Gospel Story Finder

In my fourth year of medical school, I was doing a surgery honors program, and I was working as an intern at the hospital. You heard President Nelson in conference tell about his own experience as a surgical resident. I was required to work every day and then stay all night every other night—for about 120 hours or more a week. I had a sweet, supportive wife at home and our first two little boys wanting to see their daddy. And, I was the Elders Quorum president. I hadn’t even been to church for three weeks. I was in turmoil. How could I fulfill my calling under such circumstances? Was it even right? I was sure that the stake president wasn’t aware of my situation. In fact, my bishop counseled me to call the stake president and ask to be released. But I couldn’t bring myself to call him. We prayed, fasted, and went to the temple. Still no answer.
I can remember in vivid detail being in the chapel on a Wednesday evening, listening to a speaker at a prospective elders seminar in our stake. The speaker made the promise that if we were sincere, our prayers would be answered. I remember thinking, We have done everything. Why haven’t I received an answer to my prayer? And in that instant, it came. I don’t think that the words were audible to anyone else, but I heard in my mind, “I called you, I will teach you.” I literally had a revelation of understanding come instantly. I knew what I was to do. The burden was lifted. I felt joy and such peace. I couldn’t wait until after the meeting to tell my counselors what I had learned.
Probably the most important thing I learned is that Heavenly Father knew me personally and was guiding me. That experience became foundational for many subsequent calls to serve, all of which required some element of sacrifice and a willing heart. The Lord said, “Draw near unto me and I will draw near unto you; seek me diligently and ye shall find me.” [7]

I love the story about how chiasmus was discovered in the Book of Mormon. In the summer of 1967, a missionary elder by the name of John W. Welch, who now goes by "Jack," was serving in Germany. While out proselyting one day, he saw a poster advertising a lecture to be given by a Catholic scholar on the New Testament. Since the lecture was taking place on his preparation day, he and his companion decided to attend. The professor spoke of a form of Hebrew poetry in the Bible known as chiastic parallelism or chiasmus. It was the first time Elder Welch had heard of the topic. He was intrigued and subsequently read a book on the subject recommended by the Catholic lecturer. The book was The Literary Art in the Gospel of Matthew, written by a man named Paul Gaechter. I'll now quote from Brother Welch's own account:

So far . . . the idea of finding chiasmus in the Book of Mormon had not entered the picture. That discovery occurred on August 16, a few days after I had finished Gaechter's book and my rereading of Matthew. Early that Wednesday morning, I was awakened by what seemed to me to be a voice, whose words were these: "If it is evidence of Hebrew style in the Bible, it must be evidence of Hebrew style in the Book of Mormon." . . . I got out of bed. . . . It was still dark. I went over to the desk on the other side of our one-room apartment. Picking up the copy of the German Book of Mormon I had been using that summer, I wondered: If it is here, where? I felt clearly prompted to begin reading where my companion and I had left off the night before, which happened to be in King Benjamin's speech. I read Mosiah 4. When I turned the page to Mosiah 5, the classic chiastic passage in verses 10-12 jumped off the page. I do not believe that I ever would have found this through my own intellectual efforts ("The Discovery of Chiasmus in the Book of Mormon 40 Years Later," Journal of Book of Mormon Studies, 16/2: 79).

There is someone else at school counting on Michelle to do what’s right. Her younger sister, Melissa, 15, also attends Manzanilla High, and she has seen what her big sister’s example can do.
“It helps me to have a sister who stands up for what she believes,” Melissa says. “It makes it easier for me to do what’s right.” They see each other during the day and talk about how they’re getting along, and that helps both of them to stay strong.
“For example,” Michelle recalls, “one day some other girls were making fun of Melissa, saying unkind things about our nationality.” At lunch they talked it over, and Michelle was able to reassure Melissa, reminding her that she is a daughter of God with divine nature and of infinite worth. “That helped me feel better,” Melissa says. “It helped me remember who I am.”

One of the most important times I had a prayer answered was with my whole family. A few months after my cousin Christian finished his mission, he was driving late at night on a mountain canyon road. He and another car crashed into each other. The other driver was fine, but my cousin was taken to the hospital by helicopter.
Christian had serious injuries all over his whole body. He went into a coma, and the doctors didn’t think he would wake up. Our family decided to fast and pray. My parents, sisters, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and all my cousins took turns fasting for Christian. I fasted on a school day. I had to explain to my teacher and classmates why I wasn’t eating lunch that day. I really didn’t mind going without food for a day because I was fasting for my cousin.
Heavenly Father answered our prayers, and Christian eventually woke up from his coma. He still doesn’t have his full abilities back, but he has made some progress. I know Christian has a long recovery ahead of him. We still pray for him. Anything is possible with Heavenly Father’s help.

It was cold! Nicole and her friends hurried into the busy café to warm up for a few minutes. As they stood inside, Nicole glanced at the menu.
“I’m going to get some hot chocolate,” she said.
“Me too,” Beth said.
Audrey looked at her watch, and Heather said, “We don’t have much time. Remember, my mom is picking us up at two o’clock.”
Nicole looked at the long line. It would sure be nice to have a cup of hot chocolate to keep her warm while they finished their Christmas shopping. “Beth and I will meet you in the clothing store next door,” she told Heather. “We won’t take long.”
Heather and Audrey left, and Beth and Nicole got in line.
“Look, they have French vanilla,” Beth said, pointing at the menu.
Nicole’s eyes brightened. “Yum! I love French vanilla hot chocolate.” But then she frowned, a little uncertain. “It doesn’t say French vanilla hot chocolate,” she said. “It just says French vanilla.” She bit her lip. “Isn’t there a French vanilla coffee too?”
Beth shrugged. When it was Nicole’s turn to order, she asked the employee about it, just in case.
“It’s hot chocolate,” the lady behind the counter assured her.
“Great!” Nicole said. “I’ll have a large French vanilla.”
Beth ordered one too, and they left the café. When they met up with Heather and Audrey, Nicole sniffed her steaming cup. She gasped. “I think this is French vanilla coffee!”
Beth took a sip. “I think so too. But oh well. It’s nice and hot. I’m getting all warmed up.”
“But it’s coffee!”
“So?”
Nicole told her friend, “I belong to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I’m not supposed to drink coffee.”
“You can drink coffee this one time,” Heather said impatiently. “You don’t have to be perfect every second of the day. We won’t tell anyone. Just come on. We need to hurry.”
Nicole could see that the line in the café was now even longer, and they didn’t have much time left to shop. But she knew what she needed to do. “I’m going to exchange this for hot chocolate,” she said firmly. “You guys go ahead. I’ll meet you at the toy store.”
She started to walk away alone, but Audrey caught up to her. “I’ll wait with you,” she said. Audrey was a Latter-day Saint too.
As the girls stood in line, Audrey said, “I’m glad you didn’t drink the coffee.”
Nicole smiled. “Me too.”
When Nicole explained to the lady behind the counter that the drink was actually coffee, the lady apologized and exchanged it for hot chocolate. Then Nicole and Audrey hurried through the cold to catch up with their friends. Nicole felt warm inside, but not just from the hot chocolate. She knew she had chosen the right. Despite what her friends had said about no one ever knowing, Heavenly Father knew. And she felt He would be proud of her.

We can let the light within us show in many different ways. It may be as simple as a smile. I recently read the account of a man in the northwest United States who used to drive past a bus stop on his way to work. He began to notice a young girl among some children waiting for the school bus. Even when it was raining, she would smile and wave as he drove by. He said: “The young girl was tall and slim and about 13 years old. She wore a mouthful of braces and I could see them glisten in the glare of my car lights.” Her effort to be friendly gave his day a good start and was something he looked forward to.

This man’s name was Hankins, and he had a daughter, Cheryl, who was about the same age as the girl at the bus stop. One day Cheryl asked her parents’ permission to attend an activity at a local church. A neighbor girl, Vicki, had invited her to attend. The activity was MIA, the forerunner to the Young Women program! Cheryl enjoyed MIA and after a while told her parents that Vicki was a Mormon. It wasn’t long before Cheryl came home from school and said that Vicki was sending two young men over—missionaries—to tell the family about her Church.

The elders arrived, taught them about the Book of Mormon and Joseph Smith, and bore their testimonies of the Restoration of the gospel. As a family they began to read these new scriptures and were soon captivated by them. Mr. Hankins finally met Vicki. She was the smiling girl he had seen so many times at the bus stop. She was present when he and two other members of his family were baptized.

Looking back on Vicki’s actions and those of other young people, Brother and Sister Hankins became convinced that “the greatest potential for missionary work lies in the youth of the Church.” Brother and Sister Hankins have since served as missionaries themselves. They relied upon the referrals and good example that the youth supplied. Vicki—the girl at the bus stop who smiled every day, even when it was raining—changed their lives forever.

Two summers ago I heard someone talk about missionary work for those who aren’t serving a full-time mission. The speaker told us how important members of the Church are for the Churchwide missionary effort. He asked us to make a focused effort to help the missionaries in our wards by bringing a friend to Church activities and Sunday meetings. I decided that I would pray for missionary opportunities and make an effort to act on the promptings I would be given.
I started my first week of school and met a new guy named Chris, who had moved from across town. Chris was really cool and we soon became friends. One day I invited him to a combined youth activity at a corn maze. On the drive to the corn maze, Chris started asking questions about the Church. As I answered his questions, he asked me how I knew so much. I told him that we learn about the gospel in Church meetings and in seminary. To my surprise, Chris asked when seminary was. I told him it was every morning at six. I thought for sure that he would not be interested in waking up that early, but he surprised me again by asking me to pick him up on my way there.
Chris began attending seminary and church. He also started to meet with the missionaries. And a year later he was baptized. I had the opportunity to baptize Chris, and it was an amazing experience that I will never forget. I believe this would not have happened if I had not prayed for missionary opportunities. Heavenly Father knows each of us, and He helps us if we ask for it.

Now my baby brother is a father, and my dad lies in a hospital bed in San Diego, California, USA. Though he sees palm trees, he thinks he is a boy turning irrigation water down the rows of corn, tomatoes, and green beans. But he is not. He is dying.
Day after day, my mother, brothers, and sister gather around his bed. My mother calls me at my home in the mountains of Utah, USA. She tells me that when she shows my dad old family photos, a smile comes across his sunken face. Other times, his brothers, long since dead, wander in and out of his mind and heart. She tries to get him to eat, but he refuses. He tells her that his brothers have caught some trout and he has to go take care of the horses before dinner.
One by one we have made peace with the knowledge that when he passes from this mortal life, our dad will be “taken home to that God who gave [us] life,” to “paradise, … where [he will] rest from all [his] troubles and from all care, and sorrow” (Alma 40:11–12).
I call my mother and she hands the phone to my dad. To my surprise, he begins to sing to me: “Close your sleepy eyes, my little buckaroo, while your Heavenly Father watches over you.”
I wonder if my dad really knows it’s me. He probably doesn’t, but this song comes as a gift drifting into my heart. I weep in gratitude for this tender mercy from my Heavenly Father and for His plan of salvation. Soon the lullaby is over, and I imagine my dad’s eyes beginning to droop. The moment is gone, but I find hope in the knowledge that death is part of God’s plan to bring us home to Him. I believe in God’s plan and in His love for us as we pass from this life. I whisper, “Goodnight, Daddy. Go to sleep. Our Heavenly Father is watching over you.”

Brigham’s search for a true religion was a long one. He, like Joseph Smith, did not join his parents’ religion. He visited the meetings of different churches and settled on being a moral, hardworking, loving husband and father. It seems clear however that Brigham was not able to be satisfied with merely a moral, hardworking life. He must have yearned for spiritual and emotional fulfillment, and for some response to nagging questions about life’s meaning. Wherever he lived he joined groups of independent seekers of truth, as did many early converts to the restored church. Brigham’s brother, Phineas was the leader of such a group and was given one of the first copies of the Book of Mormon by the Prophet’s brother, Samuel Smith. Because Phineas felt responsible to his little religious society to expose any such things “invented to lead people astray,” he read it carefully. But he could not find the errors he expected, and when he appeared before the group the next sabbath, most likely with Brigham present, he “had not spoken ten minutes in defence of the book when the Spirit of God came upon me in a marvelous manner, and I spoke at great length on the importance of such a work, quoting from the Bible to support my position, and finally closing by telling the people that I believed the book.”

Phineas lent his copy of the Book of Mormon to his father, who thought it “the greatest work he had ever seen,” then to his sister Fanny, who declared it “a revelation.” Fanny passed it on to Brigham Young who was more reserved.

Such a man was Paul Tingey. Just a month ago I attended his funeral services here in Salt Lake City. Paul grew up in a fine Latter-day Saint home and served an honorable mission for the Lord in Germany. A companion of his in the mission field was Elder Bruce D. Porter of the First Quorum of the Seventy. Elder Porter described Elder Tingey as one of the most dedicated and successful missionaries he ever knew.

At the conclusion of his mission, Elder Tingey returned home, completed his studies at the university, married his sweetheart, and together with her reared their family. He served as a bishop and was successful in his vocation.

Then, without much warning, the symptoms of a dreaded disease struck his nervous system—even multiple sclerosis. Held captive by this malady, Paul Tingey struggled valiantly but then was confined to a care facility for the remainder of his life. There he cheered up the sad and made everyone feel glad. Whenever I attended Church meetings there, Paul lifted my spirits, as he did all others.

When the World Olympics came to Salt Lake City in 2002, Paul was selected to carry the Olympic torch for a specified distance. When this was announced at the care facility, a cheer erupted from those patients assembled and a hearty round of applause echoed through the halls. As I congratulated Paul, he said with his limited diction, “I hope I don’t drop the torch!”

Brethren, Paul Tingey didn’t drop the Olympic torch. What’s more, he carried bravely the torch he was handed in life and did so to the day of his passing.

Spirituality, faith, determination, courage—Paul Tingey had them all.

I left on my mission but continued to communicate with Juan and Francisco.
I wrote them frequent letters sharing with them the gospel and my testimony of Jesus Christ. I invited them to repent and to attend church. To my great surprise, one of them actually went.
I had frequently invited my friends to Sunday meetings before, but none had accepted until now. Although I couldn’t attend with Juan, my brothers and my father were there to help him and fellowship him. My family accepted him, and Juan felt very comfortable at church.
He started changing little by little until he made the decision to get baptized. I was thrilled for him and even more thrilled when he told me he had learned to love Jesus Christ because of my letters. When I came home from my mission, I also stayed close with Francisco, and after some time, he and his wife also got baptized. Today, Juan and Francisco are still two of my closest friends.

Like many returned missionaries will tell you about their time serving the Lord, I absolutely loved my mission. For me, it was two years of almost nonstop spiritual experiences and blessings, watching and helping people come closer to Christ and overcoming periods of trial and homesickness. It was amazing, and I wouldn’t trade my mission for anything.
But my experience right after my mission was not what I had imagined. I came home and felt like I was suddenly facing all kinds of expectations about where I should go, what I should do, and how I should act. I felt blindsided by questions from others about my dating life and my career, and I didn’t have solid answers. And along with these extra expectations came increased temptation. Much like Nephi in the Book of Mormon, I felt “encompassed about, because of the temptations and the sins which do so easily beset me” (2 Nephi 4:18).
I never stopped going to church or trying to fulfill my callings. I even got married in the temple. Still, I knew that there were parts of my behavior that were not the way they should be. I kept going back and forth between the testimony I had shared on my mission and the way I was behaving now. I knew that Heavenly Father and the Savior loved me, but even with that knowledge, I questioned why—why would They love a person like me who kept making such silly, easily avoidable mistakes? Or, for that matter, how could They love a person who made even more serious poor choices?
Eventually, I realized I needed to find answers to my questions. So I began to really study more about the Atonement of Jesus Christ and ponder the things I read and how they applied to me.
Moses 1:39 teaches that God’s purpose is “to bring to pass the immortality and eternal life of man.” I knew that the Atonement of Jesus Christ is what makes the whole plan of salvation possible, and that it was through His Atonement that Christ took upon Himself “the pains and the sicknesses of his people” (Alma 7:11). During the agony of His suffering in Gethsemane, Christ suffered for all my sins and pains. He knows everything I have done and knows that I will fall short in the future. The suffering was so painful that He even asked God to “remove this cup from me.” And yet, even while suffering for the sins of all mankind, even after asking for the pain to go away, He still said, “Not my will, but thine, be done.” (See Luke 22:42.)
Studying Christ’s Atonement helped me understand that Heavenly Father and the Savior love me despite my shortcomings and my sins, but I still struggled to understand why They love me the way They do.
I finally found my answer after pondering Doctrine and Covenants 18:10: “Remember the worth of souls is great in the sight of God.” This verse wasn’t new to me—I’d heard and read it dozens of times. However, this time the Spirit helped me understand that this verse did not just mean that it is God’s opinion that souls are valuable, as I had always interpreted it before. No, “the sight of God” means so much more.
In my limited sight, I was only seeing my poor choices in the moment. I was imagining myself making those same choices throughout the rest of my life. I was not seeing through God’s sight; He sees not only my current situation but also my potential.
Both Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ know perfectly well that I have made and will make many mistakes. And through Their heavenly eternal perspective, They also see the total worth of my soul—They see what I can become. This is why Christ paid the price for my sins in Gethsemane and on the cross, even after understanding all the wrong that I would do.
Now, I know I’m not perfect. I will continue to fall short as I learn to be more like Christ. However, now I understand that when He said, “What manner of men ought ye to be? Verily I say unto you, even as I am” (3 Nephi 27:27), being “even as He is” includes having the heavenly vision to see my potential. Reaching that potential won’t be immediate. It likely won’t even be in this life. But I know by embracing the gift of repentance and focusing on Christ, I can look past the mistakes I make each day to see myself even as He is—even as I can become.

Vincent Poulaert (11) did not always know that Jesus Christ is the Savior, that He and Heavenly Father love him, and that his prayers would be answered. But he knows it now.
Early each morning the Poulaert family reads the scriptures together. Last year they were reading from the Book of Mormon. One day they read about Jesus Christ calling the little children to Him. Sister Poulaert loves this passage of scripture and asked her children if they each had a testimony of Jesus Christ. Everyone said yes—except Vincent. “I was pleased that Vincent would be so honest,” Sister Poulaert said, “but I was concerned also. I asked him if he knew how to get a testimony, and he said he did.”
Some of Vincent’s family teased him about not having a testimony. That helped him decide to do all that he could to learn if Jesus Christ was the Savior. During the next week he studied scriptures about Jesus Christ and prayed about what he had read. The following Sunday his family noticed that he wasn’t eating. They asked him if anything was wrong.
“No,” he said. “Today I’m fasting and praying for a testimony.” It was hard for Vincent to fast all day, but he did it. That afternoon, with tears in his eyes, he told his mother that he now knew that Jesus Christ was the Savior and his Friend.

by Mark Reed
After much study and two days practice on a small river, our teachers quorum was ready for the big event of our summer—a canoe trip down the Waitara River! Our plans were to cover about 35 miles with at least 50 rapids of varying length and turbulence during the two-day trip.
When the day came for departure, the four of us met at our adviser’s home with life jackets, crash helmets, sneakers, and small waterproof packs that contained our food, utensils, and tents. We launched about 10:00 A.M. and spent the next two hours in hard, solid paddling. After a lunch break, however, we began meeting the rapids. At first this was a little scary, but we soon found that we could maneuver the canoes quite easily in and out among the big rocks, away from huge fallen trees and into the best channels of the fast-flowing, mud-colored river. The beautiful and ever-changing landscape added to the thrill of the trip. One minute we were dwarfed in a magnificent canyon with huge towering and overhanging cliffs and waterfalls and in the next instant we had shot out into the serenity of rolling, bush-clad country.
Around 5:00 P.M. it began to rain, so we decided to stop for the evening and make camp. We soon had a roaring fire going that dried our wet clothing and provided heat to cook a scrumptious meal. By then the day’s paddling had taken its toll, so after group prayer, we dragged ourselves off to our sleeping bags.
The next day’s journey was exciting, colorful, and unforgettable—but ended too soon. As we progressed down the widening, winding course of the river and saw farmland ahead, we knew that the tough job of guiding these little crafts along the river with its pleasures, dangers, thrills, and excitement would soon be over. And it was. But our shared memories, strengthened friendships, and increased testimonies had made the trip something we would always remember. (We are members of the New Plymouth Branch, New Plymouth District in the New Zealand Wellington Mission.)

Joseph’s mother stayed in the Nauvoo area rather than going west, for her remaining family was there, including three daughters. “Here in this city lay my dead,” she explained in an impromptu 1845 talk, “my husband and my children.”12 But her interest remained lively in the work of the western Saints. Enoch Tripp visited her in 1855, the year before her death. They had been close friends when he taught school in Nauvoo. Finding her very feeble. Enoch stepped to her bedside and identified himself: “She arose in her bed and, placing her arms around my neck, kissed me, exclaiming, ‘I can now die in peace, since I have beheld your face from the vallies of the mountains.’” After inquiring after her Utah friends, she remarked that she was on the verge of meeting “with her beloved ones beyond the veil.” As he left, Enoch received a “farewell blessing from this great mother in Israel.”13

Fourteen-year-old Angela realized that their trip to Japan was more than just one performance after another, more than Polynesian and Native American song and dance. She discovered this one night when she looked out into the audience while the family was singing "Love at Home" in Japanese and several people were crying.

"When I performed, I didn’t realize that a lot of people were looking at me. I didn’t realize that we might touch them a lot. I’d always thought I was just performing to entertain them," she says. "But then it really brought out the message to them that families are forever and when we have a happy family, when we go to church, and when we keep the commandments, we will be happy."

We will make many choices throughout our lives. Today I'd like to talk about three choices that can help us find the joy Heavenly Father wants for each of us.

The first choice is, choose to share the gospel.

Sharing the gospel will bring a sweet spirit into our lives. When we testify of the truth, our testimonies are strengthened. Sometimes we get discouraged because every experience doesn't end with what we see as success. Every missionary experience may not be successful as we see it, but each one will be worthwhile. All the Lord expects is that we do our part.

We should remember that those we work with are precious sons and daughters of our Eternal Father and deserve respect and understanding. People should never be considered a project. We should never abandon someone because they don't respond or accept our invitation.

When we try to encourage someone to come back or learn about the gospel and they respond, "No, thanks," often they are really saying, "Just give me a little more time. Don't stop loving me. I'm not ready yet. Don't give up on me."

I visited a 16- and 17-year-old Sunday School class one Sunday morning. When the teacher came into the classroom, he wrote on the chalkboard, "The Plane Truth." P-L-A-N-E. I thought to myself, "I wonder where he went to school? I hope it wasn't BYU-Idaho." I soon learned what this meant. Two young people came to the front of the class and sat in two chairs and then began to role-play sharing the gospel to someone sitting next to them on an airplane. They did a great job.

It made me think of a story I'd recently heard of a lady who was sharing the gospel with the person sitting next to her on a flight. The person she was talking to became very interested in knowing more, and the member of the Church said, "Oh, I wish I had a Book of Mormon to give you. I usually have one with me when I travel, but I forgot this time." Just then, someone in the seat behind her reached over and handed her a Book of Mormon. I'm not sure if it was a good member who had overheard the conversation trying to do their part or someone trying to get rid of a book they had just received.

These experiences inspired me to want to share the gospel the next time I was on an airplane.

A few weeks later, I flew to area council meetings, and I got my chance. On the way home I committed myself to share the gospel with the person sitting next to me on the plane. If those kids could do it, so could I. On the first flight, I sat next to a young man who had no interest in hearing about the Church. All he wanted to talk about was all of his girlfriends, his pickup truck, and how much beer he could drink. I was so discouraged I wanted to jump out of the plane.

On the second flight, I waited anxiously to meet my next flight companion. He was from Germany. He spoke English pretty well, and I talked to him about the Church. He said that he had never heard of the Church and changed the subject but was still friendly and wanted to talk. I asked where he was staying and offered him a ride to his hotel when we arrived in Idaho Falls. I asked him why he was going to Idaho. He explained that he was going to ride horses and herd cattle at a nearby ranch. He said he had received information telling him that he needed a hat. I said, "That's a good idea. It's hot there. You'll get a sunburn without one". "How about cowboy boots?" he asked. I thought to myself, "Please don't do this to me. It's Saturday night, and I'm sure you're going to want me to help you buy boots on Sunday." So I told him, "If you buy new boots and wear them for five days straight, you'll probably never walk again the rest of your life. But I have a pair of boots in my closet at home that are a little too small for me. They are in good shape, and you can have them if you want." I asked, "What size do you wear?" He told me some European size, and I said, "Oh, I'm sure they'll fit."

When we arrived at the hotel, he said "Oh, what about the boots? When can I get the boots?" I said, "I have church tomorrow, so after church I'll..." Then I thought to myself, "You big chicken! If those kids can do it, why can't you?" So I said, "Or, if you'd like, you can go to church with me, and I can give you the boots then." He said, "Okay." I was a little shocked and pleased, but having been a missionary, I knew he might not be there when I went to pick him up.

The next morning, when I went into the hotel lobby to meet him, he wasn't there. As I went outside to leave, he came running around the building and said, "I was looking for you." I could hardly believe it! He got in the car, and we headed for church. When we arrived, I introduced him to a few members of my ward. Everyone that spoke one word of German, had ever seen a German movie, or even eaten sauerkraut surrounded him. He felt so welcome. I had copied off some Church materials and talks in German for him the night before, mostly stuff by President Uchtdorf. He really seemed to enjoy his time there. When we got in the car to go back to the hotel, he thanked me for inviting him to church and said, "I go to church almost every Sunday in Germany, but I have never felt what I felt today." I had come so close to not letting one of Heavenly Father's children feel His Spirit. And to think that I almost missed this wonderful opportunity to share the gospel.

I love my friend Lupita like a sister. We met in sixth grade and were both in the school marching band. The next school year we became even closer and really started relying on each other. She told me about the challenges she was having at home because her dad wasn’t there and her mom couldn’t give her the attention she needed. I knew she was sad that her parents weren’t a big part of her life. She was lonely, but she always had me.
I feel blessed to have been born into a home where we had the gospel of Jesus Christ. It has brought into my life a peace that many of my friends don’t have. Because I could see the blessings the gospel brought me, I wanted to share it with Lupita.
I talked to her about the Church and invited her to go with me to Mutual. She accepted and started coming to church and to ward activities with me and my family. I introduced her to the missionaries, who taught her the gospel and invited her to be baptized. She gained a testimony, and when she asked her mother if she could be baptized, her mother said yes.
Her baptism day was very special because she made covenants with our Heavenly Father to remember Him and keep His commandments. I bore my testimony to her that day and told her that she was in the right place and that Heavenly Father must be proud of her. I love Lupita and am so happy that she is my friend and now my sister in the gospel. I know that her life will be happier because she and her future family will enjoy the blessings of the gospel.
Lupita has told me she is grateful I decided to share the gospel with her. She says that since she started attending church, her life has been much better and she has felt peaceful. I know that this is the Spirit confirming the truth to her. She also says that someday she will be married in the temple. I am grateful to my Heavenly Father because I found my friend and because of the joy I feel when I share the thing that is of most worth to me.

In those early years of artificial kidney development, the expense and lack of facilities meant that treatment was restricted to a few fortunate people. Kidney center personnel were responsible to determine who would receive treatment and who would not. As I approached the artificial kidney center, my application seemed a bit lacking. I was, after all, single with no dependents, no real income, and no resources. But I did have something that encouraged me—a super family. And the doctors knew it. They reasoned that because I had such close and supportive family, I would always have people around to help take care of me. This made me a good candidate for a new experimental kidney machine which can be used at home—and perhaps someday, even for a kidney transplant.

I learned a great deal during those three years I was on the kidney machine. My faith in the Lord grew as I watched his hand guiding my life. I was close to my family, and in spite of the kidney machine I loved life more than ever before. I had never been so free, nor as happy. Yet, I yearned to be rid of my mechanical companion.

This goal, like so many others, became a family project. We often spent family home evenings and family interviews discussing alternatives to being on the kidney machine and the justifications for a kidney transplant.
I recall one memorable week when the family was all together after an extended period of separation. Missions, marriages, and college had scattered us across the globe for a number of years. Then Christmas of 1970, like a magnet, brought us all back home again.
During that week we spent a great deal of time talking about my health. We had all researched the possibility of a kidney transplant, and each member of the family had personally volunteered to donate one of their kidneys to me.
One afternoon while playing basketball with my brothers, I stepped back for a moment and watched them play. Each was a superb athlete. Craig had been a contender for the Olympic swimming team; he was now married and had a family. Barry had been one of the best football players in the state and was now an expert snow skier. And Kevin was one of the best high school basketball players in the state.
“Thanks anyway,” I thought as my eyes brimmed with tears. “I love you all for the desires of your hearts, but I simply don’t feel right about it.”
With Christmas over, Barry returned to Brigham Young University and Craig and his family returned to their home in California. I eagerly busied myself with missionary labors, and all returned to normal.
Then one evening a marvelous and unexpected event occurred during family prayers. My father said the prayer, and when the prayer was completed we all knew what was to transpire. With tears in our eyes we discussed our feelings. Yes, each had felt the same confirmation. We should go ahead with the transplant.
In retrospect, that decision may have been the greatest miracle of all. Logic and personal feelings just didn’t matter anymore; we knew what the Spirit had directed.
That evening I made a long-distance phone call to my brother Barry in Provo, Utah, and talked with him about the transplant. I explained to him the answer we had received and asked him to pray about it. But Barry eagerly accepted immediately saying he had prayed about it many times and was simply awaiting my call. I told him we could wait until June, but the next day he dropped his classes and came home.
After Barry arrived, however, the surgical team discovered that he had developed an immunity to Parrot’s Fever while serving his mission in Mexico, and they feared a reaction to the medications necessary after the transplant. To Barry’s deep disappointment, it was determined that his kidney was not transplantable.
About two weeks later, we had another of those extra special family home evenings. And again we felt impressed to proceed with a kidney transplant. Again I went to the phone and called a brother, this time my older brother, Craig. Again I received a positive response.
Within a week, Craig, his wife Penny, and their one-year-old son Jason flew in from California. That same afternoon I went to the hospital, and Craig was admitted the next day.
Our names were placed on the prayer rolls of six temples from London to Los Angeles by friends of the family.
The night before surgery we held family home evening in my hospital room. At one point I tried to tell the family that it didn’t seem worth the risk or sacrifice required of my brother to attempt that transplant. But Dad looked at me soberly, put a hand on my shoulder, and softly said, “We all feel that this is what the Lord wants, and your brother is proud to be able to do it. Remember, Brent, we’ll all live to see you running across the park lawn again, with that large grin of yours.”
Surgery began the next morning at 6:00 A.M. with my nurse giving me a sedative before the operation. At the end of the day I opened my eyes to see my parents close to my bed. I was back in my hospital room, and I knew everything was all right.
I remember seeing other members of the family briefly that evening. But I couldn’t find Craig. “How is Craig? Where is my brother?”
A familiar hand rested on my shoulder, and I heard my mother’s voice: “Brent, Craig is fine and your new kidney is fine, too.” With those words I went to sleep. “Thanks, Father in Heaven. Thanks, Craig. Thanks a lot, family.”
During those first few days after my transplant, I got a feeling that something was wrong when I looked at the troubled faces of my parents and brothers. All was not well with Craig. By the third day I was sure he had died and no one would tell me about it. Actually, he hadn’t died. But he was very ill and having a difficult time recovering from his part of the surgery.
On the afternoon of the third day, my father and brother carried Craig to see me. He was the color of a ripe banana. With a half smile on his face he said, “How’s it going, brother?” At that moment, seeing his pain and considering his sacrifice, I knew what love was and what having a family meant.
Two days later, the medical reports indicated that my body was rejecting the new kidney. It appeared that we had failed. Drastic medical measures were taken, but with little success. As it turned out, the most powerful aid of all was prayer. Etched deeply into my soul is the memory of many nights when family members knelt around my bed and one by one prayed to our Father in Heaven. I listened as my brothers wept, praying that I might live. Then, silently, none of us able to speak, we’d touch hands to say good-night. And they were good nights, for we each experienced the pure love of Christ.
My body’s rejection of the kidney was finally overcome; Craig, too, rapidly regained his health and strength. Today, my doctors report that I am one of the healthiest kidney recipients in history. I have a beautiful wife, two sons, and a daughter. Craig, now the father of three, lives a normal life surrounded by people who still don’t know why he made that quick trip to Seattle, Washington, several years ago.
I can testify that one of the greatest joys of mortality comes when a family is spiritually united in seeking the Lord’s aid and comfort. I am awed by the love displayed in my behalf. When I think about my family I think about the Lord, who is the true head of our gospel family. I think about his love, his devotion, and his willingness to sacrifice for us. And I feel that I have gained a special testimony and appreciation of the atonement of Jesus Christ, for I know what the love and sacrifice of an older brother can mean.

Spring has returned to the community of Franklin, Idaho. One can hear the ever-welcome chirp of the robin and see the beauty of the first daffodil. Seemingly overnight, the drab brown grass of winter turns to a bright green. Soon plows will turn the earth, seeds will be planted, and a new cycle of life will commence. Some distance away from the bustle of activity and next to the foothills is the town cemetery.
It was there one spring that a new grave was dug—not a large one—and a tiny casket was lowered into mother earth. Three lines appear on the attractive headstone:
MICHAEL PAUL SHUMWAY
Born: October 24, 1965
Died: March 14, 1966
May I introduce you to the Shumway family. They are my neighbors here in Salt Lake City, Utah. Mark and Wilma Shumway and each of the children always greet you with a friendly smile or a wave of the hand. They make the people of the neighborhood happy. They are good people.
Can you imagine the happiness in the family home on that 24th day of October when little Michael was born? Father was proud, brothers and sisters were excited, mother was humble, as they welcomed this sweet new blossom of humanity, fresh fallen from God’s own home, to grow on earth. Happy months followed.
Then came that fateful night in March when little Michael was called to his heavenly home and the breath of life was gone. Mark and Wilma were overcome with grief from the loss of their precious son. But while their grief was intensely personal, their experience in losing a loved one in death is common to all mankind, for who hasn’t lost a mother, a father, a sister, a brother, a son, or a daughter?
To you, Wilma and Mark Shumway, and to all who have lost a dear one, he provides the courage to say, “… the Lord gave and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord.” (Job 1:21.) May your hearts burn with the knowledge that the bands of death have been broken and that members of your family, though now separated by death, will one day be reunited to share the blessings of eternal life.