Gospel Story Finder

Fifty years ago, Kathy and I met an impressive couple who had also been recently married in the house of the Lord. Life was promising. They had children. She was talented and full of faith. His work prospered. They kept their covenants.
Unexpectedly, the young woman developed serious health issues.
Their son recently shared these reflections with me:
“In my younger years, my sweet mom went through crushing periods of severe depression, bringing extended periods of difficulty in taking care of even her own needs. It was a new reality for both of my parents. Life would be different than they had anticipated.
“My dad had never experienced mental illness and sought the help of his Heavenly Father. I can’t count the number of times I walked in on him while on his knees, or the number of Sundays he was quietly fasting again. He served my mother—and served us—with incredible love, patience, and humility. He sought the influence of the Holy Ghost, hoping to love, act, and react as the Savior would.
“My mother was the love of his life. These seasons would be but a small moment. They were bound to one another forever. As they remained faithful, they would spend eternity together in health and happiness. That promise gave him a perfect brightness of hope.
“While many times my mother felt that her challenges created a burden for my dad, he saw it differently. He loved serving this incredible, precious daughter of God.
“As my mom bravely—and miraculously—overcame many of her health struggles, they experienced light and joy together: as a couple and as parents and grandparents.
“Later, in her 60s, she faced an entirely different set of trials, including breast cancer and neurological issues that impacted her ability to walk. Once again, she and my dad doubled down on their commitment to each other and their covenants with the Lord.
“They did it together through the final day of her mortal journey.”
Eternal marriage is an eternal journey.

President Cowley had an interesting story to tell about repentance.

There was a man by the name of Syd who lived in a little Maori village on the east coast of New Zealand. At that time there was a large branch of the Church there with about four hundred members. One Saturday afternoon, after a long, eight-hour drive, President Cowley arrived at this village and went directly to see his old friend, Syd.

As a young man, Syd had been an outstanding athlete. He had attended high school and college in the United States. He had become a well-known basketball player, and, as an all-star athlete, he had received a lot of publicity.

Syd had been ordained a seventy while he had lived in the United States, and when he arrived back in New Zealand, he had found that he was the only seventy in the whole area, and he didn’t have a quorum to belong to. He had become somewhat inactive, and he hadn’t been keeping the Word of Wisdom, but deep within his heart he still knew the gospel to be true.

As a mission president and a friend, President Cowley called on Syd, and found him sitting in a rocking chair on his front porch, smoking a big cigar. Syd didn’t stop chewing on his cigar as President Cowley sat down beside him to visit.

After they had talked and laughed for a while, President Cowley became serious and said, “Syd, I want you to come to church tomorrow. I’m going to release the branch president and put in a new one.”

Syd said, “I haven’t been there for a long time. Why don’t you just tell me who the new branch president will be, and then I won’t have to get myself cleaned up for church in the morning.”

President Cowley said, “Well, I’ll tell you who it is. It’s going to be you.”

Syd pulled that old cigar out of his mouth, looked at it, and said, “President, you mean me and my cigar?”

President Cowley said, “No, Syd—just you. We don’t need your cigar.”

Then Syd threw the cigar out on the ground in front of the porch. He thought for a minute, turned to President Cowley, and very humbly said, “President, I won’t break the Word of Wisdom any more. I’m a full-tithe payer. I’ll be the branch president, and I’ll be worthy. Tomorrow morning I’ll be there, and I promise you that I’ll be the best branch president in the whole country. You won’t have to worry about me and whether or not I’m living the gospel.”

For the next several years, Syd served as one of the strongest and finest leaders in the mission. His son became the first bishop in the ward when the stake was created. Just recently, his grandson was released from serving as a bishop. Syd’s whole family is strong and active in the Church today and is one of the great families in New Zealand. Why? Because old Syd knew how to repent. He repented on the spot. When he was called to repentance, he quit his worldly ways. He became and remained a faithful Saint until the day he died.

In most cases, that’s all there is to repentance. Do you see how really simple that was? President Cowley never did ask Syd to repent. He gave him an opportunity to be of service to the Church in a priesthood calling. Syd knew that if he accepted that calling, he could no longer sin, so he immediately quit. It was over—just like that! The Lord accepted his repentance, and Syd became a great leader.

When I was 20, I went into the army. In basic training, I was exposed to many things I had been warned against. I was very grateful for the teachings I had received at home and in Primary. They were a lifesaver for me. I saw some young men who changed their way of life in the army and who chose not to follow God’s teachings. After basic training, one of these young men talked to me privately. He was sobbing because he had picked up a lot of bad habits, and now he had to go home and he didn’t want to face his parents. I was grateful I had been prepared to face those challenges and had remained faithful to the truths I had been taught.

While my father attended LDS High School, he worked and lived in the home of President Joseph F. Smith. He wrote in his life history about President Smith:
“Most great men that I have known have been deflated by intimate contact. Not so with the prophet Joseph F. Smith. Each common everyday act added inches to his greatness. To me he was a prophet even while washing his hands or untying his shoes.”
My father tells of one experience in which the prophet taught him a practical lesson late one night as he entered the Beehive House. Again quoting from my father’s life history:
“I walked with guarded steps through the office, then into the private study to the door at the foot of the steps that led to my bedroom. But the door would not open. I pushed and I pushed to no avail. Finally I gave up and went back to a rug that I had noticed in the hall with the intention of sleeping there until morning.
“In the darkness I bumped against another partially opened door and the collision awakened the prophet. He turned on the light and, seeing who it was, came down the stairway and inquired concerning my difficulty.
“‘The door is locked that leads to my room,’ I explained. He went to the door and pulled instead of pushed, and the door opened. Had he been disturbed by my foolish blunder I would not have been surprised, for I had robbed him of a precious night’s sleep by a thoughtless act. He only smiled and stopped to inquire of a strange stable boy what I had stumbled into. I pointed to the half open door at the other end of the hall.
“‘Let me show you something.’ He took time at midnight to explain, ‘When in the dark, never go groping with hands parted and outstretched; that permits doors to get by your guard and hit you. Keep your arms in front, but hands together; then you will feel with your hands and not your head.’ I thanked him and moved to my quarters. He waited until I reached the rear stairway and then he retired.”

Brothers and sisters, six months ago as we met together in our general conference, my sweet wife, Frances, lay in the hospital, having suffered a devastating fall just a few days earlier. In May, after weeks of valiantly struggling to overcome her injuries, she slipped into eternity. Her loss has been profound. She and I were married in the Salt Lake Temple on October 7, 1948. Tomorrow would have been our 65th wedding anniversary. She was the love of my life, my trusted confidant, and my closest friend. To say that I miss her does not begin to convey the depth of my feelings.
This conference marks 50 years since I was called to the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles by President David O. McKay. Through all these years I have felt nothing but the full and complete support of my sweet companion. Countless are the sacrifices she made so that I could fulfill my calling. Never did I hear a word of complaint from her as I was often required to spend days and sometimes weeks away from her and from our children. She was an angel, indeed.
I wish to express my thanks, as well as those of my family, for the tremendous outpouring of love which has come to us since Frances’s passing. Hundreds of cards and letters were sent from around the world expressing admiration for her and condolences to our family. We received dozens of beautiful floral arrangements. We are grateful for the numerous contributions which have been offered in her name to the General Missionary Fund of the Church. On behalf of those of us whom she left behind, I express deep gratitude for your kind and heartfelt expressions.
Of utmost comfort to me during this tender time of parting have been my testimony of the gospel of Jesus Christ and the knowledge I have that my dear Frances lives still. I know that our separation is temporary. We were sealed in the house of God by one having authority to bind on earth and in heaven. I know that we will be reunited one day and will never again be separated. This is the knowledge that sustains me.

I remember a bishop who treated me as if I were already what I had the potential to become in priesthood power. He called me one Sunday when I was a priest. He said he needed me to be his companion to visit some members of our ward. He made it sound as if I were his only hope for success. He didn’t need me. He had excellent counselors in his bishopric.
We visited a penniless and hungry widow. He wanted me to help him reach her heart, challenge her to make and use a budget, and promise her that she could rise to be in a position not only to take care of herself but also to help others.
We went next to comfort two little girls living in a difficult situation. As we walked away, the bishop said quietly to me, “Those children will never forget that we came to them.”
At the next house, I saw how to invite a less-active man to come back to the Lord by convincing him the ward members needed him.
That bishop was a Melchizedek Priesthood holder who was raising my sights and giving me a boost by example. He taught me to have the power and the courage to go anywhere in service for the Lord. He is long gone to his reward, but I still remember him because he reached down to lift me up when I was an inexperienced Aaronic Priesthood holder. I learned later that he saw me on a future priesthood path of greater responsibilities, then beyond my own vision.

I will never forget the family home evening lesson we had during a power outage. Without power we could not read anything, and I thought that family home evening was going to be a disaster.
“How will we have family home evening without being able to read a message from the Liahona, or how will we be able to sing from the hymnbooks without light?” I thought to myself.
Fortunately my sister came to the rescue. She had the great idea for us to sing the hymns we knew by heart and then share what we had learned the Sunday before. We all shared a principle and learned from one another. In my opinion, learning together is the purpose of family home evening. I am certain that the Lord was very pleased that we kept the commandment to have family home evening, even without lights.

Brother Hinckley and I served with President Kimball on the Missionary Executive Committee, so we were with him every Tuesday morning assigning missionaries, and the three of us had a very good camaraderie together.

One day he said to Brother Hinckley and me, “Is this the night where the parents are coming to visit with the mission presidents who are here for conference and we’re to have our offices ready for them?”

Brother Hinckley and I said, “Yes, it is, President.”

“Is your office ready, Tom?”

I said, “Yes, it is.”

“Is your office ready, Gordon?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Uh, will the two of you carry on with the meeting while I make my office ready?”

He carried a thick stack of papers and would thumb through them constantly until they were worn out on the edges, and he began to take care of cleaning up his office so it would be ready for the parents and missionaries. He emptied the files, put them in the closet, and then he moved everything off of his desk and moved it to his secretary’s desk. And then he picked up that big stack of papers he usually carried and threw it in his refrigerator. It was the only place left, so he refrigerated his notes! And then he said, “Now I’m ready!”

You had to love him. You had to love Spencer W. Kimball. You just had to.

When President Kimball died, we were living in Arizona. President Kimball had been in our home. We had knelt with him in family prayer, and he had eaten bread and milk with us. We knew he was a prophet of God.
I wanted a witness of the Spirit that President Benson was God’s chosen prophet. I wanted to know more than that he was just a good person and next in line after President Kimball. The Lord was kind to me, and, after fasting and prayer, I received, by the Spirit, the witness that President Benson was indeed God’s chosen prophet for this time, with a special calling and a special message for our day.

“Wait, you haven’t finished your breakfast,” Mom said. Mom pushed the small plates of vegetables closer to Juhyuk.
Juhyuk looked at his breakfast. He was running late! Normally his older brother went to church with him. But his brother was out of town, so Juhyuk had to go on his own today. Mom didn’t go to church with them.
“OK, Mom,” Juhyuk said. He hurried to finish eating. Then he hugged Mom and headed for the door.
Mom stopped him. “Do you have your phone?”
Juhyuk held it up. “Yes. I can text my Primary teacher if I have a problem.”
“And a sweater under your coat? It’s cold.”
Juhyuk showed Mom his sweater. She nodded. Juhyuk hurried out to the street.
All the city sounds made him smile. It was fun to live in one of the biggest cities in South Korea!
But Juhyuk still wished his brother were with him. It always made the trip to church more fun.
“I know the way,” he told himself. And sure enough, before long he was at the first bus stop.
But no one else was there. That was strange. He checked his watch. He must have just missed the bus! Now he would have to wait for the next one.
After several minutes, other people started gathering. Finally, a bright blue bus rolled up. Juhyuk climbed the steps, paid the driver, and sat down.
Ta-tink! Juhyuk checked his phone after the text alert. It was from his Primary teacher. Are you on the bus? Remember, if you get lost, we can come find you!
He grinned and texted back. Yes. I’m on it now.
This was only the short bus ride, though. He would have to ride the second bus for more than an hour.
Juhyuk looked at the time and frowned. He didn’t want to miss church. He loved the part in the sacrament prayers that said, “always remember Him.” That meant always remembering Jesus. And Juhyuk wanted to do that.
When his aunt and uncle had invited his brother and him to church a few months ago, he met the missionaries. Elder Kim and Elder Moon taught them both about Jesus. The more Juhyuk learned about Jesus, the more he loved thinking about Him.
Ta-tink! A new text came in. Have you switched buses yet?
Not yet, he texted back.
The bus pulled up to the busy street where Juhyuk needed to get off to switch buses. He asked the driver if his second bus had come.
“You just missed it,” the driver said. “The next one arrives in 15 minutes.”
“Oh, OK,” Juhyuk said. “Thank you!”
Finally, after the second bus ride, Juhyuk hurried inside the meetinghouse. His aunt and uncle had saved him a seat. He had made it!
Juhyuk thought about everything he had done to get to church. He thought of all of the people who had helped him along the way. He felt that Heavenly Father was glad he was there.
Juhyuk said a silent prayer. “Thank Thee, Heavenly Father, that I can come to church today.”

In late January of 2011, I went into an early labor. I was rushed to the Rexburg hospital where I was then life-flighted to the University of Utah. I was promptly put on several different medications to stop my labor. My son was 28 weeks old, but he had a hernia in his diaphragm. The doctors and nurses wanted him to have as much time as possible to grow inside of me, so he would have a better chance of survival when he was born. However, a few days later, my son decided to be born anyway. After only a few short hours, he passed away. We had a funeral for him on Friday, February 4.

Three weeks later, my husband, Jeff, and I received a call from my husband’s brother Greg. He said that we needed to get to the Twin Falls hospital right away. Jeff’s parents had been in a terrible accident that morning. They were on their way to a grandson’s wrestling tournament, hit a patch of black ice on the freeway, and rolled their truck six times. Greg did not know if they would survive and encouraged us to come quickly. They did end up surviving, but their recovery was slow, painful, and would take many months. My husband ended up dropping out of school and moving to Pocatello for a while to help take care of them during this difficult time.

The rest of 2011 continued on much in the same manner as it had begun. We didn’t know if I would still have a job since I was on a one-year appointment, and Jeff was not quite done with school yet nor on a fixed income. I had to have oral gum surgery, and we were robbed twice, which led to us move out of that particular neighborhood. Then, early one morning, my three-year-old daughter woke up and told her dad that her head hurt. My husband took her to the hospital where she was tested for meningitis. She gave us quite a scare for a few days, then recovered—thank goodness.

Finally, on Monday, December 5, we received another phone call asking us to come to Pocatello. Jeff’s brother and best friend, Greg, was in a coma and doctors were not seeing any brain activity. In a daze and with heavy hearts, we once again set off to a hospital. Greg died shortly thereafter of meningitis. He left a wife, three children under the age of four, and another one on the way.

At this point in the story, there really is no more order to the story. My expectations had met up with the realities of life, and it was ugly. For the last ten years, I have been trying to make sense of 2011 and several events that happened since that time. Some would call this non-matchup of expectation and reality a life crisis, a faith crisis, or cognitive dissonance. I call it an education for the soul. I have had to face my views of the world and decide what I really believe and who I want to become. It has been uncomfortable and extremely unpleasant in many ways, but worthwhile.

Let me close with an example of how one whose light was burning bright affected others and turned what was a haunted place, at least for one person, into a holy place. It comes from an article written by Rick Reilly, who in my opinion is one of the best sportswriters of our time. It was written in the fall of 2012. Because he writes so well, I will quote extensively from his version of the story:

In the scrub-brush desert town of Queen Creek, Ariz., high school bullies were throwing trash at sophomore Chy Johnson. Calling her “stupid.” Pushing her in the halls. [Making it, I would say, a haunted place.]

Chy’s brain works at only a third-grade level because of a genetic birth defect, but she knew enough to feel hate.

“She’d come home every night at the start of the school year crying and upset,” says her mom, Liz Johnson. “That permanent smile she had, that gleam in her eye, that was all gone.”

Her mom says she tried to talk to teachers and administrators and got nowhere. So she tried a whole new path—the starting quarterback of the undefeated football team. After all, senior Carson Jones had once escorted Chy to the Special Olympics.

“Just keep your ear to the ground,” Liz wrote to Carson on his Facebook page. “Maybe get me some names?”

But Carson Jones did something better than that. Instead of ratting other kids out, he decided to take one in — Chy.

He started asking her to eat at the cool kids’ lunch table with him and his teammates. “I just thought that if they saw her with us every day, maybe they’d start treating her better,” Carson says. . . .

It got better. Starting running back Tucker Workman made sure somebody was walking between classes with Chy. In classes, cornerback Colton Moore made sure she sat in the row right behind the team.

Just step back a second. In some schools, it’s the football players doing the bullying. At Queen Creek, they’re stopping it. And not with fists—with straight-up love for a kid most teenage football players wouldn’t even notice, much less hang out with. . . .

It’s working.

“I was parking my car yesterday, and I saw a couple of the guys talking to her and being nice,” says offensive lineman Bryce Oakes. “I think it’s making a difference around here.”

And the best thing is? The football players didn’t tell anybody.

“I didn’t know about any of this until three weeks ago,” says Carson’s mom, Rondalee, who’s raising four boys and a daughter by herself. “He finally showed me an article they wrote here locally. I said, ‘Are you kidding me? Why didn’t you tell me this?’”

All of a sudden, Chy started coming home as her bubbly self again. When her mom asked why she was so happy, she said, “I’m eating lunch with my boys!” . . .

I get emailed stories like this a lot, but most of the time they don’t pan out. They turn out to be half true, or true for the first week but not the second. But when I walked into the Queen Creek High School cafeteria Tuesday, unannounced, there was 4-foot-high Chy with 11 senior football players, eating her lunch around the most packed lunch table you’ve ever seen, grinning like it was Christmas morning. . . .

“I thank Carson every chance I see him,” says Chy’s mom. “He’s an amazing young man. He’s going to go far in life.”

Nobody knows how far Chy Johnson will go in life. The life expectancy of those afflicted with her disease, microcephaly, is only 25–30 years. But her sophomore year, so far, has been unforgettable. [I might say it has been turned from a haunted place into a holy place.] . . .

But what about next year, when Carson probably will be on his Mormon mission and all of Chy’s boys will have graduated?

Not to worry. Carson has a little brother on the team, Curtis, who’s in Chy’s class.

“Mom,” he announced at the dinner table the other night, “I got this.”

Lucky girl.30

Unfortunately, my activity in the Church didn’t last. My marriage was difficult, and I turned to old vices to escape my pain. Hobbies began to replace church attendance.

Three years passed, and I reached rock bottom. I had to make a choice. Could I live the gospel for myself regardless of what was happening in my life? Or would I just give in to the darkness? I knew that committing to the strait and narrow path meant getting rid of negative influences in my life. Also, my desires to go back to church highlighted that my spouse and I were on different paths. With the state of our marriage at that point, we were headed toward divorce already.

I was scared. There was no guarantee that my efforts would grant me the good things I wanted in this life. But my decision came back to what I had learned years before—that I was happiest living the gospel. I decided to commit fully and put myself in God’s hands, come what may. From here on out, it was me and Him.

Once again, I started going back to church and getting my life on track. One of the happiest days of my life was when I received a temple recommend again. I found solace in the temple as my marriage continued to fracture and ultimately came to an end.

As scary as that decision felt, through that experience I learned to appreciate God’s hand in my path. Even though I had stumbled, the race wasn’t lost. I wasn’t competing with anyone else. When I relied on the Savior for my self-worth, I could stop spending all my efforts trying to change others’ perspective of me.

I found myself at church being OK sitting alone or amidst members who were in different stages of life. I made an effort not to hide and made myself available to talk with people in my ward. I was able to enjoy attending my meetings for their intended purpose.

Having that peace also helped as I got back into dating. I still didn’t get a lot of second dates, but I now knew I didn’t have to compromise my standards just because I had slipped up in the past. I was living the gospel to the best of my ability, and I was good enough to date those who were living the gospel to the best of theirs too.

I ultimately found a worthy daughter of God who I married in the temple. Her path was very different than mine, but when it came to a love of the Savior and an understanding of His Atonement, we were on the same page.

Family is important to eight-year-old Shonesty Johnson. When she turned eight, her father, Alexander, was out of town, working in the oil fields. She postponed her baptism a month and a half so that he could perform the ordinance. Her fifteen-year-old brother, Alexander, Jr., (Zack), sang “When I Am Baptized” as part of the service. Shonesty says, “I liked being baptized. It made me feel good—especially because Dad baptized me and my brother sang to me.”

During the night a little bird had been blown from its nest by the high winds in the storm. Apparently hatched just a few days earlier, it had few feathers, but enough to be identified as just a common sparrow.
As it lay there awaiting whatever fate would come, a young woman walking to her car in the parking lot saw the little sparrow and picked it up. Feeling sympathy for the helpless little bird, she took it home to care for it. She prepared a nest in a basket with soft tissues, which were changed often to keep a clean and comfortable bed for the little bird.
She fed it often each day, watching it gain strength, and within a few days it opened its eyes and could see for the first time. It saw the girl who fed it and the family who lived in the home. It heard and became accustomed to the sounds around it, and it was not afraid.
As the days passed, it was able to hop about, and it was taken from the basket and put into a clean birdcage.
The sparrow trusted the girl and the family, and when it wanted food, it would chirp and flutter its growing wings rapidly, and when the cage door was opened it would hop out onto the girl’s hand and sit there patiently while she fed it.
It would sit on her hand as she walked through the house and even when she went outside. To help it become accustomed to the outside world where it soon would have to live, she would take it out on the lawn where she and her sister would sit under the tree and visit while the bird would look and observe all around it.
It came time for the girl and her sister to go to girls’ camp, so the bird went with them and spent the week on Cedar Mountain with the girls. It was there that it tried to fly for the first time, flying from the girl’s hand to the low branches in a nearby tree.
The bird was glad to come back to the familiar hand and security of the girl’s love, and although it was learning to fly, it did not leave. When the girls’ camp was over, the bird came home with the girls and continued its flying lessons.
The girl, realizing the bird must soon join its own kind, took it out on the front lawn and encouraged it to fly away. It flew across the lawn to a small pine tree, where it perched and looked around. The girl left it there, assuming it would now join the other birds, and she returned into the home.
It wasn’t long before a chirping could be heard outside in front of the home, and when the girl went out to see what the bird was chirping about, it flew out of the tree and landed back on her hand, and she fed it.
For the first few nights the bird would come back to the house and want to come in with the family for the night. Soon, however, it began to stay out with newly found friends, living in the trees close by the home. When the girl would go outside and whistle, it would respond and return and land on her hand, and my daughter, Trinilee, would feed it.
That little bird and my daughter taught me a great lesson in faith and trust. Although it was just a fraction of the size of its human friend and could be in great danger for its life amongst humans, it trusted her and had faith it would not be harmed and would be fed by her—and it responded to her beckoning call.
Have you ever wondered about our faith? Do we have that kind of trust and faith in the Lord? Do we respond to His beckoning call to serve and be fed at His hand?
We should strive to be in His presence and to respond to His call, yet many of us lack the faith and the trust to come unto the Lord when He calls. He is calling us today to be faithful and to trust Him, that He might feed us.
The Savior, speaking through the Prophet Joseph Smith, said to John Whitmer: “And now, behold, I say unto you, that the thing which will be of the most worth unto you will be to declare repentance unto this people, that you may bring souls unto me, that you may rest with them in the kingdom of my Father. Amen” (D&C 15:6).
I believe our Heavenly Father, and I trust Him. When He reveals to us, speaking through our living prophet today, that we need to do more and that more of us need to become involved in the work of bringing souls unto Christ, then we need to step forward and say, “Here am I; send me” (Isa. 6:8).
I truly love my Heavenly Father and our Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ, and I am grateful for the many blessings and opportunities They have given me. I pray with all my heart and soul that I can measure up to the plans They have for me, whatever those plans may be.
I pray we will all show the kind of faith and trust in the Lord that the little sparrow demonstrated in my daughter and that we will respond to the call of the Lord.

I rounded the corner just in time to see the double-decker bus pulling up to my bus stop. I ran full speed, dodging puddles and pedestrians, and leaped onto the bus just as it began pulling away.
Buses in Manchester, England, were always crowded at this time of night, but I didn’t mind. As a student at the Royal Northern College of Music, I didn’t have very much free time to meet the British people, so I looked forward to my crowded bus rides as opportunities to make new friends.
I finally found a seat next to a lovely young woman who was deeply involved in a pamphlet. I sat down quietly, trying not to disturb her, but I couldn’t help peeking over her shoulder to see what she was reading. It was a religious pamphlet that bore the heading, “Believe in Christ and Be Saved!” Further down the page I read the words, “We are saved by faith alone.” I looked up to find the young woman smiling at me curiously. “Oh, excuse me,” I said, “but I couldn’t help noticing your pamphlet. Are you interested in religion?”
“Oh, no!” she said in a strong, content voice. “I’m already saved! I’m just reading this for fun. And what about you?” she asked. “Are you saved?”
I had never been asked the question in that way before, and I stammered with my answer, “Well, I … uh, I’m … I’m trying! I am a Christian.”
“Hallelujah! Praise the Lord!” she shouted in a loud voice, drawing the attention of the bus driver and several fellow passengers. Then, a little more softly, she asked, “What is your church?”
“The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I’m a Mormon.”
“Ooh! Oh, no!” she whispered, leaning away from me with fear in her eyes. “Oh, I know about Mormons! You’re not Christian.”
“Yes, we are!” I said.
“No,” she said again. “No! I remember two Mormons knocked on my door once and told me that they had a message for me about Jesus Christ. I let them in to talk about Christ, and all we talked about was some man named Joseph Smith. I don’t believe in him, and they didn’t tell me about Christ. Your church isn’t Christian.”
She seemed so set in her opinions that I didn’t know what to say. Then I heard myself talking about Joseph Smith and explaining why he was so important to the restoration of the true gospel. I told her about continuing revelation and bore my testimony of a living prophet on the earth today.
She listened politely for some time, then apologized as she stood up, “I’m sorry, but this is my stop. It’s been nice talking to you, but I still say Mormons aren’t Christian.” With that, she got off the bus and left me staring openmouthed after her.
I worried all the way home, and for the rest of the evening I couldn’t stop thinking of the young woman and her incorrect belief that Latter-day Saints didn’t believe in Christ. What could I say, if I ever met her again, to convince her that I did have a testimony of Christ and that I believed that I belonged to his church?
I turned to my scriptures, hoping to find some kind of answer or at least some comfort. I picked up my Book of Mormon, and in 2 Nephi I began to read the beautiful and plain words testifying of the Savior.
“And we talk of Christ, we rejoice in Christ, we preach of Christ, we prophesy of Christ, and we write according to our prophecies, that our children may know to what source they may look for a remission of their sins” (2 Ne. 25:26).
Since I had been studying in England, I had told many people on my bus about the Church. I had talked about Utah and Brigham Young University, about pioneers and prophets, about football teams and families, about developing talents and storing food. I had talked about Joseph Smith and the restoration of the gospel, and about missions and the scriptures. But had I ever “talked of Christ”?
In my prayers that night I gave sincere thanks for Jesus Christ, the reason this gospel and church are true, and the source we can look to for a remission of our sins. I also prayed that I would see again the young lady I had talked with on the bus, so that I could tell her about the most important part of my testimony, my belief in Christ.
I did see her again, the very next day on the same bus. She seemed happy to see me, and we chatted lightly about the weather and my classes. As we got closer to her stop, I turned nervously and said, “I forgot to tell you something about my church yesterday.”
I began to talk of Christ. The words were not eloquent or powerful, but I bore my testimony of Jesus Christ as our Savior and as the head of our church. “My church teaches its members many things,” I said. “Sometimes we get so caught up in these wonderful truths that we forget the most important truth we have, that Jesus is our Savior and is at the center of our church. I’m sorry I didn’t talk about him sooner.”
I talked about the scripture in 2 Nephi and told her that I knew the Book of Mormon was another testament of Christ.
The bus had stopped and people were pressing toward the doors. Without a word or glance for me, she rose and joined them. But as she got off the bus, she looked up at my window and called, “Thank you!”
I never saw her again, and I don’t think she ran home to call the elders and ask to be baptized. But she did leave that bus knowing that I believed in Jesus Christ and that I knew The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is his church and worships him.
How grateful I am for the powerful words of Nephi that reminded me of what it is we always ought to be teaching our brothers and sisters. In talking about the many wonderful blessings of our church, I hope I never again miss the opportunity to show, through words and actions, that we center our belief in Christ.

A young couple lost all of their household belongings when flood waters filled their neighborhood. Volunteers dug mud and rocks out of their home. Food, clothing, and temporary shelter were provided; the Relief Society replaced many necessary household goods. Because of this service, an incredible bond of love developed between those who helped and those who received. The Relief Society president felt that one of the purposes of Relief Society—sustaining and supporting one another—had been realized.

Just a few weeks ago, my brother and I caught a really strange toad in our neighbor’s front yard. We showed it to Mom and Dad, and they said it was not really a toad at all, but a special kind of lizard often called a horned toad.

We made a home for him by putting some sand in the bottom of an empty aquarium and setting it on top of the Ping Pong table outside on our back patio.

My dad asked a friend of his who studies lizards what horned toads eat, and he found out that they like big red ants. We went over to a park by a school where there was a small hole in the ground that had hundreds of ants running in and out. The ants crawled up on sticks that we placed on the ground and then my brothers and I flicked them into a jar. Back home we dumped them into the horned toad’s aquarium. He sat very still. But whenever an ant came close to him, he would zip over and gobble it up. One day we fed him ten ants, the next day twenty, and the next day thirty. Not knowing how many ants he should eat, we decided twenty was about right.

Our horned toad seems very happy, but we will probably let him go pretty soon. I think my dad wants to keep him though. Dad watches him a lot and has showed him to the Cub Scouts. Once he even put him in his coat pocket when he went home teaching. One of the families told Dad that they had some rattlesnake eggs. They handed him an envelope that was supposed to have the eggs inside, and when he opened it there was a trick paper clip wound on a rubber band that spun around and made a noise like a rattlesnake. My dad said he jumped and threw it on the floor, and everyone laughed. He had the last laugh, however, when he had them reach into his pocket and pull out the horned toad!

Our family has really learned a lot from watching our horned toad. Every night just after the sun goes down, he burrows into the sand and goes to sleep. Then in the morning, he comes out and sits in the sum until he gets warm. During the afternoon he spends most of his time in the shade. You know, he’s a lot like me. Except I don’t eat ants!

One evident blessing that immediately showered me during this project was the immense peace I felt—not only during the session but also in my life in general. To share a bit of my story, a few weeks before our pilot recording, I was still reeling from the aftermath of Typhoon Kristine. Our house was flooded, and many of our belongings were damaged beyond repair. Chaos and uncertainty surrounded me, leaving me restless and worried.

Despite all this, I never once hesitated to attend the recording session, knowing that I would be edified and strengthened as I gave my best efforts. Throughout the session, we enjoyed what we would consider as among the happiest times of our lives. We worked hard, but it didn’t feel like work: we laughed, joked around, and helped each other while recording the songs in Tagalog. Truly, the Lord is in the minute details of our lives. He knew I needed to step back and experience the peace His music offers, shared with wonderful people.

A couple of weeks ago, I was riding in the car with one of my sons and he turned and asked me, "Dad, what do you think I need to do to be a better man?" I was humbled and was grateful that my son was asking for my advice and counsel. I was honored that he was following the pattern of Nephi in asking me, his Father, what I thought he should do. As I gave him advice and counsel, as a Father, I felt an overwhelming responsibility to follow the promptings of the spirit as we counseled together about his life.