Gospel Story Finder

Easter was a week away. Daddy told Oliver that today was called “Palm Sunday.”
“Why?” Oliver asked.
“When Jesus came into the city of Jerusalem, people were so happy to see Him,” Daddy said. “They waved palm branches and shouted, ‘Hosanna!’ That’s why we call it Palm Sunday.”
“Can we wave palm branches too?” Oliver asked.
Mommy smiled. “Well, we don’t have any palm trees. Let’s see what other branches we can find.”
Mommy, Daddy, and Oliver went outside and cut a few small branches off a tree in their yard. The branches didn’t have any leaves yet, just tiny blossoms.
Oliver waved his branch back and forth as he took it inside. “Hosanna!” he said, just like the people in the scriptures said when they saw Jesus. Then he helped Mommy put the pretty branches in a vase.
He liked looking at the branches while they ate dinner. He thought about the branches people waved when they saw Jesus.
The next day, Mommy pulled out a basket of plastic Easter eggs. “Let’s write down why we love Jesus. We’ll put our papers in the eggs and hang them on our special branches.”
Daddy got pens and paper. Oliver told Daddy what to write. Oliver said, “I love Jesus because He’s nice.”
Oliver helped fold up the paper. He put it inside a green plastic egg.
Daddy wrote, “I love Jesus because He understands how I feel.”
Mommy wrote, “Because of Jesus, someday we will see the people we love who have died.”
“Like baby Sophie?” Oliver asked.
Mommy gave him a big hug. “Yes! You will see your baby sister again one day. That’s because Jesus lived again after He died. Because of Him, all of us can live again too.”
“That makes me happy,” Oliver said.
“It makes us happy too,” Daddy said.
They filled lots of Easter eggs with things they loved about Jesus. Then Daddy tied strings through the eggs. Oliver helped hang the eggs on the tree. It looked so pretty!
“Let’s call it the Easter Tree,” Oliver said. He counted all the colorful eggs. “We have so many reasons we love Jesus!”

Stonehenge—one of history’s mysteries. Every year millions of people travel to Salisbury Plain, England, to visit this ancient monument. What most people don’t know, however, is that, tucked away nearby in the remote village of Kingston Deverill, lives the Ralph family, whose history is as rich as Stonehenge and whose acts of charity are as monumental.
Meet Edwin, 17, Emmanuel, 16, Martha, 13, and Sophia, 8, descendants of King Alfred the Great. Their daily schedules are as busy as most young people their age, with school, church, and sports; but their household responsibilities are unusual. They, along with their parents and grandparents, live in Kingston House, where they care for five mentally challenged men. The five residents are between ages 33 and 71. They have multiple learning disabilities with their mental ages ranging from two to five years. They need constant supervision. With the extended Ralph family, each child plays an important role in the running of this unusual home where service and charity are taught and learned daily.
Early each morning, Sophia scrambles out of bed, wakes her father, then helps him make breakfast for the family of 11. Later on Martha washes up, Emmanuel vacuums, and Edwin supervises bathing sessions. As the Ralph children interact with their less able “brothers,” their love for these men radiates. “They bring a lot of laughter into our lives,” smiles Edwin, a priest in the Yeovil Branch, Bristol England Stake. “You learn to develop patience and a sense of humor.”
He relates a story of one man who came to their home after living in an institution for most of his life. “The first thing he did was to vacuum the toilet. He had learned to vacuum and did it very well. When he arrived, he asked us if he could use the vacuum cleaner, which we thought was great—until it went up in smoke.”
There’s never a dull moment at Kingston House. Caring for the men is a full-time job, which the family happily shares among them.
Emmanuel explains the feelings he has towards the men whom he sees as brothers. “I know they’re special people, and it’s my responsibility to help them. They have boys’ spirits in men’s bodies, and it is refreshing to be around them.”
Emmanuel dreams of being a professional cricket player one day. He shares this dream with the residents by playing cricket with them on a regular basis. In fact, all the Ralphs are cricket fans and will challenge anyone to a match in their backyard. The sport enables the disabled men and non-LDS friends and neighbors to come together. Once the game begins, barriers vanish, and the participants lose themselves in fun.
Martha, who plays for Dorset Girls Cricket Team, enjoys watching her friends overcome their fear of the patients. “At first they’re a bit scared,” she says. “We forget at times that they are mentally disabled until we see the reaction of other people to them. After a while they get to know the men and see them in a different light. We all have a great time.”
As a Beehive in Young Women, Martha realizes that the time she spends with the residents has helped her learn to view others less judgmentally. “Because of the experience I’ve had with our residents, I realize that other people need help too. It’s not good to hold prejudices. Christ never did.”
The gospel gives Edwin a clearer perspective. “It’s nice to know they are spirits just like me, and there is a purpose for their disability here. I want to help them live the best lives they can. It will be brilliant to see them in the Resurrection. I look forward to meeting them in the next life when their bodies are perfect.”
One of the residents, Roy, was 46 when Sophia was age two. Because Roy’s mental age was the same as Sophia’s, they became best friends. Brother Ralph describes how they played together and followed each other around. “Now Sophia is eight, and Roy looks up to her as his big sister. Mentally he’s still a two-year-old.” It’s touching to watch them walk hand in hand down the lane to the lambing fields. When it’s spring, Sophia takes Roy to see the newborn lambs, an outing they both cherish.
Brother Ralph serves on the high council of the Bristol Stake. He’s pleased with the spirit of charity the residents have brought into his home. “The children feel it’s quite natural for them to help the disabled men. Giving them attention and time is not a burden; it’s a benefit. There’s no question in my mind that we’ve been blessed.”
Where there are obstacles, there are also talents. The family believes that the men have been blessed with unique gifts despite their limitations. One has a great memory and always knows where everything is. Another is shy until he gets involved in sports, when he forgets himself and his skills come out. Yet another is an artist, even though he is partially blind and deaf. And another is a natural clown. He is a genius at remembering names and voices.
Another source of enjoyment for the Ralphs is missionary work. The Yeovil Branch which they attend is 28 miles away with an average attendance of 75 members. Eleven years ago, when Edwin and Emmanuel were six and five, they helped to convert their grandparents. “It was exciting to teach my parents,” says Brother Ralph. “The children are not afraid to share the gospel with others, and this has made the world of difference in our lives.”
The Ralphs’ missionary work also extends to family history. When they traced their family lines, they discovered they were descendants of King Alfred the Great. It also happens that the standing stones mentioned in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, King Alfred’s meeting place with his troops in 878 A.D. where he made plans to battle the Danes, are on the Ralphs’ land. These two five-foot stones form part of their family shield. The wooden coat of arms also displays the motto “Honor, Truth, and Excellence.” These qualities reflect in their lives as a family as they serve those in need.

Jeffrey opened one eye first, then the other. He looked at his new clock and pushed off the bedcovers. He sat on the edge of his bed, squinting at the clock’s two hands. One pointed up. One pointed down. He didn’t know what they said.
Jeffrey let his head hang upside down over the side of the bed. He made his fingers into tubes like binoculars. The clock hands still looked the same. One up. One down. He pulled the pillow over his eyes and sighed. He thought about his grandmother.
“Here’s a new clock for your birthday,” Grandmother had said. “You’ll be going to school soon, and you’ll need to know how to tell time.”
Jeffrey sighed again. The clock was a problem. He went into the kitchen to find his mother.
“I’ll fix you a nice breakfast,” his mother said. “Are you excited about tomorrow?”
“I’m not going to school tomorrow,” said Jeffrey. “I can’t read clocks, and I won’t know when to come home!”
“The teacher and I will help you at first,” said Mother. “And you’ll soon be able to tell the time by yourself.”
After breakfast Jeffrey went back to his room and made his bed. He smoothed the plaid bedspread carefully and tucked in the corners. He combed his hair, put on his shoes, and tied the laces. He stared at the clock. The hands were different now, but he still didn’t know what they said.
Then Jeffrey had an idea. “I know! Maybe Timothy can read a clock. I’ll ask him!”
Just then Timothy knocked at the back door. Jeffrey ran to open it. Timothy had a paper bag in his arms. “Hi, Jeffrey!” said his friend. “Dad took me shopping last night!”
“Oh!” said Jeffrey. “What’s in the paper bag?”
“New tennis shoes,” said Timothy, “for school tomorrow.”
“Could I see them?” asked Jeffrey.
“Sure,” said Timothy. “But I’m not going to school tomorrow.”
“You aren’t?” said Jeffrey.
“No,” said Timothy. “I can’t tie my shoes. The other children will laugh at me because I don’t know how the laces go!”
“I’m not going to school tomorrow either.”
“You aren’t?” replied Timothy, surprised.
“No,” said Jeffrey. “My grandmother gave me a clock for my birthday, but I can’t read the hands. The other children will laugh at me because I can’t tell time.”
“I have an idea!” Timothy exclaimed. “I can read clocks but I can’t tie shoes. I’ll show you how to read the hands on your new clock—”
“And I’ll teach you how to tie the laces on your new shoes! Let’s go to my room right now,” said Jeffrey. “We’ll teach each other.”
At noon Mother knocked on Jeffrey’s door. “It’s lunchtime, boys,” she said, “and I have a sandwich and some juice for each of you.”
“Thank you,” said Jeffrey. “I know it’s lunchtime. I can read my clock’s hands! They say it’s twelve o’clock!”
“Thanks. I’m real hungry,” said Timothy. “I’ve been practicing hard tying my shoelaces. And now I can do it!”
“It sounds as though you two are ready for the first day of school,” Mother said with a big smile.
“Yeah. I’ll meet Tim out in front of his house at eight o’clock tomorrow morning,” said Jeffrey.
“And I’ll be wearing my new shoes!” said Timothy.

I know of a man named Tom who agreed to drive his son Michael and some of Michael’s soccer teammates to their Saturday game. The boys were noisy, and Tom was getting frustrated trying to find a playing field he had never been to before. Unable to concentrate on his driving, Tom ran into another car. The accident was minor, but Tom let his frustration out in profanity.
Later that afternoon, young Michael asked his mother if his dad was a member of the Church. Michael had been taught that good Mormons don’t swear. His mother was surprised and said, “Of course your father is a Church member.”
“Well, Dad may be a Mormon, but I know he is not a Cub Scout!” Michael replied.

A new convert, Joaquim, couldn’t seem to get enough of the Church and its activities. If he happened to see us missionaries during the day, he would stop what he was doing and spend several hours street-contacting with us. He would even arrive early for church just in case there was something he could do to help. Joaquim Pinto Dias and his family quickly became pillars of the Meier Branch in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, in 1970.
Called to teach Sunday School, Joaquim fulfilled his calling with exacting zeal. If the manual called for the lessons to be forty minutes long, that is exactly how long he taught.
And then, abruptly, he stopped coming to church. As is sometimes the case with new members, the crisis was caused by a seemingly trivial event. The Sunday School president, in trying to fulfill his assignment, had shortened the prescribed class time to solve a scheduling problem. When Joaquim had objected, the president had given him a tactless reply.
Shortly thereafter the Sunday School president was called to be the new branch president. When this happened, a still deeply offended Joaquim completely stopped coming to church, and no amount of reasoning from the members or the missionaries could change his mind.
I was one of those missionaries. After a month of fruitless persuading, my companion and I decided to visit Joaquim one more time. The usual arguments once again got us nowhere. Suddenly I heard myself say, “But Brother Joaquim, have you forgiven him?”
This question came to him as a thunderbolt. He had been offended, and logic told him that the new branch president should come to him and apologize.
He thought about what I had said, then he turned to his wife and asked if she thought it was possible that he had not forgiven his fellowman, as the Savior had commanded.
She answered in the affirmative, and the situation was resolved. He would be returning to church. We said “Good night,” and left.
As we walked down the street, the impact of my question to Joaquim jolted me as it had him. I realized that I had not asked the question; it was the Holy Ghost who had spoken through me. The words had simply tumbled from my mouth as the Spirit moved me.
The Spirit of the Lord had intervened after we had exhausted all our efforts. As the significance of the event filled my soul with joy, I felt as though I had been lifted toward heaven and I fairly floated over the cobblestone streets on the way home.

Vivian K., 18
Growing up, I watched my uncles and cousins dance fireknife. I thought it was really cool, but I didn’t know if I could do it myself. In high school, I made it one of my goals to learn how to do it. After I learned, I made my goal more specific: I wanted to compete in a fireknife competition.
Fireknife has helped me gain confidence in myself. When you’re dancing, there’re certain moves where you throw the knife up, watch it in the air, and then catch it. I used to run away from the blade after I threw it up. My dad taught me that I needed to commit to the move and be confident in myself.
Inspired by her family members, Vivian has gained confidence to carry the flame.
Over time, I started carrying myself more confidently while performing and in everything else. It’s really great now because sometimes girls come up to me after performances and say they were inspired and also want to try fireknife dancing. I’m so excited that I’m inspiring other people to do something they thought they maybe couldn’t do.

In the middle 1970s I experienced something that awakened my interest in the Hebrew Scripture, or as we often refer to it, the Old Testament. I heard Elder Packer deliver a wonderful sermon in the Marriott Center in which he discussed the gifts of the Spirit. As he spoke I began to have an experience not unlike what he was discussing. In particular, I learned that I should begin to study Hebrew in order to be prepared for opportunities that may come.

I have dropped into a number of Hebrew classes in the past twelve years. I haven’t given the language the time it needs and I am certainly not fluent, but I have learned enough to have received a great deal of enjoyment and edification from Hebrew Scripture and to gain a great love for the language, culture, and people of Judah. Through it I have discovered a marvelous source of insight into the Old Testament—the Soncino Bible. This is a Jewish publication with the Hebrew text on the right, corresponding English text on the left, and rabbinical commentary from the Talmud and other sources at the bottom. I seldom read it but what I find some great treasure. One very good way to learn about the ancient prophets of the stick of Judah is from the rabbinical commentators and through considering some of the Hebrew words. One really doesn’t need much skill in Hebrew to gain at least some benefit from this. Even a few words are a good start. And even without any knowledge of Hebrew one can learn a great deal from the commentary. The rabbis have considered, contemplated, debated, and pondered the words of the prophets for many years, and they give us contact with the ancient traditions.

About 11 o’clock we drove up to the home of Mons Andersen, and out came Sister Christine Andersen to bid us welcome and put her arms around us one by one and kiss the rest of them. When my turn came, that was something I was not used to, so I didn’t know what to do. For some reason I didn’t run away. A host of neighbor children and aged folks came around us and shook hands with us. I guess they bid us welcome, for I could not understand a word of English. The children were at Sunday School but soon arrived home. They also kissed us welcome, and by that time I was kind of getting used to it. But they surely made us feel at home.

There was another striking thing that helped me on my way toward investigation. It was just when lots of fruit was ripe, such as strawberries, gooseberries, and early apples. Those who have met Sister Andersen know what a loving disposition she had. She said, “Go out and help yourselves.” If it had not been for her loving way, I could barely have thought she meant it. But she surely did. It was something different to what it was in Norway. There was another rung in the ladder.

The Navy has many traditions dating back centuries. “Crossing the line” or crossing the equator is one of those celebrated traditions. If you have never done it before, you are a Pollywog and are initiated in a ceremony to become a Shellback. However, if you cross the equator at the international dateline, you become a Golden Shellback, a rare species among Shellbacks. In 1995, the USS KAMEHAMEHA (SSN 642) was on its way to Brisbane, Australia, to participate in Special Operations exercises with the Royal Australian Navy, and obviously, we would be “crossing the line.” On our way, we took a little detour and surfaced at that unique spot in the Pacific Ocean. The seas were calm, and the weather was favorable, so we scrambled topside and took part in a golden shellback ceremony. For as far as the eye could see, from horizon to horizon, 360 degrees around, there was nothing but deep blue seawater. That was an impressive and humbling sight. No one was there to witness the proceedings or celebrate with us, but it was special, nonetheless. Shipmates, no matter how small or seemingly unimportant, no matter if there is no one else there to witness it, take time to acknowledge your successes, the milestones you reach, life’s little victories. You are doing incredible things and will accomplish many more in your life. Heavenly Father created you that “(you) might have joy” so have joy and celebrate your achievements.

I had another exceptional teacher while attending Ricks College many years ago. I was preparing to serve a mission and thought it would be helpful to attend a missionary preparation class. What I experienced changed my life.
From the first day of class, I realized I was in the presence of a master teacher. The teacher was Brother F. Melvin Hammond. I knew Brother Hammond loved the Lord and he loved me. I could see it in his face and hear it in his voice. When he taught, the Spirit enlightened my mind. He taught doctrine, but he also invited me to learn it on my own. That invitation helped me clearly see my responsibility to learn the Lord’s doctrine for myself. That experience changed me forever. Thank you, Brother Hammond, for teaching in the Savior’s way.

Perhaps another story from the Provo mission field would help. Early in our time as mission leaders, we experienced a tragic and heartbreaking experience. The mission field has proven to be an extremely safe place for our young disciples. However, in rare circumstances, occasionally missionaries experience tragedy. While exercising one morning, one of our missionaries suffered an aneurysm. He was rushed to the hospital, where he passed away. This was extremely difficult and heartrending for all involved.

Knowing that this would be challenging for our missionaries, Sister McCune and I spent a few days meeting with and ministering to missionaries, as well as making arrangements with our deceased missionary’s family. It was, frankly, a miraculous and sacred time. However, this all occurred during the week before transfers, when important revelation was necessary regarding where missionaries should be assigned. Usually this process takes days or more, and I found that it took a lot of effort. To compound the challenge that particular week, the Missionary Department had made critical changes to the transfer software and had communicated that all transfer changes had to be input early on Friday. As it turned out, this left me with about 90 minutes to complete all transfer decisions.

With miraculous and direct revelation from our Heavenly Father, transfers were completed in about an hour, with no subsequent revisions. This gave me tremendous confidence in the process—so much so that I approached the next transfer with great confidence, feeling that I had now found the “secret” to receiving transfer revelation for our missionaries. Of course this subsequent transfer ended up being one of the more difficult times in my mission experience. I was reminded with a great lesson of the work and effort required to receive revelation.

It was Christmas Eve. We had just gotten our new pajamas, a tradition in our family. The kids played Christmas music and everyone danced around. No one was grumpy; everyone was happy, smiling, and having fun. Knowing that I was expecting another child, I was thinking about how much I loved our family, about how excited I was to have one more child on the way.
Then I felt a distinct impression. The Spirit whispered to me that one of our family members wouldn’t be with us next year.
Later that night, as my husband, Tim, and I were putting gifts under the tree, he told me that he had felt an impression earlier that evening that one of our family members wouldn’t be with us for our next Christmas Eve. I told Tim I had received the same impression.
Before we left on a post-Christmas trip to visit family out of state, Tim talked to our children about being safe while we traveled. We were troubled by the thought of losing a family member on our trip, but we felt reassured that all would be well. We traveled, had a great visit with family members, and returned home safely.
Soon it was time for my regular prenatal checkup. The doctor delivered sad news. An ultrasound confirmed that the baby had died two weeks before the visit.
As Tim and I drove home, devastated, we realized that two weeks before had been Christmas Eve. We don’t know exactly when the spirit enters the body, but Tim and I feel that our baby got to be with our family, if only for a moment, on that Christmas Eve with everyone dancing around and being happy. We felt so much joy, and we feel the baby was a part of it. When he left us, we believe he became the member of our family who wouldn’t be with us the next Christmas Eve. I believe that someday we’ll get to see our baby again. I’m grateful for the peace that brings to me.

I was single and 25. I loved teaching and enjoyed the students that came from different communities from all over the United States. As a single faculty member I did not date the coeds, and so I had a lot of time to grade papers and read the scriptures. I had time to sit in on a number of religion classes and observe master teachers like President Henry B. Eyring, who was then president of Ricks College, Keith Sellers, and Mel Hammond. I loved the devotional assemblies in the Hart Building.

Once while sitting in a devotional, my conscience was pierced by a comment made by then-apostle Spencer W. Kimball. To the best of my recollection, he said, "If you are a priesthood holder and 26 years old and still single, you are a menace to the Church." I had just turned 25 and while I had aspirations to be married, I was not close. My number one prospect was Sister Cameron; however, at that time she was in Salt Lake City, and I was not her number one prospect.

I was inspired to make marriage my number one priority. As I mentioned, I had a lot of free time and used my best freshman English teacher skills to write letters. I would write about my classes and include bits of poetry we were reading, like part of Sonnet 29 by Shakespeare: "Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising, Haply I think of thee, and then my state, Like to the lark at break of day arising from sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate; For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings, That then I scorn to change my state with kings."

Through the help of friends, I convinced Christine to visit Rexburg, and we went on a geology field trip through Yellowstone. She met President Eyring and his wife, Kathy, and we ate at Walker's Café. Could there be anything more memorable? We courted over Christmas vacation in Salt Lake, and she visited when I was called into the bishopric of the Ricks College 13th Ward. We were engaged at the end of my first year teaching and married two days before I turned 26, saving me from becoming a menace.

I wondered what would have happened had I not been intently listening in the devotional. The most important things in my life--my wife, our six children, their spouses, and our 17 grandchildren--might not have been mine.

As part of my "summer of fun” canoeing I was blessed to take part in the N? Pali Challenge, which is a 37-mile canoe race down the N? Pali Coast of Kauai. The race consists of six women and six men. The two crews are changed every 30 minutes. To change the crews, you jump off the escort boat in the water in seat order and wait for the canoe to come “pick you up.” When you reach the canoe, the person in your seat hops out and you climb in. The race takes roughly six hours, meaning roughly six water changes. When you hop out, the escort boat comes to pick everyone up and you get a little rest until you do it all over again. If this sounds both awful and amazing, you are right!

For each water change we had a plan for how we were going to get off the escort boat, huddle together in the water, get into our canoe, and the pace we would set for the next 30 minutes. Well, you know what they say about the best laid plans! One water change we were grouped together and a wave came at the last minute and split our group, so half of us ended up on the wrong side of the canoe.

At another water change we hulied shortly after getting in the boat and I thought, so much for plans… now we are losing time and have to do the hard work of flipping the boat back over, bailing it, and getting back in. I remember thinking, this is hard, and I float pretty good. I wonder if anyone will notice if I just take off towards land. But as an answer to my prayers, the men’s crew leaped off the escort boat to help us, cutting their break short. Hats and sunglasses were lost, we all ended up with bruises and sunburnt, and it was amazing.

Even though we had a solid plan for what do to in most situations, some of the situations we encountered we couldn’t have ever planned for. Like in life, even the most well thought out plans can go out the window in the most marvelous of ways.

I was sitting in a church meeting one day and caught myself staring at the variety of shoes people were wearing in the chapel. I saw leather dress shoes, black boots, bright sandals, colorful heels, and sparkly flats.
And my favorite pair of shoes? Someone’s pink buckled shoes, complete with embroidered strawberries.
It was then that I remembered the story of Christ washing His disciples’ feet.
In the times of the New Testament, I imagine most people’s feet were dirty, seeing that many wore sandals on the dirt roads and didn’t have access to regular bathing. So washing someone’s filthy feet back then probably wasn’t the most enjoyable act of service.
Thinking about this, I opened my scriptures to John 13 and read the interactions between the Savior and His Apostles as He washed their feet. I found an appreciation for Peter’s response to the Savior when it was his turn to be served. Peter replied, “Thou shalt never wash my feet” (John 13:8).
Perhaps Peter’s reluctance had to do with his love and respect for the Savior. I can imagine that, as a devoted disciple, Peter felt it was wrong to receive such treatment from someone so divine.
I realized then that some of us seem to share Peter’s reluctance to receive the Savior’s help.
The colorful selection of shoes I saw in my ward that Sunday symbolized, for me, what we each bring to our Master.
Everyone is different.
We all come from different walks of life, bringing different struggles, different perspectives, different experiences, and different questions.
However, despite all our differences, we all come to church every Sunday to partake of the sacrament, to renew our covenants, and to allow the Savior to serve us as we repent and, by doing so, accept the gift of our Savior’s atoning sacrifice.
President Russell M. Nelson reminds us that “Jesus Christ … stands with open arms, hoping and willing to heal, forgive, cleanse, strengthen, purify, and sanctify us.”1
So why are we sometimes reluctant to invite His grace and mercy into our lives? And what can we learn from His act of service?
Maybe our reluctance to accept the Savior’s help comes from feelings like shame, unworthiness, or even just our own stubborn pride. President Nelson has taught that “too many people consider repentance as punishment—something to be avoided except in the most serious circumstances. But this feeling of being penalized is engendered by Satan. He tries to block us from looking to Jesus Christ.”2 When we sin, it can be easy to feel like we aren’t good enough or we have too many flaws to be cleansed by Jesus Christ. But this is where we can take a closer look at this specific act of service for His Apostles.
I believe that Christ washing His Apostles’ feet symbolized His great love for us and His willingness to clean the spiritual dirt from our lives. He was willing to humbly serve His Apostles by cleaning one of the dirtiest parts of their bodies. Just hours later, through His atoning sacrifice, He descended below all things so He could wash us clean from the dirtiest parts of our own lives and succor us (see Alma 7:11–12).
This act, along with all His teachings, helps us understand that as we come to Him with repentance in our hearts, accepting His offer of service, we can find healing and redemption through His divine power.
As Sister Amy A. Wright, First Counselor in the Primary General Presidency, recently taught, “Because of Christ, our decision to ‘go forth and change’ can also allow us to ‘go forth and heal,’ for He is the source of healing all that is broken in our lives.”3
After washing His beloved disciples’ feet, the Savior gave them an invitation: “Ye also ought to wash one another’s feet” (John 13:14). In other words, He told them to love and minister to others as He did.
Jesus Christ is our Master Healer and our Savior. As we follow Him, we can also offer love and service to our fellow brothers and sisters in need of healing.
President Thomas S. Monson (1927–2018) taught: “We are surrounded by those in need of our attention, our encouragement, our support, our comfort, our kindness—be they family members, friends, acquaintances, or strangers. We are the Lord’s hands here upon the earth, with the mandate to serve and to lift His children. He is dependent upon each of us.”4
It is my testimony that as we seek the Savior—especially as we renew our covenants on Sunday—we will see that He desires to wash us of our sins, our mistakes, and even our heartaches and sorrows. And we can extend His love to those around us.
We only need to accept His help by exercising “faith unto repentance” (Alma 34:17) and seeking his grace (see Ether 12:27).
We all face circumstances and challenges as different as the variety of shoes on our feet, but we are all in need of the same love and grace our Savior offers.
I am grateful that I can follow in His footsteps and serve those around me who are in need of healing. As I allow myself to be healed and cleansed by Him, He gives me strength to do unto others what He has done unto me.

I was twenty years old and almost 5,000 kilometers away from home attending college when my mother died unexpectedly. I had not seen her for two years, and this added to my shock at her sudden passing.
Two months later the missionaries came to my door. During the discussions I was surprised to learn that many of my mother’s personal beliefs were the same as those of the Church—beliefs she had constantly held despite criticism from the church I was raised in. I readily accepted the teachings of the gospel and was baptized three weeks later.
For me, baptism was a happy but sad experience. I was happy in a way I had never known before, yet I struggled with grief and disappointment because Mother had been so close to the truth and yet I had been robbed of sharing it with her by two short months. Despite all I now knew of eternal life, I could find no inner peace. I poured out my feelings in prayer, apologizing for my weakness in not being able to come to terms with her death.
Then one night I had a beautiful dream. My mother entered my room and sat on the edge of my bed. She was dressed all in white, and although she looked much the same as when I last saw her, she was yet more youthful, for no lines of worry or sadness creased her brow. She was smiling and radiant. When I awoke, I could only remember that in the dream she had spoken to me for some time, comforting me and reassuring me that all was well.
The following week I received a box in the mail. It had been among my mother’s things in storage and was labeled in her own handwriting “for Cindy.” I was stunned as I examined its contents. There were old family portraits, some of grandparents who had died before I was born. There were some of my school papers, childhood photos, my first letter to Santa Claus. I found a small white journal my mother had kept, personal letters, and a large chart, yellowed and tattered, with several generations of family genealogy carefully written by Mother and started by her mother long years before.
My eyes flooded with tears, and for what seemed a long time I rested my head on that old box and wept. My sobs seemed to wash away the doubts and grief, and the peace I had sought filled my being.
With that peace came a sudden realization: it was no coincidence that Mother’s beliefs were the same as many Church teachings—or that she had collected and preserved the box of family items. Her life and teachings prepared me to receive the fulness of the gospel; her faith and inspiration guided her to pave the way for me to compile a family history and complete genealogical and temple work that would unite our family forever.
I hadn’t needed to be a missionary to Mother—she had been a missionary to me!

Priests in the Wymondley Ward, Auckland Tamaki Stake in New Zealand, found out that if you want to grow full-fledged missionaries in 19 years, it helps to nourish them with missionary experiences like the one they had recently.
While acting, living, and dressing as full-time missionaries do, each priest had the opportunity to practice teaching the first discussion to a member family pretending to be nonmembers. Everyone loved it!
“This activity has helped me realize the importance of preparing physically, mentally, and spiritually for a mission,” said Junior Asiata. “You should go on a mission because you have a desire to go and with an eye single to the Lord.”

When I was about 14 years old, the Church celebrated the 100th anniversary of the founding of the Sunday School. I was one of 500 Sunday School students invited to sing in a choir for the Sunday School conference, which was held in the Tabernacle as part of general conference in April 1949. President George Albert Smith, President of the Church during that conference, showed the congregation a time capsule dealing with the event and containing items related to the history of the Sunday School. It contained a form of phonograph record made in the 1940s.
During the meeting, it was announced that the box would be opened in 50 years. I remember, as a boy in the choir in that meeting, thinking how I would love to be in attendance when that box was opened fifty years later. In 1999, I was in Salt Lake City, Utah, for general conference. During the training for the General Authorities, we were invited to attend a meeting at which that box was to be opened for the first time after fifty years of being sealed! It was exciting as a boy and as a man to have been part of those two milestones in the history of the Sunday School.

At age 19, H. Ross Workman was engaged to be married and not planning on serving a full-time mission. Then one Sunday morning his stake president walked up to him as he sat in his car and said, “I’ve been inspired to call you to go on a mission. Will you go?” Caught by surprise but feeling the confirming influence of the Holy Ghost, young Ross said, “Yes.” When he told his fiancée, the girl he had dated through high school and become engaged to on graduation day, she cried but agreed to support him and delay the wedding.
The commitments made that day were a turning point in his life. He was born 31 December 1940 in Salt Lake City to Harley and Lucille Ramsey Workman. Following his mission to the southern states, he married Katherine Evelyn Meyers, his high school sweetheart, in the Logan Utah Temple. They are the parents of four children and have seven grandchildren. He earned degrees in chemistry and law from the University of Utah and has worked for more than 28 years as a patent attorney. He worked with the youth for many years and has served in several bishoprics, on a stake high council, and as a bishop, and was president of the Hawaii Honolulu Mission when called to the Second Quorum of the Seventy.

It has already been more than 30 years since I came in contact with the missionaries. What a thrill, what an example they have been in my life! I was 16, I remember, when I met with them for the first time. During the summers we children had the habit of sitting at the front window with our mother and greeting our neighbors and friends as they walked up the hill in front of our house. That day we noticed two young men pushing their bicycles. They were different from the usual young people. In spite of the heat, they wore suit jackets, white shirts, and ties. We deduced that they were Americans from the way they looked. We were intrigued. What were they doing here in our city?
The next day they came and knocked on our door. We rushed, the four of us, to satisfy our curiosity. We let them in, and we learned quickly who they were and what they were doing. It was the beginning of an eternal story. Their smiles, love, enthusiasm, desire to help and to serve, obedience to the commandments, and love for the Lord impressed us greatly. We looked forward more and more to their presence, their spirit. They were not only teaching us about Indians and the Book of Mormon but also sharing their talents in the arts and sports. We started an eternal friendship.
Here I am 30 years later. Because of the example of these fine young men my life has changed, my perspective of life has changed. I have gained a testimony of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ; I have learned to live according to the commandments of a living God; I love to follow a modern-day prophet and know his words come from God. Now I am responsible to see that the chain does not get broken, an eternal chain that was once started by Jesus Christ himself: “This is my gospel; and ye know the things that ye must do in my church; for the works which ye have seen me do that shall ye also do; for that which ye have seen me do even that shall ye do.” (3 Ne. 27:21.)