Gospel Story Finder

Growing up in the Church, Karina had dreamed of a temple marriage. But like many teens, she craved acceptance.
She wanted to be beautiful and popular like her older sister. She dreamed of standing out and being admired, but she was afraid of sticking out and being ridiculed. Wanting to follow in her father’s footsteps at the police academy only increased the pressure. Out of 2,000 students, there were only 70 women. She both enjoyed the attention and dreaded it.
In her desire to fit in, she made some poor choices. “The pull of the world was strong,” Karina says. “People around me drank and smoked. They pushed and I gave in. I enjoyed being part of a group that felt so carefree.”
She knew what she was doing was wrong, but she wasn’t thinking about where her choices would lead as she followed the crowd away from God (see Matthew 7:13–14).
One day a young man she liked said he respected her church’s beliefs.
Ashamed that she wasn’t living those beliefs better, Karina finally stopped to consider the path she was on (see Haggai 1:5–7). She realized that her decisions were leading her away from God, the companionship of the Holy Ghost, and her dream of an eternal family.
The only way to change her direction was to change the decisions she was making each day.1 But she wondered if she was already too far down the wrong path. Was it too late to change?
Karina decided to begin changing by praying and reading the scriptures daily. She started writing in her journal, which helped her recognize Heavenly Father’s help each day. She changed the topic if conversations turned bad.
Her most difficult decision was to choose no friends for a time rather than choosing friends with a negative influence. She began looking for friends with higher standards.
Over the months that followed, the adversary threw doubt and fear in her face at every decision. Sometimes she wondered if the effort to follow the Savior was worth it. Who she wanted to be seemed out of reach.
But as she watched how her parents and others with strong testimonies lived, she learned that there is something more powerful than doubt and fear—she learned that because of repentance, there is hope.
“I saw it was possible to live the right way,” she says. “We aren’t condemned by our mistakes. Heavenly Father has given us the chance to repent and change direction.”
Turning away from her old choices and trying to follow the Savior each day have taught her that Heavenly Father is patient. “He has given me one chance after another to change and become a better person,” she says. “He has helped me through difficult times.”

I recently attended a week-long program in my state capital learning about government. I was far away from home and knew no one. I didn’t bring my scriptures along, but I did pack my June 2001 New Era. I didn’t know why at the time, but the magazine became a blessing to me. I read it each night. As I did, the comfort of the Spirit would wash over me. I also was prompted to pray for missionary experiences and had the opportunity to share the gospel with a few people I met. Thank you for publishing such a wonderful magazine. It truly is a blessing in my life.
Clare PleshekGresham, Wisconsin (via e-mail)

Even Angel’s father, Liu Chuen Hsin, isn’t completely convinced the time his daughter spends learning the gospel is all that productive. He often questions if Angel’s time wouldn’t be better spent studying or going to the library. When Angel’s mother, Catherine, joined the Church in 1984, Angel was only seven. Although Liu Chuen Hsin didn’t object to his wife’s baptism, he had no interest in joining the Church with her. However, he did allow Angel to be baptized when she turned eight.

“My father is interesting,” Angel adds. “Sometimes he will say, ‘Since you have an exam coming up, maybe you shouldn’t go to church.’ But there are other times when he’ll tell me to hurry up because he doesn’t want me to be late for church.

“My parents have high expectations of me. My father thinks I can have a great impact on our family by continuing my education and doing well,” Angel adds. Angel is quick to point out she can also have a great impact on her family by staying active in the Church.

“In Taiwan, parents who are members of the Church set examples for their children,” says Kent Liang, a former regional representative and stake president. “They go to church and perform their callings, and the children are able to see this. But some kids whose parents aren’t members are often tempted to rest and not go to church on Sundays. And the school competition is so high that school is sometimes all they see. They think, Should I go to church or go to the library? Sometimes they don’t worry that much about church things because they don’t see that far into the future. Right now, many of the kids in Taiwan are worried only about school.”

And that is what is so amazing about Angel. She graduated near the top of her high school class, yet she doubts she could have done it had she not had the gospel’s guiding influence in her life. “The Church was especially helpful to me during my senior year of high school. I noticed a lot of my schoolmates were easily depressed because of school,” she says. “But I knew if I did my best, Heavenly Father would help me. Usually, my grades were better than I expected.”

Today, college life keeps Angel busy as she studies to become a doctor. As Angel returns home from a full day, she still takes time to read from the scriptures. When she closes her scriptures, it’s 10:30 P.M. Angel’s day is over—finally. She can close her eyes knowing she is doing well in school, and, more importantly, she is finding time to include the gospel in her busy life. In less than eight hours, her day will begin all over again. Angel will undoubtedly enjoy a very sound sleep.

But I am reminded of a story told to me by a friend of mine who is an area authority of the Church in the northeast. He reported a conversation with a district judge in New York City who, on being asked why that illustrious, but oft-maligned city was beginning to actually look a little better, responded that it was because they were enforcing the anti-spitting laws. My friend was surprised by the response and asked what that had to do with the general decline in crime and other positive indicators of improvement. The judge replied that they had discovered that if they enforced the little things that were actually enforceable—anti-spitting, anti-jaywalking, and other seemingly rather insignificant ordinances—then general respect for the city and its moral authority seemed to improve. What were a few years ago actual pockets of anarchy in urban life have now become much more orderly—and here is the important point—thus giving city dwellers more freedom (conversation with Elder Robert S. Wood, April 29, 1998).

“Serve and Volley” was the theme for the Laurel/priest activity held on a sunny day in the Modesto California Region. What would you expect but a service project with a little volleyball afterwards?
But it was much more than that. First they met to clean, clear, and revamp a recreational county park. Nearly 200 people did so much work the park ranger who supervised got all choked up.
Everyone then went back to the stake center for a potato bar/sundae bar dinner, awards ceremony, and video of the day’s work. After that they headed to a recreation center for the promised volleyball, golf, Ping-Pong, etc. It was all in a day’s work and a night’s play. The kids loved it!

I would like to take you back four and a half years ago to the 2002 Olympic Winter Games held in Salt Lake City. Jimmy Shea, from the United States, competed in the sport of skeleton, where the athlete lies on his stomach on a sled and goes head first down the track at over 80 miles per hour. Jimmy had been one of the leaders on the World Cup circuit in previous years, but in the season leading up to the Olympic Games, his results were disappointing.
Jimmy came from a unique family of Olympians: the first three generation Olympic family. His grandfather, Jack Shea won two gold medals in speed skating in the 1932 Games. His father was also an Olympian. Jimmy was hopeful of having them both there to cheer him on. Tragically, his grandfather died shortly before the Games as a result of a car accident with a drunk driver. Jimmy pressed on in the memory of his grandfather.
I was fortunate to be there the day of the event to watch history unfold. During the skeleton competition, the athletes make two runs and the total time determines the final standings. No one expected much from Jimmy due to his recent results on the World Cup circuit. Everyone was stunned when after the first run when he held the lead by a fraction of a second. For the second run, they go in the reverse order of their standing. Jimmy would go last. A light snow was falling, potentially slowing the track for the later competitors.
The competitor just before Jimmy, who was in second place, had a great second run. Next up: Jimmy. As he went down the track, the gap between him and second place narrowed. An expert commented, "Jimmy's going the wrong way." Near the bottom, Jimmy lost his lead by one one-hundredth of a second. Then came Jimmy's 'Moment of Truth.' Turns 13, 14 and 15 were Jimmy's specialty. He stunned the crowd by regaining the lead through those turns and winning the gold medal. As he jumped from his sled, he removed his helmet and pulled out a picture of his grandfather for all to see. The crowd erupted in celebration. His mother took out two security guards to get to her son for an embrace. This was one of the great stories of the Olympic Games.
Now, let me tell you the rest of the story. The reason Jimmy had trouble on the World Cup circuit in the season leading up to the Games was due to a circulatory disorder in one of his legs that left it at only 70% in strength. This would greatly affect his running start, a key element to a successful run. Jimmy didn't want anyone to know of his injury to avoid excuses. But he knew he had to do something different to prepare. He dedicated himself like no other athlete to know the Olympic track. He arose very early every morning to walk the track at 6:00am step by step to find the perfect lines to run. Through his dedicated preparation, he found a unique line to run through turns 13, 14 and 15 that would allow him to compete for the gold medal. It paid off. When Jimmy's 'Moment of Truth' came, he was prepared.

Sister Melbourne was mean and grouchy. There was no other way to describe her. Just the other day I heard her telling the bishop that children took too much time in testimony meeting. She even said that most of us didn’t understand what we were saying; we just wanted attention. I walked out of the chapel feeling very angry.
My anger didn’t last, however. It was December, and Christmas was in the air. Excitement filled me right up to the top of my head. I had to smile and laugh, or I think I would have burst. We began singing “Jingle Bells” as we rode home from church, just to let some of the excitement out.
After dinner, Mom and Dad called us into the family room. We all knew what we were going to discuss. Every year for as long as I could remember, we had chosen a family in our ward who needed some extra help at Christmastime, and we had secretly taken gifts and food to their house. It was one of our family’s favorite traditions.
When we were all together, Dad said, “It’s time we decide which family to help this year. Do any of you children have a suggestion?”
Some years it had been really easy to decide because of a particular family’s needs, but this year we couldn’t think of anyone. When none of us said anything, Dad looked at Mom. “Maybe Mom has a suggestion. Sometimes she notices things the rest of us miss.”
Mom smiled. “As a matter of fact, I do know of someone who needs our help. Before, we have always chosen a family with children, but this year I think we should help Sister Melbourne.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing! “But, Mom,” I protested, “she’s not poor or sick, and she’s really grouchy. She doesn’t even like kids. I think we should choose someone else.”
“I agree with April,” said my older sister, Beth. “She really is grouchy. It wouldn’t be any fun doing something for her. She might even kick our gifts off her porch. Besides, she seems to have plenty of money. She dresses in nice clothes.”
I looked at Beth gratefully. It was comforting to have someone older agree with me. Peter spoke up. “She’s always telling me to shush, even when I’m quiet.”
Lynn and Josh didn’t say anything. They were too small to know who Sister Melbourne was.
“I know that Sister Melbourne has enough money to take care of herself,” Mom said. “And I know that she isn’t very pleasant to be around. But that’s exactly why I think she needs our help.”
I wasn’t convinced, but I listened as Mom continued: “Sister Melbourne has had an unhappy life. She was divorced before she moved here. She has three children who are married. They have children of their own but never come to see her or let her get to know her grandchildren. Perhaps she has done something to make them want to stay away. I don’t know about that, but I do know that she is very lonely and unhappy. I think she needs someone to let her know that she is loved. You see, April, you weren’t quite right when you said that she wasn’t poor.”
“You mean she’s poor in love?” I asked.
“Yes, and sometimes it’s much more painful to be poor in love than it is to be poor in money.”
We were all quiet for a few minutes. Then Dad said, “Let’s take a vote. How many of you would like Sister Melbourne to be our special family this year?”
Slowly Beth’s hand went up. Lynn and Josh raised theirs. Then Peter raised his. Looking around at everyone, I reluctantly raised mine.
Mom said that instead of buying all our gifts for Sister Melbourne from the store, we should make most of them. All the next week we cut out snowflakes, strung popcorn and cranberries, pasted together red and green chains from paper strips, and made cookies and candy. We bought apples and oranges to go with all the things we had made.
It was Dad’s job to get a box just the right size for our gifts and to decorate it. We carefully arranged everything inside the box and put on the lid. Dad added a huge red and green plaid bow on the top.
We gathered around the dining room table to have a prayer and make our final plans before we delivered the box. In the prayer, Dad asked Heavenly Father to please soften Sister Melbourne’s heart and help her to receive our gift in the spirit of love with which we were giving it. I was comforted by those words, because I remembered what Beth had said about Sister Melbourne kicking our gift off the porch, and I had visions of cookies, candy, paper snowflakes, apples, oranges, strings of popcorn and cranberries, and red and green chains strewn all over the ground.
We all put on our coats and piled into the car. Since the box was pretty big, we decided Dad would carry it to the porch. After he returned to the car, it would be my job to ring the doorbell and run back to them before Sister Melbourne opened her door.
I could feel my heart pounding with excitement as Dad parked far down the street from her house. “April and I will walk to Sister Melbourne’s house,” he said. “The rest of you must be very quiet so that you don’t attract attention.” He lifted the box out of the car and motioned for me to follow him.
“Dad,” I said, “I’m afraid Sister Melbourne will catch me and get mad.”
“She’ll never catch you!” He grinned at me. “You’re the fastest runner in our family. But if you’re really worried, I’ll wait for you behind those bushes over there on the far side of her yard. When she’s inside again, we’ll go back to the car together.”
“I’d like that,” I said, smiling gratefully up at him.
Dad carefully set the box on the porch. I waited until he was hidden behind the bushes, and then I ran up the steps, rang the doorbell, and flew down the steps and across the yard to the bushes, where I crouched down next to Dad. “Good work,” Dad whispered, putting his arm around me.
The door opened, sending a ray of light out across the snow. Sister Melbourne didn’t see the box at first, but as she was about to close the door, she saw it and stopped. She just stood there for a second. Then she bent down and read her name on the top. She lifted the lid, and once again she was very still. Finally she picked the box up and looked around the yard. She was smiling, but there were tears running down her cheeks. “Thank you,” she called out. “Thank you, whoever you are.”
Dad and I were both quiet for a few moments after she went inside and closed the door. I whispered, “I think she really liked our presents, don’t you?”
“Yes, I think she really did.”
The next Sunday as we were driving home from Church, we looked at everyone’s Christmas decorations and we began singing “Jingle Bells” again. When we passed Sister Melbourne’s house, I saw our snowflakes in her big front window, and the popcorn and cranberry strings and red and green chains on a Christmas tree that hadn’t been there the week before. “I think Sister Melbourne’s getting richer,” I said.
Mom stopped singing long enough to give me a hug. “So are we.”

Glancing back over his shoulder across two hundred yards of dry powdery snow, Brian could hardly believe he had lengthened the distance between himself and the nearest challenger.
Tom Stacy was trying hard to repeat his last two wins in the annual cross-country ski race. But Brian was trying just as hard to capture the championship that had eluded him twice before. Realizing there was less than a mile to go, Brian was confident that Tom had little chance of catching up.
Listening to the soft shush, shush of his skis, Brian watched the clouds boiling over the hills and across the valley. The sky seemed to be getting darker and heavier by the minute.
It could be a whopper, he thought. But it’s probably a couple of hours away. Then his thinking drifted to Tom and how disappointed he would be at his failure to make three wins in a row. This was the last year Tom and Brian would be eligible for this particular race. After the ski season they would both be past the age limit. It was Brian’s last and only hope for a win which, he remembered bitterly, he might have had last year except for a stupid mistake.
Coming in ahead of Tom would be final proof of his skill. They were both good skiers. But then, Tom was good at everything he tried—swimming, running, jumping, and all kinds of team sports. Brian, though not inept, had never been outstanding in any of those things. But when he started skiing he discovered he had an unusual talent for it.
Casting another look backwards, he saw the space between himself and Tom hadn’t changed. As he rounded the brow of a hill, Brian noticed a small dark object in the snow ahead but he paid little attention. He kept his even, steady stride, not easing up or increasing his lead. Though it seemed unlikely, with a superhuman burst of speed Tom could overtake him.
Brian couldn’t help watching the dark object in the snow ahead. Then he saw it move and his curiosity was heightened. When he came closer, he found that a dog was struggling to get through the snow, but it was making little headway through the powdery drifts.
Brian tried to offer some encouragement to the dog as he passed by. “Come on, boy. You can make it,” he coaxed.
Hearing Brian’s voice, the animal looked up with a beaten, hopeless expression. The dog whined, a pathetic, pleading sound as forlorn as its expression.
Glancing from the stricken animal to the finish line ahead, Brian convinced himself the dog likely belonged to one of the nearby farms and, in spite of its painfully slow progress, should be able to get home.
He went on a few feet and the dog whined again. When he turned around, Brian was met with an expression even more pathetic than before. “You little mutt,” he said dismally. “Why do you have to keep looking at me that way?”
Sidestepping back, he made a quick decision and weighed his chances of carrying the dog to the finish line before Tom caught up. It might be a tip-to-tip race after all, but Brian still felt capable of winning.
It wasn’t until he knelt down that he discovered the dog was favoring one foot, trying to struggle through the snow on three legs. As Brian took the leg to examine it, the dog yelped with pain.
“Oh, oh, fella,” he said. “You’re in trouble.”
Tom had already cut the distance between them in half. The storm, too, was getting closer and uglier and might easily turn into a blizzard.
Brian picked the dog up in his arms. “Come on,” he said hoarsely. “We’ll win this race together.”
After another two or three hundred yards, however, it was plain they wouldn’t be able to do it. The dog was too heavy. It had already slowed Brian so much he could hear Tom’s skis behind him, sliding over the snow. At this rate he might not even come in second because the next racer wasn’t too far behind Tom.
No more than a minute later, Tom’s skis were even with Brian’s.
“What are you trying to do,” Tom asked, when he saw Brian carrying the dog, “give me a handicap?”
There was no taunt in the way he said it and Brian knew it was an offhand, spur-of-the-moment remark. Then Tom slowed and asked seriously, “What’s the matter with the dog?”
“It’s hurt, Tom,” Brian said. “I’ll bet its leg’s broken.”
Tom came to a complete stop and asked with sincere interest, “Are you sure?”
“I don’t know. He can’t move it at all, and the little fella yelps whenever I touch it.”
Tom shot a look backward at their nearest pursuer, who was gaining rapidly.
“Take off your coat, Brian.”
“What for?”
“Just take if off,” Tom repeated, at the same time unsnapping his own parka. He laid it out on the snow and asked Brian to do the same, then he lapped them across one another. As Brian settled the dog gently on the makeshift sling, Tom carefully wrapped the trembling body. Then he worked the coats around until the snapped sides were underneath, providing a snug, hammocklike cradle.
“Grab the sleeves on your side, Brian.”
Brian picked up two sleeves and Tom held the sleeves on the opposite side. By the time they started again, their closest competitor was a scant hundred yards away.
Matching strides, the boys kept together as they approached the group of people waiting at the finish line, their pursuer still too far behind to catch up with them.
“If you cross that line one inch ahead of me,” Tom teased as they neared the end of the race, “I’ll wring your neck.”
“I won’t,” promised Brian, smiling.
The tips of their skis crossed the finish line so close together that the judges had no choice but to call the race a dead heat.
“I wouldn’t have believed it could happen,” the official said, but the expression on his face showed that he was glad about the way the race turned out. “I guess the only thing we can do,” he added, “is to let you share the trophy. I suggest we flip a coin to see who gets it first.”
“That’s all right with me,” Tom said.
“Okay with me too,” Brian agreed, grinning broadly.
It wasn’t exactly the kind of win either of them would have preferred, but Brian couldn’t help feeling a warm satisfaction as he and Tom watched one of the cars drive away to take the dog to a veterinarian.

Several years ago, I attended a work seminar, and I noticed that some of the seminar leaders would fold their arms and bow their heads before eating lunch. These people are usually so nice, I thought to myself. Why are they in such a bad mood whenever they sit down to eat?
I quickly learned that they were praying—not sulking—and I couldn’t help but ask more questions about their faith. They were overwhelmingly kind and had such a unique spirit about them, and I yearned to know more. I learned that they were members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and we quickly accepted their invitation to attend church with them.
Due to his autism, my younger son was afraid of being in large groups and meeting new people, but the ward welcomed us with open arms and did everything they could to accommodate our needs. The members set aside a special room at the back of the chapel just for my son, and they fulfilled our request to avoid making eye contact with him until he felt more at ease. Even when one of my children would disrupt sacrament meeting, we were treated with the utmost respect and kindness.
I saw my sons unfold in the warmth of the ward’s embrace. They quickly made new friends, and my sons even started to attend Primary classes on days that I was unable to attend church.
We were eventually baptized, a memory that still brings tears to my eyes. At the baptismal service, the ward members—understanding my children’s fear of crowds—tiptoed into the back of the room after the boys had been seated to avoid frightening them. Afterward, we were offered a mountain of congratulatory sweets, and the love in the room was so palpable that my sons remarked, “I want to be baptized again!”
I have nothing but gratitude in my heart when I think about the deep love demonstrated by the members in our ward—a love that ultimately allowed us to find the light of the gospel. The ward perfectly encapsulated what it means to have our “hearts knit together in unity and in love one towards another” (Mosiah 18:21). My family was truly blessed by the kindness of these welcoming Latter-day Saints.
It’s now been two years since my sons and I were baptized. Both of my sons have been ordained to the Aaronic Priesthood, and I’ve seen an incredible change in their demeanors.
I’m grateful for the many caring individuals who accepted my family and who helped my sons overcome their fears through the power of love. I’m grateful for the gospel of Jesus Christ, through which even the deepest wounds of prejudice can be healed. And above all, I’m grateful for a loving Heavenly Father, who prepared a way for my family to find peace and belonging, even when I couldn’t see what that path would be.
I’ve learned that as we make room for our differences, we make room for greater love. Each of us is a beloved child of heavenly parents, and as we remember this truth, we can all—no matter where we are or who we are—become one in Christ (see Doctrine and Covenants 38:27).

I had an interesting experience two or three years ago as I was assigned to the West Texas Region. The stake president there had a son who played football in high school, and I’d like to tell you that in Texas they take their football seriously. They take Texas seriously, as a matter of fact, and I learned many things there.

I happened to attend a game with the stake president where his son played in one of the quarter-final games for the state championship. (They eventually won the state.) I noticed an interesting thing before the game: both teams came out on the field, knelt down, and had prayer. You have to understand that Texas is in what is sometimes called the Bible Belt. There are many Baptists and Disciples of Christ, and it’s not uncommon to find towns in Texas that close entirely on Sunday and bar the sale of liquor, even though they’re not Mormon communities.

Well, our team won the game, and after the game the other team didn’t have much to pray about. Our team again knelt down on the field and had another prayer, and before they prayed all the high school students in the stands poured out on the field and joined the team. They covered nearly a fourth of the field, and they all joined in that prayer. I thought it was an impressive example. I can’t tell you how sincere they were, but I would assume that they meant what they were doing and they were grateful for their blessings.

We may not necessarily use that means to demonstrate our faith in Christ, but we ought not to be behind others in our positions as true witnesses of the Lord Jesus Christ.

SAN ANDRES, PERU—When a group of young men from the four branches of the Church here won their area soccer championship, it brought recognition to the Church and opened doors to preaching the gospel.
The Latter-day Saint team called itself “Moroni’s Strong and Mighty.” At first, no one expected them to win even one game against any of the other fifteen teams in the tournament, some of which were professional. But the Latter-day Saints kept winning. They won the final game 2-0.
The team attributed its success to preparation and to living the Word of Wisdom. When the championship trophy was awarded, the team captain bore his testimony on television. Later, the Church held a successful open house in San Andrés that was attended by enthusiastic residents.
Jorge Panduro, a member of the winning team, said it was a good chance or the Church to receive recognition. “It was satisfying to see the Church held up as a standard to be admired by those who are not members,” he said.
One man taking tickets at the gate said he wanted to receive the missionary discussions. He commented, “As I saw all those people cheering and talking and having fun—and no one smoking or drinking—I decided to learn more about the Church.”

“I don’t know who my secret granddaughter is, but I just love her.” Sister Joseph, her eyes sparkling with light, says fervently.
Each Beehive, Mia Maid, and Laurel in the Parowan Utah Second Ward picks from an envelope a slip of paper. This reveals the name of her own “secret grandmother” from among the ward’s widowed sisters. The young woman then acts anonymously in giving to that grandmother throughout the year.
During the 1989 calendar year these southern Utah girls enthusiastically made a variety of gifts for their secret grandmothers, including decorated cakes, stenciled minirugs, birthday surprises, and handwritten cards.
At Christmas time the Young Women teamed up with the Young Men to fill fruit baskets for older ward members. At certain houses a shout rang out: “My secret Grandmother lives here. Some of you guys come so she won’t figure out it’s me!” One white-haired sister reached out to accept her laden basket saying, “You girls keep me going, doing all these nice things.”
During the holidays several secret grandmothers sought out Young Women leaders, exclaiming, “Please tell my secret granddaughter she has made my Christmas delightful.” Others brought a gift to be taken to their young, unknown friend.
Climaxing a year-long adventure, the Young Women worked together in providing and preparing a colorful salad bar for these special sisters. Leaders supplied warm bread sticks and apple crisp for the January event. With kitchen duties completed, the guests of honor were eagerly waiting for their “granddaughters” to identify themselves. As each young woman came forward, spontaneous embraces linked these friends, old and young.
Following the meal, Sister Bentley, who is 89 years old, spoke on behalf of all the secret grandmothers. Raising her hand to her ear, she commented about her anonymous Beehive:
“I’d hear a knock at the front door and I’d go to answer it. Nobody was there, but down on the step would be another gift.” Pausing, she peered around at her listeners rather mysteriously. “I’d always call out, ‘Thank you,’ but nobody ever answered.”
After the laughter subsided, she expressed gratitude to all the girls. “Your smiles are what we all love to see. Please keep smiling at us. This evening has been just lovely.”
The youth shared a final offering singing one of their Young Women songs. “I have never been more impressed with our Young Women,” stated their leader, “or loved them more than when they stood before these sisters and sang beautifully, ‘I am of worth, of infinite worth.’ I could see that their secret grandmothers had no doubt as to the truth of those words.”

Sergio’s school friends often ask him about his religion because they know his standards are different from theirs. “I answer their questions and tell them about the beliefs I have,” said Sergio with a steady voice reflective of his firm testimony. “I invite them to Church on Sundays and to the activities. Some come and others don’t,” he said shrugging his shoulders. Since his baptism two and a half years ago, Sergio has helped the missionaries teach and baptize three of his friends.

Sometimes we need more than comfort or strength alone; sometimes the blessings we need are more tangible. Tania D. remembers such a time. Her family was facing an especially trying time financially. “It was a Saturday evening, and we had only 40 pesos [about US$1] left for the week, and we didn’t have dinner or even charcoal for our stove at home,” says Tania. “My mother gave me a list of all these things we needed, and we needed 250 pesos to buy all of it. The first thing we needed to buy was charcoal so we could cook dinner.” Tania could see there was not enough money for everything. Then she realized they would not have money for bus fare to go to church the next day. “I told my mother that we didn’t have enough for the fare to go to church. But my mother is really faithful, and she simply told me that ‘God will provide.’
“On my way to the store I was crying because we didn’t have enough money for everything, and I didn’t know what to do,” Tania says. As she rolled up one of the 20-peso bills and put it into her pocket, she did the only thing she could think to do that would help—she said a prayer. “I prayed to Heavenly Father that we could somehow find a way to accommodate our needs.”
But when she got to the first store, she found that the price of charcoal had gone up from 5 pesos to 20 pesos. “I was hesitant to buy it,” Tania says, “but I could feel the Holy Ghost whispering to me to buy it anyway, so I did. Now I had only 20 pesos left, but I still had many things to buy, including diapers for my brother and clean water to drink. So I went to the next store to buy food for our meal, and it was too expensive. I reached into my pocket where I put the 20 pesos, and there were five 20-peso bills in the roll. I started crying right in front of the store owner.
“In the end I was able to buy all of the things we needed,” Tania says, “and we had enough for fare to go to church the next day. When I got home, I went to my room and offered a prayer to God to thank Him for the blessing He had given to us. I know that God really lives and answers our prayers, especially those times when we need Him most and we offer a sincere prayer. He really will answer that prayer.”

My Father has kept a garden most of his life and encouraged us as children to help him. While still rather young, he encouraged me to work a small patch of garden to try and grow my own vegetables. So, I worked, I dug, I weeded, I planted seeds, I watered, and eventually over a period of time, I was able to harvest my first rather small misshaped cucumber. To me, it was the sweetest cucumber there ever was, and I remember feeling very proud. It made me happy. I felt joy in the results of my labors.

I share this because we know that God creates, he works, he is the ultimate gardener - He is the creator of Heaven and Earth and all things thereon. The work of Creation brings him joy, and when we emulate that work in the right context, we feel good, we open ourselves and our souls up to feeling joy. When we participate or act in doing Godly things, in doing that which God does, even in the smallest or simplest of things, it resonates with who we are.

Seated across from me was a despondent man, head buried in hands, sobbing from the inevitable consequences of repeated violations of the commandments of God. He anguished: “I don’t know what to do. Everything is pressing in on me. I’m tired of running. There is no peace, no happiness. When I pray, no one is listening. What’s the use?”
I have known him for a long time. His parents and others have tried to give him guidance with little success. Because of his choices, he has become separated from the truths that would help him. He has not cultivated faith in the Master nor in the power of prayer. His decisions are centered on what could quickly satisfy his cravings. He either ignores problems or lies about them. He has manipulated the generosity of parents and friends to attempt a quick fix to challenges. He does not evaluate the consequences of today’s decisions on tomorrow’s life.
As my heart sorrowed for him, I realized he does not see the world as it really is—a place of joy and happiness, of true friendships where faith in Jesus Christ and obedience to His teachings invite the Holy Ghost to prompt correct decisions. He lives in an environment dominated by the influence of Satan. He has not followed sound counsel, because in his world he cannot see how it would possibly work for him. This distorted view of life is reality to him. It was forged as he succumbed to the subtle temptations of “Go ahead. Try it. Nobody will ever know. It’s your life. Live it the way you want to. They can’t force you. You have your moral agency.”
These promptings and the allure of the forbidden led him down a path that seemed fascinatingly attractive. He was carried on the crest of the wave of appetite and passion, oblivious to the consequences until the inevitable crushing encounter with the laws of God occurred. That produced pain, remorse, and regret. Then Satan provided other direction: “There is no way back. You might as well keep doing what you’ve been doing. It’s hopeless to try to change.” Because of his sins, he cannot see a way out of his failures. He will not see the tools needed for a new life in his current environment. His tragic, confining world has been created by the violation of eternal law, motivated by desire for a quick response.

During the last six months of his life, President Joseph F. Smith suffered from the effects of age and spent much time in his personal study in the Beehive House in Salt Lake City. He did, however, gather enough strength to attend general conference in October 1918. In the opening session, he arose to address the Saints, and with a voice filled with emotion said:
“I will not, I dare not, attempt to enter upon many things that are resting upon my mind this morning, and I shall postpone until some future time, the Lord be willing, my attempt to tell you some of the things that are in my mind, and that dwell in my heart. I have not lived alone these last five months. I have dwelt in the spirit of prayer, of supplication, of faith and of determination; and I have had my communication with the Spirit of the Lord continuously.”
According to his son, Joseph Fielding Smith, writing his father’s biography, The Life of Joseph F. Smith, the President was expressing in broad terms the fact that during the past six months he had been the recipient of numerous manifestations, some of which he shared with his son. He had received one of these manifestations, the Vision of the Redemption of the Dead, just the day before, on 3 October 1918, and recorded it immediately following the close of the conference.
Months later, on Thursday, 3 October 1918, President Smith, largely confined to his room because of illness, sat reading and meditating about the universal nature of the Atonement and about the Apostle Peter’s allusions to Christ’s post-mortal ministry. The stage was set: preparation of a lifetime and preparation of the moment were recompensed with a heavenly endowment—the Vision of the Redemption of the Dead.
“As I pondered over these things which are written,” the President writes, “the eyes of my understanding were opened, and the Spirit of the Lord rested upon me, and I saw the hosts of the dead, both small and great.” (D&C 138:11.)

June pushed as Grandpa pulled the old red wagon up and down the long rows of vegetables. Grandpa stooped to inspect a knee-high, leafy green plant. “June, here are some nice big green peppers. Do you think that they are ready to pick?”
June stooped down to look. “Yup.” She carefully picked one and held it up to Grandpa for final approval.
“Yup,” Grandpa agreed. “Just right.”
June smiled and picked two more. She carefully placed them next to the corn in the wagon. The wagon was almost full, but there were still cucumbers, green beans, and squash to harvest.
She beamed as she looked at the beautiful fresh vegetables in the wagon. There were big red tomatoes, ears of yellow corn, orange carrots, leafy green lettuce, red radishes, and now, big green peppers.
Grandpa and June had planted the big garden in the spring. First they got the soil ready. Next, June helped Grandpa plant seeds in little holes. Then they carefully covered them with dirt.
After the seeds were covered, she helped Grandpa sprinkle the rich, dark soil with water. Up and down the long rows they went, digging and planting and watering.
They had also put in some small plants. “If we plant these instead of seeds, we’ll get vegetables sooner,” Grandpa explained. “I just can’t wait to pop a ripe tomato into my mouth!” Grandpa loved tomatoes.
Together June and Grandpa watered their garden almost every day. Grandpa put on his big black irrigating boots, and June tugged on her little blue rubber puddle hoppers. It was fun walking up and down the long rows, getting their boots muddy while they made sure that each plant got enough to drink.
Grandpa and June spent a lot of time weeding the long rows of vegetables, too. “Weeds drink up all the water,” Grandpa explained. “Now what is this I see?”
June squatted next to Grandpa to have a look. “Does it look like the plants around it?” Grandpa asked.
June compared the green plant to those near it. “Nope.”
“Weed or vegetable?”
“Weed,” June stated firmly and pulled it out with a hard jerk.
“Yup,” Grandpa said with a big smile, “you sure are a good gardener.”
June looked up at Grandpa. “Wow, Grandpa, we sure have lots of vegetables!”
“Yup, with lots more to come!” He unloaded the last acorn squash from the wagon onto the back porch. He sat down and wiped his forehead with his little red handkerchief. “Well, June, do you think we can eat all these vegetables ourselves?”
“Nope. We couldn’t eat that many in a hundred years.”
“You’re right,” Grandpa replied with a chuckle. “Well then, what do you think we should do with them all? I hate to waste any of our hard work.”
June thought a moment. She was proud of the vegetables and didn’t want to waste any, either. “I know! Let’s share them!”
“Now, that’s what I call a good idea! But who do you think would want some?”
June didn’t have to think very hard. “Sister Rencher doesn’t have a garden since she can’t bend down to pull weeds anymore. I bet she would like some.”
“Yup,” said Grandpa thoughtfully. “Who else?”
June’s mind was working fast. “Sister Rice works all day. She doesn’t have time to plant and care for a garden.”
“Good thinking, June. And the Sorenson’s next door don’t have room in their yard for a garden. I bet they would like some.”
“May we give some vegetables to my Primary teacher, Sister Johnson?” June asked. “I know she would like them.”
“Yup,” Grandpa said. “Now, how many people is that?”
June counted on her fingers. “Sister Rencher is one. Sister Rice is two. The Sorensons are three, and Sister Johnson makes four.”
Grandpa scratched his gray head. “How can we get all these vegetables to all those people?”
“I know! I know!” She jumped up and went into the house. Soon she was back, carrying four big brown grocery sacks. “We can put vegetables in a different sack for each person!”
“That’s a great idea,” Grandpa said. Together June and Grandpa thoughtfully chose vegetables for each person and carefully put them into the sacks.
“How can we get the sacks of vegetables to the people?” Grandpa asked.
“Can we take them in our wagon?”
“Yup. I think that will work.” Grandpa said. “You always have such good ideas! Now, who should we visit first?”
“The Sorensons. They’re the closest.”
Later, June held Grandpa’s hand as they pulled the empty wagon home. They had delivered all their vegetables. June’s small hand felt warm and secure inside Grandpa’s big one. She felt good inside.
“Grandpa, it’s sure fun to plant a garden. It’s even more fun to weed and water it. But do you know what’s the most fun of all?”
“What?”
“Sharing the vegetables.”
“Yup,” said Grandpa with a big smile.

Now as I began, I spoke of two events during the past week, and I mentioned one—the Discovery’s successful ?ight. May I close with the second reference, to another journey not so successful. A week ago last Sunday, on September 1, 1985, Robert Ballard, chief scientist for a joint U.S./French venture, became the ?rst person in seventy-three years to view the grave site of more than fifteen hundred people whose ?nal resting place lay on the cavernous ?oor two and a half miles below the surface of the Atlantic Ocean. The Titanic was the biggest, most luxurious, and supposedly the safest ocean liner of all time—unsinkable, they advertised, because of its double steel hull and waterproof compartments.
The ?rst-class register on that maiden voyage read like a Who’s Who of American and European society. The net worth of those passengers was estimated (in 1912) to be $250 million. And on the night of April 14, 1912, nearly three-fourths of the trip from Southampton was completed. New York was, ?guratively speaking, just a hop, skip, and a jump away. It had been a great party on the high seas.
Now an iceberg is relatively small and occupies so little space in comparison with the broad ocean on which it ?oats. The chances of another small object like a ship colliding with it and being sunk are minute. Chances are, as a matter of fact, one in a million. That’s not just a ?gure of speech. That was the actual risk for total loss by collision with an iceberg as accepted by insurance companies in 1912. That one-in-a-million accident was what sunk the Titanic. On the night of the collision she was undoubtedly the safest ship a?oat on any of the world’s oceans. But her captain and her crew were careless, perhaps simply too con?dent. And so were her designers and her owners. The result was that when the unbelievable had to be believed, only seven hundred were saved. One thousand ?ve hundred thirteen of the others rode the world’s safest ship two and a half miles straight down—and then waited seventy-three years to have Robert Ballard ?nally identify their burial site for posterity.

I remember another time, while living in California, I was in my office at work and the office manager, very attractive at 30, came into my office, shut the door, sat in front of me, and with tears began to complain to me about her husband. As she cried and complained, I grabbed the phone book and searched for the phone number to the mission office in L.A. I then shared my testimony and put her in touch with the missionaries.