Gospel Story Finder

Imagine my surprise when I returned to Cannes in the 1990s with my wife, Kathleen, to find a new Latter-day Saint chapel in Le Cannet, a choice neighborhood on the slopes overlooking Cannes. It accommodated a vibrant and overflowing ward anticipating a split. When the congregation heard the humble story of my time in Cannes, we were cornered by three grandmothers who had joined the Church in the 1960s.
“If the Cannes Branch had not remained open,” they told us, “we would never have known about the Restoration of Christ’s Church! Now we all have grandsons serving in the mission field.”
As we rejoiced together at the happy result of keeping the branch open, a distinguished gentleman joined us who had overheard our conversation.
“I am Brother Paya, and I too joined the Church in Cannes in the 1960s,” he said. “I was the former bishop here, president of the Nice Stake, and a mission president in Spain.”
Later, Brother Paya became president of the Madrid Spain Temple and an Area Seventy. We all wept with joy upon hearing their stories.
What a tender mercy of the Lord for me to learn that our missionary work on the French Riviera was not in vain, as I had supposed for so many years. The Lord carefully oversees our labors and blesses them with success, though we cannot foresee the future outcome as He does.

Several years ago, two Latter-day Saint missionaries visited me in Marshall, Texas. But I politely told them I wasn’t interested. I was afraid that I didn’t know enough about the Bible to be able to judge what they were telling me, and I had a great fear that they would ask me to pray. They left a Book of Mormon with me. But when I opened it and saw names that I had never heard before—such as Lehi, Nephi, and Alma—I immediately closed it, put it on a shelf in the closet, and forgot all about it.
As the years went by, I hardly gave religion or spiritual matters a thought. But one night I became troubled with the way I was living my life. “If there really is a God,” I thought, “I want to know it.” I decided to make an honest effort to find out and felt the best place to start was the scriptures.
I started studying the New Testament and attending a Protestant church. I enjoyed what I learned there, but something bothered me. In Ephesians 4:5 [Eph. 4:5], we read of one Lord, one faith, and one baptism—yet I had friends of various faiths who seemed content with their different beliefs. I wondered how they could all be right. When I mentioned this to them, they just laughed. “It doesn’t matter what you believe,” they said, “as long as you accept Christ as your personal Savior.”
I didn’t feel comfortable with that concept and tried to find the answer in the scriptures. But I wasn’t getting any answers, and I became upset. Why didn’t the Bible just say which church was right? Next I went to the encyclopedia to see if I could find the answer there. If I learned when different churches were organized, I reasoned, maybe that would help. Again, I was disappointed.
Then one day I found the book I had put on the closet shelf years before. And I began to read it. This time I found it interesting—so interesting that I began to tell my friends at work about it. Whether I was at home, at work, or at a movie, I couldn’t get it off my mind.
When I reached the point where I had to know if the book was really of God or of the devil, I considered praying about it but was afraid of being deceived. Then I read the scripture in Moroni 10:4–5 [Moro. 10:4–5]where we’re told to pray about what we have read in the Book of Mormon. I was still afraid the answer might come from Satan, but then a biblical scripture came to mind that alleviated that worry:
“What man is there of you, whom if his son ask bread, will he give him a stone?
“Or if he ask a fish, will he give him a serpent?” (Matt. 7:9–10). I know that the answer that later came was indeed from God.
After having read and studied for a good while, I thought, “I wonder if my minister would like to hear about this book.” I was sure he didn’t know about it because he had never mentioned it. To my surprise, he wasn’t interested. “Clifford,” he said, “evidently you don’t feel as if you’ve ever been saved.” So we knelt in his office and prayed. When we arose from our knees, he looked at me as if to say, “Now everything is okay.”
I said, “I don’t feel any differently now than I did when we knelt.”
“Don’t you believe in the scriptures that say that whosoever shall call on the name of the Lord Jesus Christ shall be saved?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said, “but I can’t help how I feel.” I left, miserable. I felt I had failed because I couldn’t make him understand what I was feeling about the Book of Mormon.
I continued to read and study. Sometimes I’d have to stop. I can’t describe the mental anguish I suffered during those days. I had to know if this book was true. I would go to the Bible, then to the Book of Mormon—back and forth, study and compare.
I decided to talk to my minister again. At one point during the lengthy discussion, I asked him what happens to people who die without ever hearing the gospel of Jesus Christ. He looked me straight in the eye and said, “Clifford, they die and go to hell.” Again, I was very depressed when I left him.
Then one day I remembered that the missionaries who had given me the Book of Mormon had told me that the local Latter-day Saint branch president owned a business in town and that if I ever had any questions, I could go to him. I visited President Murray Conley, asked some questions, and was pleased with his answers.
Later, some members of my church visited me and informed me that I was being misled. The next night, the minister and his wife came to visit. But when I asked him to explain Malachi 4:5–6 [Mal. 4:5–6], he got angry and told me I had been brainwashed by the Mormons and there was nothing more he could do.
One night I read 3 Nephi 14:13–14: “Enter ye in at the strait gate; for wide is the gate, and broad is the way, which leadeth to destruction, and many there be who go in thereat;
“Because strait is the gate, and narrow the way, which leadeth unto life, and few there be that find it.” [3 Ne. 14:13–14]
I got up from my chair and walked outside. Alone in the darkness, I could see myself standing at that narrow scriptural gate, pacing back and forth, afraid to go in. I realized at that moment that I had found the way. The Lord spoke to me that night, not as we speak to one another, but with a still, small voice that said, “What are you going to do about it?”
I went back to tell President Conley I wanted to be baptized. But he was in Salt Lake City. Thinking that only the branch president had the authority to baptize, I left, intending to return a week later.
During that week, Satan placed another stumbling block in my path—more doubts. “Do I have to start all over again?” I wondered. After struggling with my doubts for three days, I started reading a book President Conley had given me—Truth Restored, by President Gordon B. Hinckley. As I did, the Spirit, which had borne witness to me of the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon, also bore witness to me that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was the Lord’s true church.
When President Conley returned from Salt Lake City, I told him I wanted to be baptized. As we drove to Gilmer, Texas, for my baptism on 19 October 1970, I asked him, “Do I understand correctly from what I have read in the scriptures that just because I’m being baptized, I’m not saved, but that I have to endure to the end?”
He said, “That’s exactly right.”
I cried all the way to my baptism. I felt very strongly that the Church was true. After baptism, I felt it ten times more strongly.
Many times after, I wondered, “Why me? Why do I know the truth while many good Christian people don’t?” And a scripture always came to my mind, “Seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you” (Luke 11:9).
Several weeks after I was baptized, I had the privilege of receiving a witness of the Holy Ghost once again, stronger than before. One morning at about 3:00 A.M., I sat up in bed with tears streaming down my face. The Holy Ghost was bearing such a powerful witness to me of the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon and of the Church that I felt like saying, “Please, Lord, no more, no more. I know it’s true.”
I do know with all my heart and soul that the Book of Mormon is true. It led me to the living God, to his Son Jesus Christ, and to his church guided by a living prophet.

A while ago, I was struggling with some decisions about whether to follow the ways of the world, or to follow my beliefs. The more popular decisions weren’t necessarily the ones my parents would have wanted me to choose. At the same time, I wanted to be accepted by my friends. Finally, I decided to pray for help to make the right decision. After pouring my heart out to the Lord, I received the answer, “Read.”

I decided I must have been imagining the answer because reading had nothing to do with my problem. I ignored the prompting and got into bed. After several minutes, I again felt, “Read.” I received this impression several times and ignored it until I finally decided to read for a few minutes. I pulled a book off the shelf and looked at a page.

My mind wandered, and I couldn’t concentrate. Finally, I decided I had been at it long enough. I looked down to close the book and realized that the bookmark I was using had the Young Women theme on it. The phrase “We will stand as witnesses of God at all times, and in all things, and in all places” really stood out.

It was then I realized that no matter what I decided to do, my decision would have to be something Heavenly Father would approve of. Reading the theme was the answer to my prayer. I knew then why I had received the impression to read. I bowed my head in prayer once again to thank Heavenly Father for the answer and to apologize for not listening the first time.

Imad Telhami, an Arab Israeli entrepreneur, created a moral context and pursued the soul of leadership in a remarkable way. Telhami had experienced discrimination and marginalization firsthand in his life, and he had a burning desire to overcome those barriers and help people of all backgrounds grow and progress. In 2008 he started Babcom—Arabic for “your door”—an Israeli company that provides business process outsourcing services for customers in Israel and around the world. He sought to create a company that would employ men and women from every religious and ethnic group in Israel—Muslims, Druze, Christians, Arabs, and secular, religious, and ultrareligious Jews.

Telhami believed he could create effective teams with talented people while helping them work together to overcome barriers rooted in deep-seated cultural, religious, and historical differences. He believed strongly that these people could grow personally and would provide superior service to their customers.16

At the heart of Telhami’s strategy were four values:

Telhami learned that embedding these values into the hearts of his employees required sustained effort in assessing, hiring, training, coaching, mentoring, and building relationships of trust at Babcom.

The evidence over many years proved Telhami correct. At Babcom, people of diverse backgrounds worked well together, grew and progressed beyond their expectations, and provided higher-quality service at a lower cost than their competitors, all while working in a social environment in which anger, resentment, and conflict were prevalent and sometimes dangerous. Indeed, Babcom has lived through five wars since its founding. Babcom’s resilient culture was captured by one employee who said, “Babcom is the safe place.”18

Another commitment to follow the pattern during those college years was to actively be involved in home evening group meetings and activities. I can tell you that habit had a direct positive impact on my life and the lives of my children—literally. It was in my home evening group that I found their dad—my true love. Where would our children be today if I had skipped out on home evening? Because I was following the pattern at that time in my life, I was also prepared to be sealed with him in the House of the Lord.

I used to work at a camp where I helped campers rappel (or abseil) down a 100-foot cliff, a difficult and terrifying task for some. Most of them struggle with it for one reason: they lack trust. When rappelling, you need to trust your partners, the gear, the rope, the belay, and the carabineer. But most importantly, you need to trust yourself—or nothing can be accomplished.
Many people who approach the cliff come with wide eyes and shaking hands. But before they can scramble away in fear, I look at them and say, “Everything will be OK. I know you can do this. And I’m holding you up the whole way.” And when they make it to the ground, everyone cheers and hugs them, celebrating that they were able to conquer their fears.

Whenever I attend a temple dedication, I think of Brother and Sister Gustav and Margarete Wacker of Kingston, Ontario. He was once the branch president of the Kingston Branch. He was from the old country. He spoke English with a thick accent. He never owned or drove a car. He plied the trade of a barber. He made but little money cutting hair near an army base at Kingston. How he loved the missionaries! The highlight of his day would be when he had the privilege to cut the hair of a missionary. Never would there be a charge. When they would make a feeble attempt to pay him, he would say, “Oh, no; it is a joy to cut the hair of a servant of the Lord.” Indeed, he would reach deep into his pockets and give the missionaries all of his tips for the day. If it were raining, as it often does in Kingston, President Wacker would call a taxi and send the missionaries to their apartment by cab, while he, himself, at day’s end would lock the small shop and walk home—alone in the driving rain.

I first met Gustav Wacker when I noticed that his tithing was far in excess of that expected from his potential income. My efforts to explain to him that the Lord required no more than a tenth fell on attentive but unconvinced ears. He simply responded that he loved to pay all he could to the Lord. It amounted to about a third of his income. His dear wife felt exactly as he did. Their unique manner of tithing payment continued.

Gustav and Margarete Wacker established a home that was a heaven. They were not blessed with children but mothered and fathered their many Church visitors. A sophisticated and learned Church leader from Ottawa told me, “I like to visit the Wacker home. I come away refreshed in spirit and determined to ever live close to the Lord.”

Did our Heavenly Father honor such abiding faith? The branch prospered. The membership outgrew the rented Slovakian Hall where they met and moved into a modern and lovely chapel of their own to which the branch members had contributed their share and more, that it might grace the city of Kingston. President and Sister Wacker had their prayers answered by serving a proselyting mission to their native Germany and later a temple mission to that beautiful temple in Washington, D.C. Then, in 1983, his mission in mortality concluded, Gustav Wacker peacefully passed away while being held in the loving arms of his eternal companion, dressed in his white temple suit, there in the Washington Temple.

Several years ago, I was asked to visit with a man who came to Church headquarters to visit with a General Authority. The story he related was sad and tragic. When he was a young boy, he was sexually abused by an older man. This experience spawned in him a desire for additional experiences. He had followed the temptation of an escalating desire for sexual sin. Now more than thirty years later, he described himself as being in the "bonds of iniquity," and "bound by the chains of hell," as described by Alma.

In total self-disgust, he declared that he must either stop his sinful behavior or end his life. I knew that he meant what he said. I could see it in his eyes and hear it in his voice. I knew that if he did not feel hope that he might someday soon take his own life.

He had come to believe that he could not cease his sick and senseless behavior.

His days were consumed with bad thoughts and immoral experiences. He claimed he had lost his willpower and that he was addicted to sin and could not change. He had tried many times but felt himself powerless against the forces which he had willingly chosen earlier in his life.

I sensed that, along with the professional advice I might offer him, more than anything else he needed the knowledge and hope that comes from understanding the Savior and His power to help even the most discouraged person.

We talked of the power of the atonement. ". . . the Son of God suffereth according to the flesh that he might take upon him the sins of his people, that he might blot out their transgressions according to the power of his deliverance. . ., " (Alma 7:13) and ". . . that he has all power to save every man that believeth in his name and bringeth forth fruit meet for repentance. . . ." (Alma 12:15).

We reviewed the experience of Alma and his followers who were taken into bondage by the Lamanites and were delivered miraculously from their power. This experience was used as an example many times for how others were and can be delivered from their bondage, including spiritual bondage -- the bondage of sin, if you will.

Alma said, "But behold, he did deliver them because they did humble themselves before him; and because they cried mightily unto him he did deliver them out of bondage; and thus doth the Lord work with his power in all cases among the children of men, extending the arm of mercy towards them that put their trust in him" (Mosiah 29:20).

I challenged his beliefs that he no longer had the will power to choose the right and that he must now succumb to temptation. To illustrate, I asked him what he would do if someone he respected entered the room during one of his immoral episodes. After only a brief moment as he thought about my question, he indicated that he indeed would stop immediately if this were to occur.

As we talked about this, he realized that he did have the power and agency to make the right choices, but his desire to do so was greatly lacking because of his continual sin. Individuals suffering even from the strongest addictions still have the agency and power to choose righteousness, however, their desires increasingly diminish with a continuation of sin.

Every act of disobedience takes away light and truth and gives Satan more power over us. "And that wicked one cometh and taketh away light and truth, through disobedience. . . ."(Doctrine and Covenants 93:39).

While this man had much more to do to repent and straighten out his life, he at least gained hope and a better understanding of God's power to help him and his own ability to begin to make the right choices. Understanding this truth gave him hope. It empowered him with the hope of change, even though the road ahead was still very difficult.

These funny boys are serious about choosing the right and serving others. When their grandpa had cancer, they not only prayed for his recovery but also rolled up their sleeves and took care of his garden. They grew corn, cucumbers, broccoli, chili peppers, onions, peas, tomatoes, beets, some odd-looking carrots, and three pumpkins destined to become jack-o’-lanterns. The eggplants died, but nobody minded much, because Grandpa lived.
He has promised the boys that as each of them receives his mission call, he will buy them a 10-foot submarine sandwich to share. Now they can’t see a pickle or a slice of bologna without thinking of missionary work. They are already earning money for their missions by delivering flyers. By the time Dexter and Quinlan leave, their younger brothers, Heath (1) and Bailey (3 months) will be old enough to take over the flyer deliveries.

I became a member of the Church in 1997 through my elder brother, Francis Marveh, who received the gospel in Freetown through his friend. Through the callings I have had, I was motivated to serve a full-time mission. Though I thought it was to be a place of laxity and comfort, I realized it was entirely the opposite. I had a lot to learn and to experience, and I clearly understood what it was. I served diligently as a senior companion, trainer, district leader, and a zone leader. I am grateful to be a returned missionary, still serving in the Church as a leader in my ward. I am married and sealed to my beautiful and supportive wife, Isatu Fatima Marveh, and we are truly blessed. I know that perseverance strengthens our weaknesses if only we rely on our Saviour and Redeemer of the world, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen. —Josephus Salia Marveh, Njagboima Ward, Bo-Sierra Leone West Stake

One day I was moved by a hymn I heard. I learned the hymn in my own language, Portuguese, and as I struggled to translate it into English, I remembered that my Latter-day Saint neighbor, Jesuina, often received American missionaries in her home. I asked her if the missionaries could translate it for me. The next day they left a translation with a short note that read, “It was a pleasure to be able to help you. One day we would like to meet you.”
When I met the missionaries a week later, they invited me to visit their church. But I did not like Mormons. Members of my family and leaders of other churches I had investigated criticized them, calling them a dangerous sect. They made many absurd criticisms that I believed to be true. One rainy Sunday shortly thereafter, however, I awoke with a great desire to visit their church—to repay them for their kindness but also out of curiosity. During the first meeting, people went to the pulpit and testified they knew that the Church and the Book of Mormon were true and that Joseph Smith was a prophet of God. Somewhat disturbed, I left the meeting and went to Sunday School.
When the teacher mentioned scriptures or stories from the Bible, I was eager to participate. But when she spoke about the Book of Mormon, I remained quiet and pensive. Why another book if we already had the Bible? Before I left, the teacher thanked me for my participation and then surprised me by giving me her copy of the Book of Mormon.
When I returned home, I went to my room, knelt on the floor, and began a sincere conversation with Heavenly Father. I told Him that I felt something special about the Mormon Church but that I didn’t want the adversary to delude me. I prayed that He would help resolve my confusion and show me which church was true.
Afterward I felt a great desire to read the Book of Mormon. I prayed again for strength and direction. During my prayer, I felt a strong and good feeling—an interior warmth. I knew I was not alone at that moment. A thought came instantly into my head: “Read the book!”
I opened it and began reading. Before I had finished the introduction, tears began running down my face as the Lord revealed to me the mystery of the Native Americans. The Book of Mormon seemed prepared especially to respond to my concerns. I felt great joy to have my questions answered. It was as though the ancient Americans had spoken from their graves to tell me about their lives and to testify that they also knew Jesus and that He had suffered for them as well.
Amazed with my discovery, I sought out the missionaries and listened to their lessons. On Easter Sunday, March 31, 1991, I descended into the waters of baptism—the best decision I had ever made.
I feel immensely grateful to Heavenly Father for His mercy and great wisdom. I know that He is just, that He has not forgotten any of His children, and that He is eager to reveal His plan to all humankind. I know that the Book of Mormon is a sacred book. It is true.

I learned recently of loving service given to a mother when her children were very young. Frequently she would be up in the middle of the night tending to the needs of her little ones, as mothers do. Often her friend and neighbor across the street would come over the next day and say, “I saw your lights on in the middle of the night and know you were up with the children. I’m going to take them to my house for a couple of hours while you take a nap.”

Said this grateful mother: “I was so thankful for her welcome offer, it wasn’t until this had happened many times that I realized if she had seen my lights on in the middle of the night, she was up with one of her children as well and needed a nap just as much as I did. She taught me a great lesson, and I’ve since tried to be as observant as she was in looking for opportunities to serve others.”

I have a brother who was associated with a large university. He told of a student athlete who was an outstanding hurdler. The young man was blind. Rex asked him, “Don’t you ever fall?” “I have to be exact,” the athlete responded. “I measure each time before I jump. One time I didn’t, and I nearly killed myself.” The young man then spoke of the countless hours his father had devoted over the years teaching, helping, and showing him how to hurdle until he became one of the best.
How could this young man fail with a team like that—a father and a son.

In the spring of 1978 I opened my own typesetting business in Denmark. Suddenly my earnings doubled what they had been when I worked for someone else. I made a budget and kept careful books and tax records. Then I got the idea of opening a tithing bank account. It was actually a savings account, but I called it my tithing account and thought it to be a tremendously good idea. After just a few months, I was shocked to see how much money my tithing account contained.
“Someday I’ll make a check out for the whole amount and give it to my bishop,” I thought. But the more the account grew, the harder it became to make out the check. Besides, it became fun to add up the figures.
After six months with lots of work and lots of money, orders suddenly stopped coming in. As day after day passed with no new orders, I began to worry as my savings grew low. “Well,” I consoled myself, “you can always borrow from your tithing account should this continue much longer.”
When I told my mother my idea, she immediately said, “You don’t touch the money you owe to the Lord!” My mother was a strong-willed woman, and even as an adult I felt rebellious if I didn’t obey her. She continued, “The sooner you get your tithing money to the bishop, the better. Make out a check today for the full amount and take it to him.”
I explained that my rent, car payment, taxes, and utility payments were all due and the only money I had was in my tithing account. “Never mind,” my mother said, “You had better pay the bishop today.”
Even though I didn’t like it, I knew she was right. So I went straight to the bank. Never have I been so tempted in all my life than I was that day to make the check out for cash to myself, but I prayed to the Lord to make me strong.
Still, I felt so heavy when I handed the check to the bishop. How could I save my business and my home without money coming in? My mother said, “Your oldest daughter is old enough to fast with us. Let us pray and fast together for twenty-four hours.” And so we did. After the fast, three days passed and nothing happened. “Let’s repeat the fast,” my mother said. Again we fasted, and the very next day the mailman knocked at my door with an order from a brand-new customer—a big order that would keep me busy every day for the next month. Tears came to our eyes, and my mother, two daughters, and I bent our knees to thank the Lord for his mercy.

When I was about 14 or 15, I had a hard time believing the Church was true, even though I’d been a member all my life. Although my firm testimony of the Church didn’t come until later, here is how I decided that the Church was good and that I should keep going.
One day I prayed about whether or not the Church was true. I was expecting some great experience like hearing a voice or feeling a physical sensation in my body or something similar to assure me it was. Nothing came. I struggled greatly with this.
Then one Sunday, I was at church and started thinking about all of the great people I knew in the Church. I thought about how I felt when I was at church—a peaceful feeling, like I was at ease. I felt the Spirit during this meeting when I was thinking about these things.
This is when my first little bit of testimony started, and I knew that the Church was a good thing and that I should keep going. As I continued going to church, I started forming an even stronger testimony, little by little.

For a second profile, I turn from Mexico to a missionary at the Missionary Training Center in Provo, Utah, desperately struggling to become proficient in the German language, that he might be an effective missionary to the people of southern Germany. Each day as he opened his German grammar text, he noticed with interest and curiosity that the front cover displayed the picture of a most quaint and ancient house in Rothenburg, Germany. Beneath the picture, the location was given. In his heart that young man determined, “I’ll visit that house and teach the truth to whoever lives within it.” This he did. The result was the conversion and baptism of Sister Helma Hahn. She devoted much of her time speaking to tourists who came from all over the world to see her house. She delighted in telling them of the blessings that the gospel of Jesus Christ had brought to her. Her house was perhaps one of the most frequently photographed houses in the entire world. No visitor left without hearing in simple yet earnest words her testimony of praise and gratitude. That missionary who brought to Sister Hahn the gospel remembered the sacred charge: “Go ye therefore, and teach all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost” (Matt. 28:19).

About a year after the death of our baby, we moved and I was assigned to minister to a young couple with two children. The older daughter had contracted an infection while in the womb and was born with a severe mental disability. Although she was nine years old at the time, she was like an infant developmentally. It was a struggle for the young family, who had limited means.
One day I received a phone call telling me she had died during the night. No member of the bishopric was available to visit just then, so I was asked to visit until they could get there. I arrived as her body was being removed, and I had a chance to talk with the father. The wife’s ministering sister arrived and did an amazing job comforting the family and taking care of the home.
I went with the father to the funeral home to make the arrangements. I suppose I was able to render some service because of my prior experiences. I don’t consider myself a great ministering brother, but I was glad I wasn’t a stranger in that home.

Lucy T., 15, from Utah, USA, says, “In my Young Women class, we were challenged to write a note to one of the widows in our ward. I decided to drop a note off at a widow’s house that I pass on the way to piano lessons. This woman loved the note so much that I decided to leave her a note every week. I also started visiting her in person. She tells me hilarious and inspiring stories and sends me cards every holiday. I’ve made a fabulous new friend.”

Nate was walking home from school on Monday. He saw something shiny. It was a yellow truck in a sandbox. Yellow was his favorite color! He put the truck in his pocket.
At home, Nate took out the truck to play. But when he looked at it, he didn’t feel so good.
On Tuesday, Nate passed the sandbox again. This time he saw an orange truck.
This will go great with the yellow truck, Nate thought. He put it in his pocket. But when Nate got home, he felt bad inside.
The same thing happened Wednesday, when Nate took a purple truck.
On Thursday he took a green truck.
Each time he took a truck, Nate felt worse. But he still wanted to collect more.
On Friday, as Nate reached to grab a white truck from the sandbox, he heard a voice above him.
“I see you like trucks.”
Nate jumped back. A woman was smiling at him.
“My son, Cayden, is about your age,” the woman said. “He has been losing a lot of trucks lately. Do you know where they are?”
Nate gulped. He knew he was in trouble. But he also knew that telling the truth was the right thing.
“I have them at my house,” Nate said. “I’ll go get them!”
Nate ran home. He told Mom what had happened. They said a prayer. Nate told Heavenly Father he was sorry. He asked for the bad feelings to go away. Then they took the trucks back to the sandbox.
“Sorry I took your trucks,” Nate said to Cayden.
“Thanks for bringing them back,” Cayden said. “Want to play?”
Nate smiled and nodded. Playing with trucks had never been so fun. And next week, he would make better choices!

The fourteen-month-old son of a doctor became very ill. During the course of his treatment many consultants were brought in, but their contributions resulted only in a symptomatic approach to the disease. The result was that the child’s condition steadily worsened. His temperature was 104 degrees and the family had entirely given up hope for his recovery; his death was expected momentarily. At this point, a number of miraculous things happened. On their own and without a previous appointment, the bishop and his counselors came to visit the family. At the request of the family, they administered to the child. Almost immediately following the blessing, an intern, who was a friend of the family, stepped into the room and said, “Why not give him a transfusion?” The intern was a universal blood donor, and blood was taken from him immediately and given to the child. The child’s temperature dropped from 104 degrees to normal and remained at normal throughout his hospital stay. This is a case where medical aid had essentially failed; and on the basis of what medicine could offer, the child’s life had been despaired. The priesthood came into the picture, and the administration was followed by additional medical steps that previously had not been projected. The child’s life was saved. Today he has matured and has a lovely wife and family.