara and I are going through. No matter our earthly trials, a beautiful aspect of the Savior’s enabling power is that we can not only be given strength to experience and overcome hard things but also do it all with joy.
The author lives in Utah.
Editors’ note: Since the time that this article was written, the author’s sister has passed away.

He’s a rather handsome young man, with blue eyes and a quick smile. Seated behind his keyboard, Ryan Moody fiddles for a moment with a few adjustments, then easily slides into the introduction of a song. The music sounds as good as anything you hear on the radio, but it’s new. He says, “This is a song I wrote.” Then he begins to sing. Just listening, the song takes you out of yourself. The sound is rich and full, but personal as well. After a moment you can’t resist taking a hard look at Ryan. The music introduces another part of Ryan. It seems to free his spirit from the chair his body must stay in. The music reveals something about him that your eye doesn’t always see.

Born with spina bifida, or a hole in his spine, Ryan has spent nearly his entire 18 years in a wheelchair. At first, doctors feared he might be mentally retarded, but Ryan was a sweet, lively child who has grown into an intelligent, talented young man, a young man with some special talents for music and for people.

Ryan doesn’t regard his chair as an impediment but as a help. “I get around a lot quicker this way.” He gives credit to his friends for helping him not feel any different. “My friends don’t let me think about it at all. They always forget that I’m in a wheelchair because they’ll go over tons of grass or something that is hard for me to get over, and they’ll say, ‘Come on, Ryan. Whoops, we forgot!’”

Ryan is a priest in the Tigard Oregon Second Ward. He serves as first assistant in his priests quorum and as a home teacher. He enjoys helping the bishop with the less-active members of the priests quorum and plays the organ for church. The bishop says, “Ryan seems to know how to bridge the gap between the groups in our ward.”

Ryan recently received his patriarchal blessing, which promised him in part that he would be able to influence the lives of youth wherever they may be and convince them of the blessings the Lord has in store for them and the opportunities that are theirs. Ryan’s greatest wish is to serve a mission, although his condition will not allow it. “I can’t believe that others with the opportunity to serve a mission will not go,” said Ryan. “It’s the thing I would like to do more than anything.”

Ryan started learning about music when he was two years old. His parents put a set of stereo headphones on him and, instead of yanking them off, he was fascinated. He started piano lessons at seven and had to be pushed into practicing like most people. As he learned to play, he and his mother discovered his talent. “I never did like the endings of pieces in books. I would just start making up new endings.” Several years later they discovered that Ryan had perfect pitch. Then he started writing music and performing on a variety of keyboard instruments. He has won numerous awards for his musical talent—composing, performing, and singing. He was voted the most talented in his ninth-grade class.

Once when Ryan was giving a talk at a grade school, one student asked him how it feels to be handicapped. Ryan answered by asking, “Well, how does it feel to be human?” What Ryan couldn’t say in that particular situation was that the Church has really helped him. “I think a lot of disabled people get caught up thinking, ‘I can’t do this, and my life is just going to be a waste.’ Isn’t it 1 Samuel 16:7 that says the Lord looks not on the outer appearance, but on the heart? [1 Sam. 16:7] That’s kind of important to me.”

Music has helped Ryan reach out to others and set a good example. He teaches keyboard and composition classes in a special summer school program. One friend was very discouraged and turned to Ryan for advice. He told her to go home and turn the radio to a classical station instead of the usual hard rock she was accustomed to listening to. “She followed my advice,” Ryan said. “The next day she thanked me and said she didn’t feel one bit discouraged.”

As Ryan was participating in a school quartet, he found that the song selected for the group to sing had lyrics he objected to. Ryan talked to the teacher about changing the words, but the teacher became angry. Ryan was hurt by the teacher’s reaction. After school, the teacher asked to speak to him and apologized for getting upset. “She said that what I had done took courage,” said Ryan. “She said she admired me for standing up for what I believed in and that she was willing to work with me because she really wanted me in the quartet.”

Just like most teenage boys, Ryan likes girls. And girls like him. His dad teases him about how much time he spends on the phone talking to young ladies, and his mother says that when he goes to stake dances, he dances every dance. He’s become quite creative at moving his chair in time to the music. “I’m still working on the slow dances,” he says.

About dating, Ryan says, “Sometimes it’s kind of tricky because girls seem to like me, but dating is a different situation. They don’t want to shy away, but they do because they don’t always know how to act. When we do go out, it is really neat because they just help me get in the van and we go.” Ryan as some advice for girls when a guy in a wheelchair asks for a date. “Ask yourself, ‘Is he a nice person?’ and then go from there. If he is and you really like him, then just forget about everything else.”

I recently traveled to the beautiful island of Moloka’i to attend sacrament meeting and visit with members of the church and others. These sweet people were among the first to send supplies by boat after the fires, including much-needed fuel for generators, to the shores of Lahaina—fuel, that I might add, that is far more expensive on Molokai than on Maui. They understand the meaning of “[loving] thy neighbor as thyself.” [13]

This was a special Sunday for me. I watched a group of friends and family gather together to literally lift Brother Arlan Angco, an amazing husband and faithful father to two teenage daughters, into a specially prepared recliner-chair they brought into the chapel. Though he was terminally suffering from the terrible effects of cancer, he insisted on worshipping in person and partaking of the sacrament with his loving ward ‘ohana. He understood that he would soon meet the same Savior Whose emblems he sought on this particular day.

I will forever treasure watching loved ones ensure he was comfortable as they helped him carefully partake of the bread and water.

I also visited with him and his family in their home that afternoon. It was holy ground. My counselors and I blessed him. Then, with one of my counselors carefully supporting Brother Angco’s hand on his wife’s head, we blessed her as well. He passed away just a little over one week later. I am eternally grateful for this experience. His faith changed me.

In another situation, a sister’s mother passed away. A friend, knowing the sister’s loss, wanted to help, but was uncertain what she should do. Should she take flowers or food? Her husband suggested she ask the Lord what to take. The answer came, “Just go.” Upon her arrival, the sister was immediately comforted by her friend’s presence and asked her to pray with her. Then the grieved sister commented on what her friend had brought—a needed peace.

For April Page, 17, from the Highland Utah East Stake, the temple has become a symbol of her goals. “Every time I talk with my parents about having the goal to go to the temple, they just become so emotional. They are so happy that is a definite goal of mine.”
April accompanied Michelle Bone. April said, “Michelle’s spirit completely overwhelmed me. The smile never left her face through the entire tour. Michelle taught me about being happy and having faith in what the gospel has taught me. I felt honored to be by her side in the Lord’s holy temple.”

When I was a young boy, I took church attendance seriously and always said in my heart that I will go to a church that bears Christ’s name, so I was happy to attend a church that had “Christ” in its name. One day at school, one of my friends came to me and said: “Rich Boy, I want to invite you to my church on Sunday.” I asked him why he wanted me to go to his church and he said: “I want you to gain salvation!”
I was confused at the invitation to be saved because I attended church regularly and as far as I was concerned, we all worshipped one God.
On Sunday morning, my friend called to tell me to get ready for church because he was coming over to my house to pick me up. When I saw him approaching our compound, I quickly went to hide because I belonged to another church and didn’t know why I should visit my friend’s church.
After that, my friend would on occasion extend the invitation to come to his church again. One day, I decided that I would go with him to know the reason why he wanted me to accompany him. The first time I attended church with my friend, I felt the Spirit. I heard about the Atonement of Jesus Christ and I was so impressed. When we came back from church, I told him that I can’t go back to my church again. I wanted to attend The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
The next Sunday, i was contacted by some missionaries who asked me if they could visit me at home during the week. I agreed and set an appointment with them. I requested that they bring a copy of the Book of Mormon to me when they came to my house. The missionaries arrived and told me amongst other things “Brother Nimako, do you know that God loves you? The gospel we teach can bless you and your family.” I enjoyed their visit and scheduled another appointment.
I read my copy of the Book of Mormon and prayed. I pondered on the message the missionaries shared and what I was reading in the book of Mormon. I had a good feeling as I did this. I couldn’t wait to be baptised!
After my baptism on 30 January 2009, I was so active in Church, even more active than my friend who invited me, so I started to visit him with missionaries. I asked the missionaries to visit my mother also. I wanted her to be blessed by the gospel I had received.
On July 4, 2014, my mother was also baptised, to my greatest joy. I went on to serve a full-time mission in the Nigeria Benin City Mission. I stood as a witness of the truth. I testify that the gospel is true. I know that Joseph Smith saw God and Jesus Christ, and he was a true prophet. I know with all my heart that if we read the Book of Mormon daily and ponder and pray about it, we will know that Jesus Christ is our Savior and Redeemer.

Sometimes we make poor choices when we yield to peer pressure. Kieth Merrill had such an experience when he was a young man. He and his friends were diving from sheer rock walls at the East Canyon Reservoir, northeast of Salt Lake City. It inevitably turned into a teenage contest when one young man climbed up to the top of the dam and dived 50 feet into the deep water of the reservoir. The rest of the young men all went to the top of the dam and made the same high dive. One boy wasn’t satisfied with that, so he said, “All right, I’ll do one better!” He climbed 60 feet up the side of the cliff. Not wanting to be outdone, Kieth climbed up beside him. After the other boy had dived into the water and seemed to be all right, Kieth took courage and made his dive. The contest was now down to these two boys. Kieth’s friend then climbed up to 70 feet and dived. He came up from the water laughing, rubbing his shoulders and his eyes. He then challenged Kieth, “Well, are you going to do it?”

“Of course I’m going to do it!” And everybody on the shore said, “Of course he’s going to do it!”

So Kieth swam back to the shore and climbed up the rocks. He knew if he jumped from the same height of 70 feet that his friend would want to go higher, so he scrambled up 80 feet to the very top of the cliff. No one could go any higher than the top. As Kieth looked down, he was terrified to see the water so very far away. He had made a rash decision. It was not what he wanted to do nor what he felt was right. Instead he had based his decision on the prodding and dares of a half dozen young men whose names he cannot now even remember.

He backed up and ran as hard as he could toward the edge. He found the mark he had carefully laid at the edge of the rock and sprang out into space. On the way down he remembered his parents teaching him to be careful when making decisions because a wrong one could kill him. And now he thought, “You have done it, because when you hit the water you’ll be going so fast that it might as well be concrete.” When he hit the water, it even felt like concrete. How grateful he was when his head finally popped above water.

Why did he jump? What was he trying to prove? The young men who dared him didn’t care and probably don’t even remember that foolish act. But Kieth realized afterward that he had made what could easily have been a fatal decision. He had yielded to the pressure of friends expecting him to do what he didn’t want to do. He knew better. He said: “I was living in the world, and at that moment I was of the world because I was not in control of myself. I was not making decisions about my own life. The world made the decisions for me, … and [I] had barely avoided being in the world about six feet deep.”

Inspiration from the Holy Spirit has been so important in my life. When I was a young college student wondering what I should major in, I chose physics even though I did not have an answer to the question “What will you do with that?” I felt peace through the Holy Spirit. When I went to graduate school but didn’t know how a PhD in physics would mesh with my desire to primarily be at home with my young children, I kept going because the Holy Spirit whispered peace. As different unexpected opportunities arose for me to keep a toe in my career, I was amazed. I did not anticipate that when our youngest child was in eighth grade, the Holy Spirit would prompt me to apply for a full-time faculty job. When I applied, I did not anticipate that so many things would happen to make it exactly the right time to do so. I never planned to be a university professor and am still quite astounded by how things continue to unfold as I move ahead. I am extremely grateful for inspiration from the Holy Spirit.

I will never forget that family night. My dad taught the lesson. He sat down at the piano, raised his hands in the air, and then brought them down hard on the keys, banging out a terrible sound. We all covered our ears and frowned. The noise was terrible.
After a moment, he lifted his hands to the keys again. This time he played a beautiful melody. The sound was lovely and refreshing. Then he turned and faced us.
“Harmony,” he said, “is a group of notes working together. It creates a beautiful sound.” We all agreed. He challenged us to make our home a house of harmony—working together, avoiding contention, and creating beautiful music.
That lesson left a profound impact on me. Even today when I hear quarreling among family members, I remember the terrible noise he made on the piano and the beautiful contrast of harmony.

New Year’s Day began early for our family, after only a few hours of sleep from celebrating New Year’s Eve. Mom was always the first one up, busily packing our lunch. Dad would pack the van with toboggans, inner tubes, sleds, an old pair of wooden skis, and many other contraptions that could be used to slide down snow-covered hills. Many of our friends, the bishop’s family, our aunt, uncle, and cousins would all gather in the living room. When everyone was accounted for, we would all pile into the van and other cars. As my dad led the way, our small caravan of cars headed off to the abandoned ski lodge at Dryden, Michigan.
The hour drive was mostly quiet, since many of us were still half asleep. Then, suddenly, the huge, old ski lodge would appear on top of a large hill, like a majestic monument, welcoming us to our private winter wonderland.
Next, there were slamming doors and snowballs whizzing through the air. Before I could get my mittens on and my scarf in place, I would usually be dragged into a deep snowbank and given a good face wash of cold, icy snow. Burrs hiding beneath the snow would now be totally entangled in my long hair. This was nothing to fret about; it was all part of the ritual. As soon as I could brush off my face, I would join in the race to the old lodge, accompanied by my favorite companions, Gretchen and Fluffy, my faithful 85-pound German shepherds.
The first step into the lodge was always an eerie encounter. Dead birds were scattered everywhere on the floor. We would all carefully walk up the huge, wooden stairs to the upper part of the lodge. It was one vast, spacious room, with enormous windows that opened to the most picturesque view. We could see the snow-covered slopes, the tops of the ice-frosted trees, and the blue frozen lake.
Dad and some of the boys would carry in wood, and the massive stone fireplace was soon roaring with a flaming fire. Then the fun began!
Off we’d go out the big back doors, down the stairs to the top of the hill. It was challenging to see how many people we could crowd onto the eight-man toboggan for the first ride down the slopes.
The sport continued until all of us were famished. Then back inside, we drank hot chocolate before the warmth of the fire. As soon as the feeling returned to our numb fingers and toes and our stomachs were satisfied, it was back to the slopes.
As the sun would begin to leave us and the sky filled with brilliant colors of orange, pink, purple and blue, it was time to gather all our snow gear and return home.
Some of our friends and family would return to our house. There we would eat hot chili and talk about the new year. We dreamed and planned about buying the old lodge and turning it into a beautiful home. As the night grew on, it was time to say good-bye. I always felt sad about the ending of this day. Tomorrow we’d be back at school and work, and it would be a whole year before another day of fun and carefree play in the snow.
Now, I look back on these days with great fondness. I remember watching those I love play in the brisk cold as the color-filled sky met the winter landscape on the horizon. As I gazed at that beautiful scene, I could feel my Heavenly Father’s love and I developed a deep gratitude for this beautiful world. I felt excitement just listening to the sounds of laughter from family and friends and the crunch of crisp snow under my boots. I remember feeling exhilarated by the sense of being alive as I took deep breaths of that cold air.
I realize now that family traditions have power we don’t always anticipate when they’re being developed. I suspect that as my parents began that yearly outing at the start of a new year, they were not fully aware of the significance it would come to have for our family. Now it is one of my most cherished memories, a part of who I am and the family I belong to.

Just a few weeks ago I received a call from the Area President in the Europe Central Area. He said the members and missionaries in Albania and Moldova were so cold, and he wondered if the Relief Society might have any quilts to send their way. Imagine the joy I felt as I visited with Humanitarian Service and discovered that we could donate 1,000 quilts. Within days they were packaged and sent. The mission president wrote, “Members here were touched that other members would be thinking of them.” Thank you for your selfless service.

During Christmastime, I especially miss our little grandson Paxton. Born with a rare genetic disorder, Paxton suffered from countless health problems. Heavenly Father taught our family many special and tender lessons during the three short years Paxton blessed our lives.
My sister, Nancy Schindler, made a beautiful quilt in honor of Paxton. She called it “Name above All Names.” The quilt features 26 of the names of Jesus Christ—names beginning with the letters A through Z. The quilt reminds me of the glorious future family reunion with Paxton made possible through the Savior’s suffering, sacrifice, and Resurrection.
The quilt inspired me to begin a study of the names of Jesus Christ as revealed in the scriptures. Researching His names has become part of my personal scripture study. So far, I have identified hundreds of names for the Savior.
One of my responsibilities as a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, and as stated in the Doctrine and Covenants, is to bear testimony of Jesus Christ. The Doctrine and Covenants states, “The twelve traveling councilors are called to be the Twelve Apostles, or special witnesses of the name of Christ in all the world” (D&C 107:23; emphasis added).
Recently I was asked to speak during a sacrament meeting at Primary Children’s Hospital in Salt Lake City. I felt prompted to speak about Jesus Christ and His hopeful names. I bore testimony of the Savior as “the bright and morning star” (Revelation 22:16), a “high priest of good things to come” (Hebrews 9:11), “a God of miracles” who rose “with healing in his wings” (2 Nephi 27:23; 25:13), “The Prince of Peace” (Isaiah 9:6; 2 Nephi 19:6), and “the resurrection, and the life” (John 11:25).
At Christmastime, I like to recite the Savior’s different names as I walk to and from my office through the Christmas lights on Temple Square. I start with A, “Alpha and Omega” (Revelation 1:8); B, “the babe” of Bethlehem (Luke 2:12, 16); C, “Counsellor” (Isaiah 9:6; see 2 Nephi 19:6); D, “the Deliverer” (Romans 11:26); E, the “exalted one” (Psalm 89:19); F, “the founder of peace” (Mosiah 15:18); and so on.
Throughout this Christmas season, I look forward to memorizing more of His names and to looking for opportunities to honor His name. As you strive to make a difference this Christmas season, I hope you will make the Savior the center of your efforts and that you will bring glory to Him as you serve others in His name.

One night as I lay sleepless, feeling discouraged and very much alone, I remembered a scripture in John where the Savior had promised his disciples that he would not leave them comfortless. I turned on the light, reached for my Bible, and opened it to chapter 14. At the end of verse 26 I paused, then reread that verse [John 14:26]: “But the Comforter, which is the Holy Ghost, whom the Father will send in my name, he shall teach you all things.”
Those words provided the first ray of hope I had felt in months. My husband, Glenn, was suffering from a condition called Alzheimer’s disease, for which there is no known cure. Alzheimer’s disease affects the central nervous system which, over a period of months or years, decreases one’s mental and physical abilities.
Glenn was a fine and righteous man before he became ill. We had looked forward to many happy years of church service together and the opportunity of serving a mission. But as his condition worsened, Glenn was forced to quit all activities that required him to think. He gave up his church callings, he quit reading, quit doing the things he liked to do, and even quit watching television. Eventually he even began to get lost when he was out walking and could no longer go anywhere alone.
Unable to keep himself busy, Glenn became restless and continually depended on me to do something with him or take him somewhere. I spent all my time with him.
The problems of caring for my husband increased steadily. Alzheimer patients often become difficult to take care of. Glenn began to refuse my help. It became impossible to reason with him, because by then he had lost the ability to talk and understand language. Our days became long struggles of getting through washing, dressing, shaving. My feelings were divided between impatience—even anger—and deep compassion for my helpless husband. In spite of all the problems, I wanted to care for him myself. But I needed to learn how to care for him, and I knew I needed more help that I could get from any other earthly source. I did not know how to help him until I read that passage of scripture in John.
I had never thought of the Holy Ghost as a teacher. I had prayed continually for the strength to care for Glenn, but up until then I had relied on my own wisdom. Now a scripture showed me the way to go beyond my finite capabilities. My heart went out to others in similar circumstances who must provide constant care for the sick or the elderly. I hoped that they could come to know of the divine help available to them if they would just reach out.
Since that sleepless night when I was guided to read the Savior’s loving words, I have turned to the Lord for help, and the Holy Ghost has been like a living presence by my side, comforting and teaching me how to care for my husband. Although Glenn behaves mentally and physically like an infant now, I am at peace. My heart is not troubled by the present, nor am I afraid of the future. I know the Holy Ghost will comfort and guide me. My life has meaning. I am serving the Lord by caring for one of his helpless children.

Charles helped Mary Fielding Smith, Hyrum Smith’s widow, move her belongings across the river. He and Sarah and little Charles Edward spent the winter at Winter Quarters, then, in March, fit out for the trip West. In fitting out, Charles bought a yoke of oxen, a wagon, a cow, food, and other supplies. They left Iowa City in March, joining Isaac Higbee’s company, and entered the Salt Lake Valley in September, 1848.

Ann liked living next door to Bishop Woodland. She liked to sit in the corkscrew willow tree that grew between their driveways. He was always going and coming. Whenever he did, he’d look up and say with a grin, “Be careful, Ann—I don’t want you falling out of there and cracking my driveway.”

“Why does Bishop Woodland come and go so much?” Ann asked her mother one morning.

“He’s usually going to help someone.”

“Like who?”

“Oh, people who need food or who are unhappy, or older people who need help.”

“How does he help? He’s old himself.”

Ann’s mother laughed. “I guess he is. But he can still listen and help. Sometimes he asks other people to help, like the Relief Society or a priesthood quorum.”

“Would he help me if I had a problem?”

“Of course he would. You could talk to him anytime.”

Ann asked this because she did, in fact, have a problem. She was thinking about it the next day at recess, when Cindy, her life-long friend, said, “Let’s play at the park after school.”

Ann had already told Janie, a new friend who had just moved there that year, that she’d play soccer with her after school. “Can Janie come, too?” she whispered back to Cindy.

Cindy frowned and shrugged.

Ann felt bad. Why couldn’t her two friends like each other? She was sure they would if they just knew each other better.

As it turned out, Janie had to postpone their soccer playing and help out at home. But that didn’t solve the problem.

After dinner Ann sat in the tree and watched for the bishop’s car. When she saw it turn the corner, she scrambled down and waited for him in his driveway. He was slow getting out of the car. When he finally stood up, his eyes were pinched with pain.

“Are you OK?” Ann asked.

“It’s just my back hurting me a little,” he said. Then he smiled, and his eyes were merry again. “I see the bird has come down from the tree.”

“Bishop, I need to talk to you, please.”

“This sounds serious. Let’s sit here on the front steps for a minute.” He lowered himself carefully onto the step. “Look at all those leaves!” The front lawn was covered with red and brown maple leaves and a few yellow ones from the willow tree. “I don’t know how I’ll get them raked up with this back. Sister Woodland can’t do it any more, either.” He turned to Ann. “But we’re here to talk about your problem, not mine. Tell me about it.”

“My two best friends don’t like each other. They don’t really know each other, because Janie is new. But they don’t want to do things with all three of us together. If I go with one, the other is mad at me. Maybe they’ll both get so mad that I won’t have either of them as my friend.”

The bishop put his chin in his hand. He thought a minute. “Maybe you could do something fun together, something at which they’d have to get to know each other better.”

“Maybe a party?”

“Good idea, But don’t watch TV or videos. Play games or do something where you work together.”

“Like making cookies or something?”

“That might work, especially if you ask the Lord’s help. A good, earnest prayer might help your plans.”

“OK, I’ll try it!” Ann jumped up. “Thank you, Bishop. I hope your back feels better.”

The bishop smiled, shook her hand, then went into his house.

“Who helps Bishop Woodland when he has a problem?” Ann asked her mother the next day.

“That depends on his problem. Why?”

“His back hurts him.”

“I know. He had surgery on it a while back. I think it’s getting better, though. I guess anyone who loves him and sees a way to do it would be the one to help.”

Ann did a lot of planning before she said anything to Cindy or Janie about a party. When she learned that the Woodlands were going away for the day on Saturday, she knew that that afternoon would be perfect. She talked to her mother about her plans, and she talked to the Lord about softening her friends’ hearts and about helping her say the right things. Then she talked to Cindy and Janie separately and told them about raking the bishop’s leaves and then having pizza.

“Bishop Woodland helped my dad get a job when he was out of work,” Cindy said. “Sure, I’ll come.”

Janie didn’t know Bishop Woodland because she was in a different ward, but she said, “Why not? I love pizza, and it sounds like fun.”

On Saturday afternoon Cindy and Janie both arrived promptly at four o’clock. They glared at each other but said hi.

“Let’s get to work!” Ann suggested, trying to sound cheerful and assured. They picked up the rakes and leaf bags she had gotten out and went to the bishop’s yard.

Each girl started in a separate corner of the yard and worked silently. Soon they had a big pile of leaves in the middle of the lawn. Ann looked at the pile. “I can’t resist!” she said, jumping into the middle of it.

Cindy laughed. “I was just thinking the same thing.” She jumped in too.

“Well, why not?” Janie drawled, joining them. The three of them rolled around and threw leaves at each other and laughed.

“Janie has the longest hair,” Cindy said. “She can be the leaf queen.” She and Ann wove handfuls of leaves into Janie’s hair. Janie smiled regally. Then they all filled Cindy’s hair and Ann’s. “We’re leaf princesses,” Cindy said.

They lay back in the leaves. The sun was going down, and the sky glowed with pink and gold. “My grandpa calls it ‘the gloaming’ when the sky looks like this,” Janie remarked.

“My mother says that, too,” Cindy said.

The three girls lay in the leaves and talked about their mothers and other things for a while. Suddenly Ann jumped up. “We have to hurry—I’m starving! Besides, it will soon be dark.” They held the sacks open for each other and stuffed them full of leaves. Janie swept the walk while Cindy and Ann carried the bags around by the bishop’s garden. “Janie’s fun,” Cindy said as they walked into the backyard.

Ann smiled. “I know. And so are you.”

Back at Ann’s house, they hurried to wash up so they could eat. After everyone was full, they baked the cookies that Ann’s mother had mixed. Then they arranged a basket of apples and cookies for Ann to put on the bishop’s front porch just before the Woodlands came home. Cindy decorated the note that Janie wrote to put in the basket: “From some people who love you.”

That night, Ann thanked Heavenly Father for helping her friends become friends—and for being able to help yet another friend, the bishop.

Our seminary teacher challenged the students to give missionary pass-along cards to people at school or work or during their everyday lives. As I approached the people with the pass-along cards, I was ready to bear my testimony and share with them what I love and cherish about the gospel. Sometimes I didn’t have time to say much, but I could still give someone a card.
While none of those people have started seriously investigating the Church yet, when I would talk to them about the gospel, the conversation would lead to more questions. When I gave a girl in my English class a card, she got excited about it, so I gave her a Joseph Smith pamphlet, too. I later found out that she gave the pamphlet to a friend at the same time that her friend received a Book of Mormon from another seminary student.
I gave a card to another friend in my history class, and now she is reading the Book of Mormon. She hasn’t said much or asked about it, but it still feels good to know that I’ve accomplished something by giving her a card.
I don’t know where these small efforts will lead, but I’m sure that someday these cards will lead someone to find out the truth for themselves through the Book of Mormon.

I had a hard time finding Sister Gong. I have a quirky sense of humor, and it wasn’t easy finding someone who would laugh with me at my jokes. For example: It is a romantic night at the beach. The moon is full and bright. You are holding hands, strolling through the warm water. Something slithers against her leg. Don’t worry, it’s a moray.

What is this? A tie. In Mandarin Chinese, “wife” is “taitai.” Can you say “tai-tai?” The adjective for someone who lives in Thailand is—Thai. So, his Thai taitai tied tying his tie-dye tie.

Anyway, you get the idea. It’s a miracle I found Sister Gong. Something that helped me may help you. When I prayed, “Should I marry Susan?” I felt peace. But later, I made my own best decision. My prayer changed to one of real intent and commitment. “Heavenly Father, I love Susan and want to ask her to marry me. I promise I’ll be the best husband and father I can be.” It was then my clearest, strongest confirmation came.

When Sister Gong and I were married, Elder David B. Haight wisely counseled, “Always hold a calling in the Church,” he said. “Be wise and don’t neglect your family, education, or profession. But especially when life is busy, hold a Church calling so you feel the Lord’s love for those you serve and for you, as you grow in His service.”

Maybe we weren’t the best troop in the district, but could you really blame us? Boy Scout Troop 756 (of the Mesa 34th Ward, Mesa Arizona East Stake) was barely a year old, and already we were losing our third Scoutmaster. We were losing interest in Scouting too.
Some of us had been to camp the summer before. Camp Geronimo, nestled under the Mogollon Rim in the heart of Arizona’s ponderosa pine forest, has the reputation of being one of the best Scout camps in the country, but we weren’t very well organized and didn’t take advantage of their program. Few of us wanted to go back. We’d lots rather go camping in the Grand Canyon, if we could get someone to take us.
Our problem was discussed in the next troop committee meeting. Brother Decker had just moved into the ward and had accepted the assignment of advancement chairman. He agreed to take charge of us until someone could be called as Scoutmaster.
At our next troop meeting Brother Decker explained to us what the situation was. We discussed the Grand Canyon trip and decided on a date, and our new leader agreed to contact the park and make reservations for the campgrounds we planned to use. He then showed slides he had taken on other hikes he had made in the canyon.
In our troop meetings the next few weeks we learned how to make up a light pack. All the equipment we took into the canyon would have to be carried out, and the last 7,000-foot climb would be when we were the most tired. There would be no need for sleeping bags—an air mattress and a sheet or sleeping sack would suffice. Food would be planned for light weight and high energy: instant cereals, jerky, dry soups, etc. (We could have freeze-dried camp packs if we could afford it.) We practiced first aid and other things we might need on the trail and were encouraged to hike a few blocks every day to condition ourselves and make sure our walking shoes were well broken in.
The big day finally came, and we all met at the prescribed place at the crack of dawn. Our transportation arrived—two Volkswagen bugs! That’s the best our leaders could come up with. We crammed ourselves in and headed north.
We stopped in Flagstaff to visit the headquarters of the Grand Canyon Council. They have patches that can be earned for hiking some of the trails in the canyon. First there’s the diamond-shaped patch with a colorful view of the canyon. Then there are chevron-shaped patches to sew around it, such as “The Hermit Trail,” “Supai To River,” and “Rim to Rim to Rim.” (The latter would be about the best 50 miler you could ever make!) We found that we would have to hike the trails first, then apply for the patches.
We entered the park through the south entrance and went directly to Mather Point where most of us got our first view of the canyon. What a view it was! No words can describe it, and pictures can’t do it justice. I’ve heard it said, and really believe it, that the Grand Canyon’s magnitude is impossible to comprehend.
We loaded back in the cars and went to the visitor’s center where our leaders checked our reservations and got our camping permits. Then we drove out to Yaki Point where we loaded our packs and started down the trail. It was steep at first, with several switchbacks; then it straightened out along Yaki Point. Dropping down on Cedar Ridge we encountered our first mules. The famous mules of Grand Canyon carry thousands of visitors on tours of the canyon each season. This, however, was a work detail repairing the trail.
At Cedar Ridge we found hitching racks for the mules, a scheduled rest stop on the way out of the canyon from Phantom Ranch. We also found a glass-covered case protecting an imprint of a large fern leaf in solid rock, no telling how old.
As we dropped down behind Bucky O’Neil Butte, storm clouds started gathering above us. Brother Decker told us that the only shelter on this trail was the tunnel at the suspension bridge over the river. This was over four miles away. The rain came, and we got into our packs for our sheets of plastic. They worked almost as well as raincoats and kept our packs dry too. The rain was really a blessing in disguise. It would have been pretty hot without it. Sometimes the temperature down in the gorge reaches over 120 degrees.
The troop was strung out as we went down over the Tip-Off. Brother Slade had twisted his knee and was taking it easy for a while. We found the tunnel at the river, which opened right onto the suspension bridge, and then we crossed the river, and waited for everyone to catch up. The sun came out and the wet cliffs glistened—a beautiful sight, and the river ran peacefully along below us. It was restful there, and we could have stayed for hours, but we still had to find a place to camp. It would be dark soon.
We followed the trail around the bend to Bright Angel Creek and then on to Phantom Ranch. Brother Decker remarked that another flood had gone through since he was last here; boulders were exposed everywhere. The beautiful new pool that had been so nice to swim in had disappeared, and a lawn had been planted in its place. A deer grazed peacefully nearby.
We found the concession window open at the restaurant. They didn’t have much of a selection, but the tall, cold lemonade sure tasted good.
We went on up the trail and found a beautiful campground. A little bridge over a sparkling brook led to a level area with plenty of grass under large spreading trees. Bright Angel Creek bordered the camp on the west. We just had time to get supper and make up our beds before dark. Most of us were pretty tired and went right off to sleep, but some of the guys amused themselves by tracking bats with their flashlights. They claimed that with the light on them the bats would lose their radar and crash into things.
The sun rises late in the canyon. Breakfast was over, and we had stashed our packs in a shed at Phantom Ranch for a hike up Bright Angel Creek. We didn’t see the sun until we had hiked up through the Box, with sheer rock walls reaching thousands of feet above us, and had come out in a valley inside the canyon. Here, out of sight of the towering cliffs, it was easy to imagine we were in an area of rolling hills rather than the bottom of a mile-deep chasm. Only the South Rim could be seen far in the distance.
To reach Ribbon Falls we had to leave the trail, cross the creek, and wind our way up a side canyon about half a mile: Ribbon Falls is a fantastic place. The water flows out of a cliff about a hundred feet above where we were, falls to a moss-covered ledge about halfway down, then onto the bottom, some falling free and the rest running down a tall, green wall of moss. We climbed up the ledge. We were hot and tired from the long hike, and the water sure looked inviting. We went in, some of us fully clothed, and it was the best shower I’ve ever had! We relaxed around the pool beneath the falls and ate the snack food we’d brought in our pockets. It was so peaceful it seemed like the most out-of-the-way place in the world. We didn’t realize at the time that only a mile or so away, almost directly above us, was the bustling Grand Canyon Lodge on the North Rim!
We returned to Phantom Ranch and our old campground. The day was hot and the pool in the creek looked like a good place to cool off. Storm clouds were beginning to appear, so we stashed our clothes and packs where they wouldn’t get wet and enjoyed ourselves in the creek. The rain came but we didn’t care. We were comfortable in the water.
We still had a long way to go. It was seven or eight miles and 2,000 feet up to the Indian Gardens Campground where we had reservations to spend the night. We broke camp, policed the area to make sure there was no sign that we had been there, and headed out. We went down past the ranger’s station and crossed the river on the lower bridge, the one that carries the water line from Roaring Spring to Grand Canyon Village. It’s a half mile below the suspension bridge.
The trail ran a mile or so along the river, with each bend giving another spectacular view. The sun was getting low in the west when we turned up the side canyon and started climbing the Bright Angel Trail. Since the campgrounds were always so crowded, we decided to let the senior patrol leader and some of the faster boys go ahead and pick us out a good campsite at Indian Gardens. The rest of us made our way the best we could. A patrol leader was assigned to bring up the rear, and it was way after dark before we reached the camp. In fact, those who went ahead were just starting to organize a search-rescue mission to come look for us. We had hiked about 20 miles that day, with the last two or three miles as hard as you’ll find anywhere.
We made our supper in the dark. Most of us used canned heat, but Brother Slade, a member of the bishopric, had made up a little stove from a tuna fish can with rolled up corrugated cardboard inside and melted paraffin poured over it. It worked fine for the whole trip. He was using it that night, and it made so much light that the Indian camp attendant came over to tell us that campfires weren’t allowed!
If everyone hadn’t been so tired that night, we would have had some star study. I’ve never seen stars as bright as they were that night at Indian Gardens. The sky was perfectly clear with no clouds, and no moon. The only light we could see was the one from the Grand Canyon Lodge on the North Rim, 16 miles away. We didn’t enjoy this beauty very long; sleep came fast.
As we began stirring at daylight the next morning, Brother Decker called a conference. He reviewed each boy on his advancement, then gave the senior patrol leader some assignments on Scoutcraft instruction. This hike wasn’t just for play, he said, after we’d already hiked nearly 30 miles! He went on to mention a few things we could improve on and bragged us up a bit for the way the troop as a whole was conducting itself. Brother Slade also gave us some words of encouragement.
With breakfast over, some of us went on a morning hike with Brother Decker out to Plateau Point. This is where the mule parties go for a look down into the gorge. The rapids were shimmering in the sun, and although we were 2,000 feet above them, we could hear their roar. The colors in the canyon that time in the morning were indescribable. When we returned to the campground, we found everyone ready to leave. We still had 4 1/2 miles and 3,000 feet to climb.
On the trail we met several mule parties, with a dozen or so tourists in each. Most of them were on a half-day trip to Plateau Point. Too bad that they couldn’t go on and see Phantom Ranch and Bright Angel Creek as we had. The only way to really see the canyon is to walk! When we met these mule trains, courtesy required us to get clear off the trail out of their way.
We reached the three-mile rest station and found a little stone house with a drinking fountain and a telephone. No one was ready to call for assistance yet, especially after reading the message by the phone that it would cost $30 to have a mule come down for you. There was another rest station much the same as this one 1 1/2 miles farther up. By then it was becoming a race to see who could be first to reach the top.
The snack bar at Bright Angel Lodge was sure a welcome sight. We decided that we liked civilization after all. Our leaders drove out to Yaki Point for Brother Slade’s car. When they returned, we all went to the Yavapai Museum where they have a bank of mounted binoculars that we used to look down on all the places we’d been. It was goodbye for now to the canyon, but we all wanted to go back.
As we traveled homeward that night I reflected on the events of the past few days. We’d had a very good hike. We had learned a lot. (The best way to learn Scouting skills is in actual practice.) We had driven ourselves almost to the limit of our endurance, but we had succeeded. It was a comfortable feeling, one of great satisfaction.