Gospel Story Finder

Just about everybody says, “Don’t go visit Mrs. Brocklebank, or you’ll get chased out of her yard with a broom.” Well, that’s fine for everybody else to say, but not so fine for me, because Mrs. Brocklebank is my grandmother!
She lives down the street in a little house that’s surrounded by trees. My family visits her every Sunday afternoon, and I usually hide behind my dad and try not to say anything, except when she speaks to me, and even then I hardly dare raise my voice above a whisper. It’s not that I don’t like her. I don’t know her well enough to not like her. The real problem is that I’m too afraid of her to know her.
Mrs. Brocklebank came to Alberta, Canada, from Germany many years ago. She was already pretty old, Mom told me, when she met Mr. Brocklebank and got married and had my father. Grandfather Brocklebank died when Dad was still young, and my grandmother had to raise him all by herself. Maybe that’s why she’s so feisty.
Anyway, to make a long story short, I’m in a real fix. Last week in Primary Sister Little told us that by next Sunday we have to bring our completed four-generation program to class. My family have only been Latter-day Saints for three months, so I didn’t know what she meant by “four-generation program.” When she explained it to me, I was dumbfounded. After church I took the problem up with my parents.
“Oh yes,” said Dad. “They explained the program in priesthood meeting last week.”
“I’ve heard about it, too,” Mom said. “It’s something that I was planning for us to start on in a family home evening next month.”
“But I have to have it next week!”
“Well, that’s no problem,” Dad said. “Mother has all that stuff.”
“Mother?” I said, looking at Mom.
“No, no. Not your mother—my mother.”
“You mean Mrs. Brocklebank?”
“Grandmother Brocklebank,” Mom said.
“That’s who I mean,” Dad said.
The situation was turning into an insurmountable problem. Mrs. Brocklebank had started to take the discussions with the rest of us, but she had quit before finishing them. She had argued with everything that the missionaries had said. I could tell that I was licked even before I started.
Later, when we went to visit Mrs. Brocklebank, I sat quietly in a corner and looked at the floor. Finally Dad pushed me forward and said, “Mother, Kenneth has something to ask you.”
“Oh?” Mrs. Brocklebank’s eyes fixed on me like two steel drills.
“Mrs. Brock—Grandmother,” I began, clearing my throat and staring at her long nose and thin lips, “I need some family history information.”
“Family history information? Whatever for?”
I told her about the four-generation program—how it included me, Mom and Dad, her and Mr. Brocklebank, and their parents, and how if we went to the temple and got the work done, we could be together forever.
“Together forever? What makes you think that I want to be together with anyone forever?”
“Come now, Mother,” said Dad. “You’re just being difficult.”
“Well,” said Mrs. Brocklebank, folding her arms and pinching her lips together, “that’s what I’m best at!”
I took the blank Family Group Record Sheets out of my pocket. They were kind of wadded up and wrinkled, but I straightened them out with my hand. When Mrs. Brocklebank wasn’t looking, I left them on the dining room table by a vase of red carnations.
The next Sunday came fast, and I wasn’t ready for it. I had said several prayers that week about the four-generation program, but I didn’t have much hope that Mrs. Brocklebank would help me. I figured that Heavenly Father must get pretty tired of people asking for things all the time, so mostly I just thanked Him for things. I thanked Him for Mom and Dad and my best friend, Peter, and for my Primary teacher, Sister Little. Sometimes I even thanked Him for Mrs. Brocklebank.
I got up Sunday morning and put on my suit. I always have trouble with my tie, so I went to see Dad. While he was tying it, he said, “Mother called and wants you to go over to her house on your way to church.”
I pleaded with him to go with me, but he said that he had to be at priesthood meeting early.
My knees were shaking and my heart was pounding as I knocked on Mrs. Brocklebank’s front door. She stood behind the screen, looking down at me. “Come in,” she said.
I went in. The house was quiet, and I could hear her electric clock making a little whirring sound. I stood still with my arms at my side.
“I have something for you,” Mrs. Brocklebank said. She went over to her dining room table and came back with the Family Group Record Sheets.
They were folded—not all crooked, like when I fold papers, but neat and straight. I opened them up. Every space was filled in with a name, even mine. Every name had places and dates written next to them. Mrs. Brocklebank had completed my four-generation program! I opened my mouth to thank her.
“Take it and go before you’re late for church,” she said gruffly. “And don’t say anything. I dislike people who snivel.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And come back later. I want to hear more about being together forever. But don’t get any ideas about me being interested in the Church. I’m just curious, that’s all.”
I looked back at Mrs. Brocklebank. She was frowning and trying to look annoyed, but I suddenly realized that she wasn’t, not really. I smiled right at her. “I understand, Grandma Brocklebank,” I said.
(To be concluded.)

Four-year-old Genny stared at the picture of her mom in a long, white dress. “Mommy, you look just like a princess going to a ball. Is that a castle behind you?” Genny asked. “I felt like a princess that day, but that’s not a castle. I’m at the temple,” Mom said with a smile. “It’s my wedding day.” She put Genny on her lap. “Daddy and I were sealed in the temple six years ago,” Mom said. “We were promised that our family can be together forever.” “Was I sealed at the temple too?” Genny asked. “You and your brother and any other children we have are sealed to us forever just by being born into our family,” Mom said. Genny liked the sound of forever. She looked at the picture again. “You look so pretty, Mommy.” “Would you like to see my wedding dress?” Mom asked. “Yes,” Genny said. In her bedroom, Mom took a white plastic bag from the closet. She unzipped it and pulled out a beautiful white dress. It had long sleeves, each with a row of tiny buttons. “Can I touch it?” Genny asked. Mom nodded. Genny gently touched the fabric. “It’s so soft.” “My mother helped me pick it out,” Mom said. “It’s the most special dress I’ll ever have.” Genny threw her arms around her mom. “When I grow up, I want to go to the temple and be sealed just like you and Daddy.” Mom said, “That’s just what Daddy and I want you to do.”

Eliza R. Snow records this remarkable detail. One mother had been turned away at the door because her child was so small, only six weeks old. No one felt that he could endure through the entire day. But Father Smith welcomed the woman and said, “You come, and I promise you all will be well.” Psychologists today tell us that children have two instinctive fears (all others they learn): one, the fear of loud noises; the other, the fear of falling. But when this mother rose to join in the Hosanna Shout, the six-week-old child pushed back his coverlet and joined in the shout.

I have always believed in the power of prayer. When my family first moved to a new city, I had to wait to start school for two months until a new semester began. Although I enjoyed spending time with my family, I wanted a good friend with the same beliefs I have. I eventually met all of my neighbors, and although some were the same age, they didn’t have the same standards. When I was able to go to school, I met a lot of kids my age and made some friends.
One time I went out for dinner with friends. After dinner some of them left, but the rest still wanted to do something and decided they wanted to go drink. They invited me, but I told them no. I felt even more lonesome. I went home that night and prayed to find a good friend.
A few weeks later I went out to dinner with friends again and made it clear that I wouldn’t drink with them. After dinner all but one other person left to go drinking. We started to talk and found that we had the same standards—standards we kept by personal choice. I know that Heavenly Father always answers prayers.

Nearly 30 years ago I drove to Utah for the first time. I had been living a very unchristian life but wanted to change. I just didn’t know how.
The evening of my second day in Utah, I stopped at a motel in a small town in southern Utah. As the lady in the office gave me a room key, I asked if she was a Latter-day Saint. She pleasantly replied, “Yes, I am.” Beaming, she added, “Have you read our wonderful book, the Book of Mormon?” Both startled and enticed, I told her I had not.
“There’s a copy in your room,” she continued. “There is nothing exciting for you here in town, so you might as well get acquainted with this wonderful book.”
I thanked her and took my luggage to my room. Once there I saw a maroon paperback titled the Book of Mormon on the nightstand.
I casually opened the book near the center and read a few verses, but my mind went blank. I did not understand anything. Disappointed, I put down the book and left my room, feeling empty. I drove around until I found a bar—a dark, ugly place. I went inside and instantly felt miserable, lonely, and hopeless. I stood there for a few minutes and then turned around and strode out, determined to never again waste a moment of my life in any bar.
Invigorated, I returned to my motel room and picked up the Book of Mormon. I knelt before the Lord, whom I knew little about, and pleaded with Him to have mercy on me. I asked Him to forgive me for the mess I had made of my life and to help me to understand what I read in the Book of Mormon, to know if Joseph Smith was a true prophet, and to know if the Mormon Church was for me.
I opened the book reverently and read the first verse I saw: “I glory in plainness; I glory in truth; I glory in my Jesus, for he hath redeemed my soul from hell” (2 Nephi 33:6). My heart burned and my tears fell. The words stood out with a wonderful light of hope—a light of Jesus Christ beckoning me to come unto Him.
Weeping, I again knelt in prayer, begging the Lord to lead on. Then I opened the book again and began reading the first chapter of 1 Nephi. I was filled with awe at the unmatched power, purity, and truth of the words and testimony of Nephi. I read until 2:00 the next morning, the Lord opening my understanding as I read.
Six months later I was baptized a member of this wonderful, true Church. I know the Lord blessed me to find and read the Book of Mormon—the book that established my faith and testimony in Jesus Christ.

One such experience occurred late one evening during a busy holiday season. I was hurriedly searching for a scripture to strengthen my sacrament meeting talk the following Sunday. My mind was crowded with concerns about arriving relatives, unfinished holiday preparations, and the chaotic state of my house. I wondered why I had ever said yes to the bishop at such a hectic time. After a long, fruitless search, at last I came upon the eleventh chapter of 1 Nephi, which details Nephi’s remarkable vision of the Savior’s birth and earthly mission. Somehow the full impact of this vision had escaped me in earlier readings, but tonight the meaning of those words struck me forcefully. Nephi wrote joyfully:
“And the angel said unto me: Behold the Lamb of God, yea, even the Son of the Eternal Father! Knowest thou the meaning of the tree which thy father saw?
“And I answered him, saying: Yea, it is the love of God, which sheddeth itself abroad in the hearts of the children of men; wherefore, it is the most desirable above all things.
“And he spake unto me, saying: Yea, and the most joyous to the soul.” (1 Ne. 11:21–23; italics added.)
The words seemed like a newly discovered treasure. For the first time, the meaning of Lehi’s white-fruited tree was entirely clear. The fruit which tasted so exquisitely sweet represented the irresistibly sweet love of God. I had found the theme for my talk—and the strength to get through the next demanding days, as well. Pressures could mount and cash registers jingle; no matter. My heart had once again been warmed and strengthened by God’s love.
Yet the most lasting impact of that frantic late-evening search was the awakening of a precious memory: my own personal discovery of God’s love.

As a new convert to the Church, I always like to help the missionaries in my ward. I’ve often seen that even when investigators aren’t comfortable with hearing the discussions, they are happy to participate in family home evening.

One time I invited the full-time missionaries and an entire nonmember family to my family home evening. Before they arrived, I fasted and prayed that the Spirit would be present and would open their hearts to the gospel. We watched a missionary video about helping families progress and developing trust. Afterward we shared our feelings about the video. The Spirit was so strong.

Now this wonderful family is willing to learn more about the gospel by meeting with the missionaries. We have all been invited to help with missionary work, and I have seen that family home evenings are an effective way to share with others the joy of having the gospel in my life.

Maria de los Angeles Vilca Zeballos, Peru

On May 15 of this year, an event occurred in our home that is repeated literally hundreds of times per week in Latter-day Saint homes throughout the Church. After a period of anxious anticipation, a letter from the prophet containing a mission call for our son Bradley arrived. This was the third such letter that we have received in our family, but each time really is the first time. The letter arrived on a day when mission business had me away from home, so the unopened letter sat on Brad’s desk in the mission home in Vienna, Austria, until late that night. Finally the moment arrived, and we were all gathered together—Mom, Dad, younger brother Stephen, and, of course, Bradley.
As in many families, there is also a sort of tradition in our family that accompanies the opening of a mission call. Each of us handled the envelope, turning it in our hands and holding it up to the light as if we could somehow discern its contents. Each of us took a piece of paper and recorded our own predictions for Bradley’s call: Japan, New Zealand, and France. Then there was the inevitable fumbling at opening the envelope, extending the excitement for all of us. The letter was at last in Brad’s hands: “Dear Elder Neuenschwander, you are hereby called to serve as a missionary of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. You are assigned to labor in the Poland Warsaw Mission.”
Tears flow easily at such moments, perhaps for different reasons. Mom’s eyes are moist at the thought of another son leaving the nest and facing the world. Dad recalls so vividly a day long ago when he received his call to serve in Finland. Stephen understands that this last departure of older brothers means that he will finally be the oldest at home, but his tears also mean a quiet commitment that his letter will not be far behind.
There were phone calls to returned missionary brothers at home in America, each happy but playfully disappointed that Brad’s call was not to New Mexico or Munich, where they had served. Grandparents were thrilled that yet another grandson was worthy to serve the Lord.
Busy days of preparation began. July 10 came all too soon, and it was time for Brad to leave. Bidding farewell to a missionary son, as many of you know, at the MTC definitely does not get easier with practice.
In our quiet moments, Brad and I spoke of his mission. For four years he had watched missionaries come and go through the mission home. Some had even gone to Poland. Yet there are things I would share with him and with you as this great missionary experience now becomes his.
Your mission will be exactly what you decide to make it. Your excellent mission president, President Whipple, and good missionary companions will help you along the way, but keep in mind that you are the central and decisive factor in the success of your own mission. Your young but strong shoulders bear the responsibility of the call you willingly and happily accepted. You have seen missionaries in a variety of countries and circumstances. You have also observed that in rather similar situations one missionary is successful, another a little less so. The difference lay in the attitude and desire of the individual missionary. Make the inevitable challenges of missionary work stepping stones for your own spiritual growth. Determine now that nothing will keep you from magnifying with honor your missionary call.
As most missionaries, Brad, you come from school years, rich in their variety of choice and activity. But your success as a missionary will depend, in part, on your ability to simplify your life and focus on the purpose of your call. You now move from a life centered on your own needs to one concerned with the welfare of others. Some missionaries struggle, not wanting to let go of the past and consequently never fully committing themselves to the labor at hand. There is no way a successful missionary can have one foot in the world and one in his missionary labors. Successful missionaries make that transition. They leave behind everything that may distract them from their primary purpose. Resist bringing extra luggage with you into the mission field, both in your suitcase and in your mind.
Whatever calling you hold in the Church, someone will always preside over you. That person will teach and encourage you in your responsibilities. Brad, be wise enough and humble enough to learn from them. Elder Boyd K. Packer taught us new mission presidents in 1987 that if we would learn to be silent, the Brethren could teach us a lot. I considered it good advice, and I have learned since that in the mission field, as well as in all Church callings, a person who can be taught is also one who can be trusted.
Mission rules are important in the same way commandments are important. We all need to keep them, understanding that they give us strength, direction, and limits. The smart missionary will learn the intent of the rules and make them work for him. Your mission is a time of discipline and single-minded focus. You will be required to go without some things common to your current life-style: music, TV, videos, novels, even girls. There is nothing wrong with any of these things, Brad, but then again, there is nothing wrong with food either, unless you are fasting, in which case even a teaspoon of water is improper.
Missionaries sometimes feel they need doctrinal reference books to enhance their understanding of the gospel. Believe me, Brad, they are not necessary for your gospel study in the mission field. Make the scriptures the basic doctrinal textbook of your mission. The Lord has told his elders: “Teach the children of men the things which I have put into your hands by the power of my Spirit;
“And ye are to be taught from on high. Sanctify yourselves and ye shall be endowed with power, that ye may give even as I have spoken” (D&C 43:15–16).
You will find the Lord to be a man of his word. The promise he extends to you as a missionary is true.
There are few men in the Church who are referred to as “Elder,” but one is you—a full-time missionary. Respect that title, Brad; refer to it with reverence. Many men have brought honor to it, including your brothers. You do the same.
The real success of a mission is not measured on a chart—it is etched in your heart and in the hearts of those whose lives are eternally changed because of you. Share your testimony often. I have seen nothing in a missionary that exerts more power and positive influence than the bearing of pure and simple testimony. Your testimony is the first step in the conversion of those whom you teach. Have courage to invite others to change their lives and come to Christ through obedience to the principles and ordinances of the gospel.
The Lord taught the Nephites: “Now this is the commandment: Repent, all ye ends of the earth, and come unto me and be baptized in my name, that ye may be sanctified by the reception of the Holy Ghost, that ye may stand spotless before me at the last day.
“Verily, verily, I say unto you, this is my gospel” (3 Ne. 27:20–21).
Bless the lives of others with your priesthood and your presence.
Brad, love every minute of your service to those wonderful Polish people. Love their country, their food, customs, language, and heritage. They will enrich your life and understanding.
The work in which you are engaged is true. You are teaching the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. It is the promise of salvation to all who will listen and accept your message. Of this I bear my witness in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

And I have seen it in young fathers trying to provide for their families. In that regard I once terrifyingly saw it in myself. At one point in our married life when financial fears collided with staggering fatigue, I took a psychic blow that was as unanticipated as it was real. With the grace of God and the love of my family, I kept functioning and kept working, but even after all these years I continue to feel a deep sympathy for others more chronically or more deeply afflicted with such gloom than I was. In any case we have all taken courage from those who, in the words of the Prophet Joseph, “search[ed] … and contemplate[d] the darkest abyss” and persevered through it—not the least of whom were Abraham Lincoln, Winston Churchill, and Elder George Albert Smith, the latter being one of the most gentle and Christlike men of our dispensation, who battled recurring depression for some years before later becoming the universally beloved eighth prophet and President of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

As a boy I learned a great lesson of faith and sacrifice as I worked on my grandfather’s farm during the terrible economic depression of the 1930s. The taxes on the farm were delinquent, and Grandfather, like so many, had no money. There was a drought in the land, and some cows and horses were dying for lack of grass and hay. One day when we were harvesting what little hay there was in the field, Grandfather told us to take the wagon to the corner of the field where the best stand of hay stood and fill the wagon as full as we could and take it to the tithing yard as payment of his tithing in kind.
I wondered how Grandfather could use the hay to pay tithing when some of the cows that we were depending upon to sustain us might starve. I even questioned if the Lord expected that much sacrifice from him. Ultimately, I marveled at his great faith that somehow the Lord would provide. The legacy of faith he passed on to his posterity was far greater than money, because he established in the minds of his children and grandchildren that above all, he loved the Lord and His holy work over other earthly things. He never became wealthy, but he died at peace with the Lord and with himself.

Many years ago when I received my call to serve a mission, I had an interesting experience. I knew that I needed to serve a mission, but I couldn’t get a type of confirmation. I was still wondering why. It was in the fall months, with about a month before I left on my mission. I was out hiking in the mountains in central Utah. My friends were back in college or on missions. I decided to kneel down and pray about my concerns. I think that I thought that I would have a Joseph Smith experience. I didn’t. In fact, it was about six months later when I was in Brazil that I received an answer. We were teaching a second discussion – it was on the Book of Mormon. My turn came to share my testimony. As I bore my testimony, another feeling or prompting came to me. It was the answer to the prayer. You are here to share with these people the same blessings that you have had in your life. That blessing is the gospel of Jesus Christ.

My next memento came from my graduate studies at BYU several years later. Upon receiving my master’s degree, we held a family celebration. As I was running out of our home to the party with my new degree in hand, I had an epiphany. Without thinking, I went to the workbench and cut my degree in half. I drove to the party, walked in the door, and handed my wife half of my degree.

She looked somewhat stunned and asked, “What’s this?”

“It’s my master’s degree!” I said.

“You sawed your degree in half?” she asked incredulously.

Because of the look on her face and the sound of her voice, it was only then that I started to realize that this might not have been one of my better ideas. I explained that even though the degree had my name on it, it was just as much hers as it was mine. She had worked just as hard as I had and deserved at least half of the credit.

“But you cut it in half!” she said again.

Now why would I keep half a degree on my shelf? Because I always want to remember that everything worthwhile comes with the help of others. Life is a collaborative endeavor, and ­success—genuine success—is attributable to a lot more people than just you.

While striving to live the gospel as a single adult, it can be hard not to focus on certain areas of our lives that we wish were different. Sometimes it feels like we hit a plateau in our progress. For me, those feelings of being stuck in certain areas seem to ebb and flow, and they can accompany me over days, months, and gradually even years. I’ve always had many reasons to be happy and feel good about life, but at one point, this stuck feeling hit me particularly hard.
During that time, my teenage nephew asked to spend time with me. He recognized a need for goals in his life and asked for advice. I didn’t necessarily feel I was in a position of strength to offer great wisdom, but I listened. I knew I could “cry unto” God for help (see Alma 34:17–27) and prayed to be able to say something meaningful for him. In response, I remembered Luke 2:52: “Jesus increased in wisdom and stature, and in favour with God and man.”
As I strived to focus on my nephew’s needs instead of my own, something started to change in me. My nephew and I talked about how Christ grew spiritually, socially, physically, and intellectually and so could we. Although my nephew’s needs differed from mine, these four areas of growth were pertinent to both of us. While talking about this scripture, I realized it was answering my own questions about how to get unstuck.
Although my nephew’s needs differed from mine, these four areas of growth were pertinent to both of us.
When I strived to grow as the Savior grew, my focus changed, and that change brought additional blessings. As President Russell M. Nelson said, “The joy we feel has little to do with the circumstances of our lives and everything to do with the focus of our lives.”1 My efforts to grow more like Jesus Christ helped draw attention away from circumstances that had consumed my focus and redirect it to areas I could productively work on. I was able to move from inward contemplation to outward action.
I earnestly considered how I might grow in each area mentioned in Luke 2:52, from more consistently attending the temple to completing a long bike race.
Photograph of Memphis Tennessee Temple by James Whitney Young
In each area of my goals, I made some observations:
While working on one goal, I frequently felt Christ strengthen me spiritually, socially, physically, and intellectually all within that single goal.
Rarely, if at all, did any goal happen in isolation from the other areas of growth—they seemed to affect and build on each other. Improvement in one area led to improvement in all other areas. Neglecting any area likewise affected all other areas. I realized that each area deserves attention.
Almost every goal included other people—either learning from them or sharing thoughts and experiences with them—and deepened our relationships.
I continually have the opportunity to see and be inspired by growth in others, and I hope I can do the same for them. I recently spoke with a single friend who feels stuck and frustrated with some life circumstances. I listened to understand, and then I was able to share experiences that helped me and also point each area of growth back to the Savior.
While not all areas of life that had left me feeling stuck years ago have changed, I have changed as I’ve learned to focus more on the Savior and strive to grow like Him. As President Nelson shared, “There are many things we can control. We set our own priorities and determine how we use our energy, time, and means. … We choose those to whom we will turn for truth and guidance.”2 Whatever our circumstances, the areas of growth in Luke 2:52 can help us change our focus and find additional joy and progress through Heavenly Father and the Savior.
The Children and Youth Program—for All Ages
With the same focus on following the Savior’s pattern for growth in Luke 2:52, the Children and Youth program can provide a helpful structure for drawing closer to Christ at all ages. Find resources at childrenandyouth.ChurchofJesusChrist.org and in “Strive to Be—a Pattern for Growth and Mental and Emotional Wellness” (Liahona, Aug. 2021, 12–15).
The author lives in Tennessee, USA.

As the years passed, I finally reached the sixth grade in that school.

My friends were essentially the same through all of those years. People didn’t move much in those days. One of my friends was Lynn. That wasn’t his real name, but that’s what I’ll call him. He was always in trouble. Lynn seemed to have a hard time concentrating on what was going on, particularly when spring came and things looked better outside than they did in.

Miss Spooner, our teacher, seemed to have it in for Lynn. One day at about eleven o’clock, Lynn disturbed the class, and Miss Spooner told him to go shut himself in the closet until she let him out. Lynn obediently went to the closet and closed the door behind him. When the bell rang at twelve o’clock, Lynn came out chewing the last bite of Miss Spooner’s lunch. We couldn’t help laughing—all but Miss Spooner, and that made matters worse. Lynn went on clowning throughout his life. He never learned until it was too late that life is a serious thing in which serious choices are to be made with much of care and prayer.

A woman I know—I will call her Suzanne—has persisted daily in a very different plan than she ever imagined as a young woman. She has an optimistic and positive attitude, finding joy in the ups and downs of life. She completed her degree in nursing, married, and began her family, which eventually included three daughters. As her second daughter began to grow, Suzanne realized she was not developing normally. After a period of time her daughter was diagnosed with a form of autism that severely affected her social and communication skills. The plan for Suzanne’s family was altered. A few years later Suzanne delivered her third daughter, who eventually was also diagnosed with autism. Suzanne’s husband was a supportive, involved father, and together they altered their plan, knowing that they could handle this challenge. When the girls were ages eleven, thirteen, and eighteen, their father unexpectedly passed away from a heart attack while out on his daily run. Again Suzanne’s plan was greatly altered. She continues to find joy as she has realized that life doesn’t have to be perfect to be wonderful. She is persistent and will continue to persevere over her lifetime.

Ho Jik wanted to learn about many things, so in 1950 he went to Cornell University in New York State to study nutrition. There he met Oliver Wayman, a fellow student and a Church member. Ho Jik was impressed by Brother Wayman’s clean lifestyle—he didn’t smoke, drink, or do other bad things.
When Oliver gave him a copy of The Articles of Faith by James E. Talmage, Ho Jik read it within a week and eagerly asked for more information. Soon he had finished the Book of Mormon, too, and believed it to be the word of God. He started attending Church meetings with Oliver; he also continued to attend Presbyterian services.
On the day Oliver left the university, he stopped his Korean friend in a hallway. “I then bore my testimony of the gospel and told him that it was my opinion that the Lord had moved upon him to come to America … that he might receive the gospel and take it back to his people.” He also told Ho Jik that “if he refused to do the work the Lord had for him to do, another would be raised up in his place.”
Those words had a powerful effect upon Kim Ho Jik. He read the Book of Mormon again, and the Spirit again told him it was true. In July of 1951 he was baptized in the quiet waters of the Susquehanna River, near the place where Joseph Smith and Oliver Cowdery had been baptized. As he came up out of the water, a voice said to him, “Feed My sheep. Feed My sheep.”

Let me return to my experience as a bishop to help you understand what the Lord is suggesting. My wife and I had been in the ward only about a year, so while we knew who people were, we didn't know them that well. One day I got a call from one of the families in the ward asking if I would come up to the University Hospital and give a blessing to their daughter, Christy. I, of course, said I would be happy to do so, though I had not heard of there being a problem.

When I arrived, I was directed to a room on the third floor. As I got off the elevator, I saw a sign indicating this was the center for Cystic Fibrosis. I didn't give it much thought. I had no idea what cystic fibrosis was, nor did I make the connection to Christy. When I walked into the room, however, a shock awaited me. Christy, who was eighteen at the time, was sitting up in her bed. Her mother was standing over her and pounding up and down her back with her fists. Christy held a cup and was coughing up bloody mucus into it. On the hospital tray beside her there were three more cups, all filled with the same bloody mucus.

I learned later that cystic fibrosis is a hereditary disease that causes a fibrous mucus to form in the lungs. Regular thumping on the back helps break up the congestion so the individual can breathe. That was my beginning experience with Christy. Over the next three years I was privileged to come to know her very well. We spent many hours talking together and many blessings were given. She was amazing. She was always cheerful and happy. There was not one iota of resentment in her about this “burden” which had been laid upon her, or the “labor” it took for her to stay alive.

She desperately wanted to serve a mission. It was not to be. She desperately wanted to be a wife and mother. That was not to be either. One day, she asked if it would be possible for her to be endowed in the temple, even though she was single. Happily, the stake president concurred with my recommendation, and I was privileged to be with her and her family when she received that sacred ordinance. And less than a year later, I was honored and deeply humbled when she requested that I speak at her funeral. She died not long after her twenty-first birthday.

As I thought about her and her life, I felt guilty. My health has always been good. Why was she given such a handicap? Her life seemed so much purer and more righteous than mine. Yet I got to go on a mission. I got to marry and have a family. I got to run and walk and play without even thinking of the gift of breathing.

I can remember thinking one day that if I were Christy, when I got up to the judgment bar, I would be strongly tempted to step forward and say, “It isn't fair. What did I do that I should have been denied these righteous blessings? What did I do that earned me a life of handicap and pain?”

And then one day I found the answer. It comes from Alma, and helps explain what the Savior meant when He said that He had descended below all things.

As a skinny 12-year-old, I watched through a chain-link fence as my two older brothers earned all-state baseball honors.
Life was exciting because they were my brothers. The guy wearing number eight and striking out three batters in a row, and the player hitting home runs over the centerfielder’s head were the same guys I shared a basement bedroom with. They were the ones who first taught me about putting gel in my hair and how to start a campfire. We were good friends.
The feelings of inadequacy kicked in because as a five-foot-three, 98-pound weakling, I could not understand how I would ever be able to fire an 80-mile-per-hour fastball or hit towering home runs.
On one hot summer afternoon, my oldest brother could see something was bothering me. After he encouraged me to tell him what was on my mind, I said in muffled tones, “How will I ever become a great baseball player like you?”
“Matt,” he said in his usual cheerful voice, “you’ve just got to do the things that great baseball players do.” After thinking about this, I came to realize that great baseball players aren’t only naturally talented, but they make themselves skilled through hours of practice. I committed myself to do all I could.
Three broken noses and six years later, I was a starter on the varsity baseball team and had just signed a national letter of intent to play college baseball.

One of our daughters, after giving birth to a baby, became seriously ill. We prayed for her, administered to her, and supported her as best we could. We hoped she would receive a blessing of healing, but days turned into months, and months turned into years. At one point I told her that this affliction might be something she would have to struggle with the rest of her life.
One morning I remember pulling out a small card and threading it through my typewriter. Among the words that I typed for her were these: “The simple secret is this: put your trust in the Lord, do your best, then leave the rest to Him.”
She did put her trust in God. But her affliction did not disappear. For years she suffered, but in due course the Lord blessed her, and eventually she returned to health.
Knowing this daughter, I believe that even if she had never found relief, yet she would have trusted in her Heavenly Father and “[left] the rest to Him.”

Because my father was baptized in 1963, more than 30 years ago, it might not seem too unusual that all three of his daughters were serving missions at the beginning of 1993. But those simple facts don’t tell the real story.
Although my father, Ignacio Beruben, was baptized as a young man, he drifted away from the Church. Later, he married a Catholic girl named Esther Modad, and in time, they had three daughters and a son. I am the third of those children.
Growing up in Guadalajara, Mexico, I often heard talk about the “Mormons” but never knew much about them. One day a friend told me that the real name of the Mormon church is The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. What a lovely name, I thought. It gave me a beautiful feeling, and for days I kept hearing it in my head.
When I spoke to my father about my interest in the Church, he invited me and my brother, Ignacio, to go to a Church meeting with him—his first after many years. How well I remember the services held that day! I even remember the music that was sung. I especially remember the feeling of love that radiated from my father. When the meeting was over, I told him I wanted to hear the missionary discussions. Two missionaries arranged to meet with my brother and me the next Tuesday.
When I told my mother about the meeting, she replied, “Think it over carefully. Changing religions is not a game.” But I was sincerely—even desperately—seeking the truth. I had attended meetings of other religious denominations, but never in any of them had I felt the beautiful spirit I had felt in that meeting with my father.
From the very first discussion, I knew I had found what I was looking for. When the missionaries asked me if I would be baptized, I said yes without hesitation. When they asked me to pray, I felt the Holy Ghost confirm my decision.
On 29 April 1990, Ignacio and I went down into the waters of baptism. What a clean, pure feeling I had! What a sensation of spiritual freshness! My heart felt as if it would explode with joy. As I came out of the water, the first people I saw were my parents. They were holding hands and had tears in their eyes. From that day, blessings began to be poured out upon our family. Mama was baptized, then my sister Claudia, and finally my oldest sister, Labibe. On 23 July 1991, our family was sealed together in the house of the Lord. It was the most beautiful experience of our lives.
In June 1992, my sister Labibe received a call to the Mexico Monterrey North Mission. In November, Claudia submitted papers for missionary service and was called to the Mexico Veracruz Mission. Although I was not old enough to serve full time, beginning in December, I was called to serve a three-month mission in the city of Manzanillo. And so, as 1993 began, all three of my father’s daughters were serving the Lord as missionaries. My sisters and I wrote to each other frequently, expressing our happiness in the work we were doing.
How we three sisters came to be serving missions is a miracle. But it is the kind of miracle that occurs again and again among the Saints. The Lord provides a way for each of us to find the right path—or to return to it. I am filled with gratitude for my father. Because he chose the right path more than 30 years ago—and then returned to it after losing his way—I am part of an eternal family today.