Gospel Story Finder

Early in my training as a physician, I had the privilege of helping a young mother deliver her first child. She was calm, focused, and happy. When the baby was delivered, I handed the precious newborn to her. With tears of happiness streaming down her face, she took that brand-new baby into her arms and examined him from head to toe. She held him close and loved him as only a mother can. It was a privilege to be in that room with her.

We had a recent experience with a missionary in a missionary conference, and I think it can tie in well to the attitude and strength of President Tanner. We had approximately seventy-five missionaries for this meeting. We took the time to give opportunity for testimony bearing. I remember only one testimony very well. One young man stood up among his peers, grabbed hold of the front of the pew—I thought he was going to pull it out, he was so nervous—cleared his throat, and said, “I almost didn’t come on a mission. One night I said to my dad, ‘I don’t know about this Joseph Smith business. I’m not even sure about this Spencer W. Kimball. I’m not even sure I want to go.’” We all turned around and looked at him, wondering what was going to happen next. He said, “When I said that to my father, my father got up from where he was seated. He turned on the light. He walked over and turned off the television. He smashed out his cigarette. He put down his can of beer, and he said, “Son, you know I don’t do much about this church. You know I’m inactive, but I want you to know that I know Joseph Smith’s a prophet of God, and I know that Spencer W. Kimball is a prophet.’”

The elder said, “I love my dad. His comments made me want to go on a mission more than ever because I knew my dad would never be able to go and I had double duty to do. I’ve got to do a mission for myself and one for my dad.” How easy it would have been for him to say, “What chance do I have?” with a father who was completely inactive! I think of President N. Eldon Tanner when I think of that kind of a situation, of how many boys and girls he has helped to straighten their priorities and thinking so that family conditions and environment do not diver their ways.

When asked if his friends invite him to parties, David just laughs and says, “They know not to invite me. They know I’m not going to come.” He wouldn’t even consider going and just not drinking. “I wouldn’t want to be in a situation where I could be tempted,” he says. “I’d just rather not be there at all.”
During David’s last couple of years at school, his classmates went to a lot of parties and pubs, and it was hard for him to feel left out. Once, he was really tempted to attend a certain party. But then he had a lesson in his priests quorum about staying away from bad situations. He felt it was an answer to prayer and decided not to go to the party.

Dr. MacFarland also told about a World War II veteran who had heard him speak. This veteran sat down at his kitchen table and wrote a longhand letter to Dr. MacFarland. He wrote, “My wife and I don’t have much. I doubt we will ever have enough money to travel outside of Arizona. I was a soldier in World War II and was taken prisoner. For two years we didn’t hear one bit of news as to how the war was going. In all those months I never lost faith,” he said, “and then one morning I saw the American flag and a band of soldiers coming over the hill. I don’t know if anyone can understand the love I felt for my country that day, and have all of my life. I felt the same way the other night when I heard you talk.” Then he wrote, “Dr. MacFarland, you’re quite a guy. You just stay in there laying them on the landing deck.”

Not too long ago, I received a letter from the office of the Council of the Twelve authorizing me to interview a man to determine whether he was worthy to receive a restoration of blessings. Attached to that assignment letter were two pages of information about this individual. In reading these pages, I learned, among other things, that the man was a former Melchizedek Priesthood holder; that he had received his temple endowment years before; and that he had once been sealed to his wife and family. Moreover, I learned that the man had transgressed seriously several years ago and that, because of his transgressions, he had been excommunicated from the Church. Such excommunication resulted in his loss of membership, baptism, gift of the Holy Ghost, holy priesthood, endowment, and temple sealing. All of these sacred privileges and blessings had either been cancelled or withdrawn.

On the appointed day and hour, I met with the man. With him was his lovely wife. Once the greetings and niceties had been exchanged, I invited my friend to tell me his story. He told me of his conversion and of his varied activities in the Church. He told me about his first wife, his first marriage, and the subsequent birth of three children. He also told me of his love for his family and his desire to provide them with security and with the luxuries of life. Then, with some display of emotion, he told me how his strong urge to gather these material things had caused him to neglect his wife and children. In time serious problems had developed between the man and his mate, and she had asked for a divorce.

The divorce was obtained. Feeling that his world had collapsed around him, the man lost all interest in life. He therefore sold his business, moved to a new location, and began to live after the way of the world. He drowned himself in drink, he turned to the use of tobacco, and he became heavily involved in sex. One affair led to another. Each nefarious incident caused him to sink deeper and deeper into the mire of sin.

Then he met a woman who was different. She had principles and standards and lived accordingly. He courted her for a brief time, and they were married.

A month or so after their marriage, the wife startled her husband by asking, “Why is it that I catch glimpses of goodness and greatness in you and then they’re gone?” She added, “Sometimes I feel as if I’m married to only half a man.” The husband was moved by what his wife had said and replied, “I suppose it is time I leveled with you. I am a Mormon—a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.” He then explained to his wife what that Church membership had once meant to him. He spoke also of the basic principles and ordinances of the gospel. He described the priesthood and his temple marriage and sealing to his former companion.

When the explanations were over, the wife was crying. She told her husband that she had never heard anything quite so beautiful. She asked, “How can we bring those blessings back into your life so that they will remain?” He told her he would need to seek out a bishop, confess his sins, submit to court proceedings, and undergo a rather lengthy period of repentance. The woman said, “Whatever the price, we will pay it. And we will begin right now.”

As the man had predicted, once a bishop had been located, a court was held, and he was stripped of all of his blessings. But as this good woman had committed, they climbed together the long path back. They had struggled for four years before he was rebaptized and finally given the gift of the Holy Ghost.

At the conclusion of this successful interview, I restored the man’s blessings, including the priesthood, an office within that priesthood, the temple endowment, and the temple sealing. As soon as I had pronounced the “Amen,” the woman rushed into her husband’s arms and declared, “Now I have a complete man—a whole man!”

Recently I visited with the family of a young mother who died while giving birth to her fifth child. I expected anguish but found hope and determination. Her husband cherished the time they had together. Their children understood the plan of salvation and knew they could be with their mother again, forever. She had never been too busy for those most dear to her. At her young age, this sister had served as a Relief Society president, always putting her marriage and family first.
As I visited with the mother of the deceased woman, she remarked that her highest priority was to raise her daughters to be righteous women. Even though her daughter’s life was cut short, this daughter created a tapestry of righteous gospel living in her home.

Joseph was most sad and lonely when he was separated from his family for any length of time. How distressed he must have been to so frequently have to hide or live in seclusion for fear mobocrats would take his life. On one occasion, his friends were transferring him to another hiding place when Joseph insisted that they drive past his home. Upon seeing that there were no enemies nearby, Joseph rushed into the house, knelt beside the beds of his children, and uttered a brief prayer for them. He kissed each child and his beloved Emma, then rushed out the door on his way to a new hiding place (E. Cecil McGavin, The Family of Joseph Smith, Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1963, page 138).

When I was a Mia Maid, I noticed a less-active girl in the same class as I was. I sometimes saw her at school in the hallways, at Mutual activities, church, and even at girls’ camp. It seemed no matter how often I would see her, she looked unhappy. I knelt down one night and prayed for the strength to somehow help her.

I remembered that I had once been in the same phase. I would smile with those closest to me, but on my way down the halls of the high school, I would be unaware of the frown on my face. One day a girl in school, who was walking past me, said, “Hi, Sara!” This made all the difference. Now I could greet people in the same manner and felt the desire to always speak to the girl who had helped me. Pondering this gave me a sudden thought. What if I said a pleasant word to the girl in Mia Maids?
The next day, I told myself I would greet her with a friendly “Hello!” But something inside held me back. So I passed her by and said nothing. As the days stretched on, the desire to help her increased. I knew I had to say something to her, and I wanted to do it soon.
I prayed several times in the early morning to gain the courage I needed. As I saw her walking down the hallway one day, I knew I had to act fast! I was afraid if I didn’t say something now, I would not be able to later. With a turn of my head, I faced her and said, “Hi!”
The instant results surprised me. Her face immediately lit up like a candle. I decided that from then on, I would make an honest effort to say kind words to her. Months went by, and I found she became one of my best friends.
I know that Heavenly Father was sending me a message the day I got the courage to go up and say “Hi!” We need to reach out to others and forget ourselves. We can pause for a moment to offer a kind word. We can ask, “How can I help someone smile today?” Heavenly Father will help. Don’t be afraid to ask. He will guide you and direct you in the path you should go.

I can’t take it any more!” Mindy said in desperation. Her 11-year-old sister Carrie looked up at her. Carrie stopped playing the guitar.
“I’m not a bad sister,” Mindy continued. “I don’t tell on you when you leave the bathroom messy. I help you with spelling. Carrie, I can’t take that racket any more. Have some mercy.”
Carrie didn’t have to say anything. It was always the same. She got up, carrying her guitar. Fifteen-year-old Mindy heaved a sigh of relief as soon as Carrie had left.
“Hey Carrie,” her 16-year-old brother Mark said, as they passed in the hall. “Off to the basement again?”
Carrie moved by quickly. None of her brothers and sisters could put up with her guitar playing. She was still learning and a very slow learner at that. She always ended up in the basement where no one could hear her.
“Taken a sudden interest in food storage?” her mother asked when she saw Carrie open the door to the basement.
“No,” she said glumly, “I’m going to practice.”
“In the basement?”
Carrie sighed. “Mindy kicked me out of our room. I drive her nuts. Same with Mark, Sarah, and Paul.”
“Come into the kitchen and practice there. I’d love to hear you.”
“I sound horrible.”
“No you don’t. Come on. I’d welcome the company.”
Carrie followed her mother to the kitchen and settled herself on a chair.
“Protect your ears,” Carrie warned.
“I love all music, Carrie,” her mother said.
“This isn’t even music. I play the same stuff over and over again,” Carrie complained. “How come you like music so much?”
“When I was eight I had scarlet fever. I almost died. I couldn’t do anything except lie in bed. I was really scared. Mom would sing hymns while she did the housework. It was her way of letting me know she was there.” She paused long enough to turn the oven on. “Dad bought me a music box. It played ‘Star Dust.’ I played it so much the music box finally broke. I remember not feeling so scared when the music was playing.”
“That’s why you sing so much?”
“And why I want you to play the guitar. Don’t get discouraged. You might be a little slower than your brothers and sisters, but you’ll catch on. The guitar isn’t that easy,” her mother smiled.
“I hate being the baby. Everyone is better than me.”
“They’ve had more time.”
“It ain’t fair!”
“Isn’t fair,” her mother corrected.
“That too,” Carrie huffed. Her mother kissed her forehead.
Later that evening Mindy, Sarah, Mark, and Paul met in the room shared by Mark and Paul. Paul was 17. Sarah was 19, a freshman in college.
“So what’s the deal?” Mindy asked. She then blew a bubble with the gum she was chewing. Mark tried to pop it, but Mindy dodged his finger.
“Mom’s birthday is coming up,” Sarah said.
“It’s over two months away,” Mindy said.
“I thought this should be a really special birthday.”
Carrie came in and sat down on the bed next to Paul. “What’s up?” she asked.
“I think we should give Mom the best birthday ever. I work at the bookstore, Paul at the grocery, Mark as a handyman, and Mindy does a lot of babysitting. I think our presents should be really special. She wants a crock pot.”
“We are talking money here,” Mark said, raising his eyebrows.
“Why not?” Sarah asked.
“What about me?” Carrie chimed in.
“You really don’t make that much from weeding Mr. Duran’s garden,” Sarah said slowly. “Mom will like anything you get her. Don’t worry.” She turned her attention back to the others. “Anyway, what do you say?”
“The best presents money can buy?” Mark said hesitantly.
“Sure,” Mindy piped up. “A birthday she’ll never forget.”
“I’ll just keep telling myself, ‘Honor thy mother and father.’” Paul said.
“It won’t take much of your savings,” Sarah said.
“No,” Mark said, “Mom will see how much she means to us. It might help me budget my finances a little better.”
“Exactly! Now you’re getting the spirit.”
“How about if Mark and I go together on one?” Mindy said. “I bet Mom would like a set of gold leaf scriptures. That is way too steep for my babysitting money.”
“Hey yeah!” Mark said. “I could give her the Bible, and you could give her a triple combination.”
“Sounds good,” Sarah said. “I’m going to try a stab at the crock pot. I need to learn to budget my money too,” she said, echoing Mark’s statement.
“Guess that leaves me,” Paul said. “Any suggestions?”
“I have a few,” Mindy answered, “but not for presents.”
“Mom wants to finish her four-generation sheet,” Carrie said.
“Not that kind of present. Something you can buy,” Sarah expounded.
“Oh,” Carrie mumbled.
“Maybe an antique vase. I was waiting for Fred in his father’s antique store, and I noticed a lot of nice things. I’m sure Fred’s dad would hold something for me while I paid it off. I’m certain I could find something small.” Paul paused. “In size, not price.”
“I can’t think of anything,” Carrie said.
“Mom will like anything you get her, Carrie,” Mindy said. Carrie didn’t care for the way Mindy said anything. Carrie left.
“She’s still at that age when anything is fine,” Paul remarked.
“I’ll show them,” Carrie mumbled. “I’ll buy Mom the biggest, most expensive present.” She went to the bureau in the bedroom she shared with Mindy. She kept her money in the top drawer. She dumped the jar of money on her bed. There were quite a few coins to count. She came up with $4.87. She took some money out of her back pocket. Mr. Duran had paid her that day for the weeding she had done. She had $1.50. After removing the 15 cents for tithing, she added it to the rest. It didn’t seem like very much.
She approached her father. “Is there anything I can do around the house to earn money,” she asked, “like cut the grass?”
“That’s Mark’s job. Anyway you need a little more height for that job.”
“Wash the car?”
“You can do that,” he nodded. “Going into business for yourself?”
“I just need a little extra money.”
“May I ask why?”
Carrie was uncomfortable with the question. “I’m saving for something for someone.”
“Not blackmail,” her father said kidding.
“No.” Carrie hadn’t realized it was a joke.
Her father cracked a smile. “Well, as long as it isn’t blackmail, you can wash the car. Since I’m only paying for labor, two dollars. The soap and water are mine. Sound fair?”
“Yeah, fine.” Carrie set to work. Not only did she wash it, but she vacuumed as well.
“Well, well,” her father said, “If no unclean thing may enter into the kingdom of heaven this car will have no trouble. This is a three-dollar job. Nicely done, Carrie.”
“Dad, what are you getting Mom for her birthday?”
“So that’s what this sudden desire to become Midas is all about. To answer your question, I don’t know.”
“Everyone has more money.”
“It’s not the price of the gift but the thought and love that go into it. I could buy your mother perfume. She’d smile and thank me. On the other hand, I could get her a beat-up old Beethoven music book. That would mean more to her. I would be showing her that I know what she holds dear. So when you buy a gift, it should be with a lot of love.”
“But everything costs money.”
“True. I just don’t want you to try to outdo your brothers and sisters. They have jobs,” he counseled.
“I know.”
“Nice job on the car. Thank you.”
Carrie smiled. She had listened to her father. She still wanted to get her mother a nice gift. She really wanted to show her brothers and sisters.
Carrie began working. She did a lot of work around the house. She went around to the neighbors, and they gave her small jobs to do.
The days passed. The money in the jar increased. Carrie sat on her bed, wondering what to buy her mother. The sound of Mindy playing the piano drifted her way. She heard her mother humming along as she put the laundry away. Carrie looked over at her guitar. She sighed. She and the guitar went to the basement.
Sarah went to get the crock pot. Carrie tagged along to get some ideas for a gift. There was a month until her mother’s birthday. Carrie looked at hats, perfume, records, books, clocks, everything. She knew none of them were right.
She began saying a silent prayer. “This might sound silly, Father, but I need some help. I want to find a nice gift for my mom. Could you help me find one? I know you know what she likes best. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
By the time Sarah found her, Carrie had found a gift for her mother. Sarah asked what it was, but Carrie would not tell her.
Mindy baked a cake. Sarah and Carrie made a special birthday dinner. After dinner the presents were opened.
“My word,” their mother said as she opened the gifts. “The cost.”
“We wanted to get you something really special,” Mindy said.
“But so expensive.”
Their mother gingerly fingered the new set of scriptures. Carefully she turned the pages. Her eyes moved to the vase and crock pot. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Where’s your gift, Carrie?” Paul asked.
“We saw you hoarding all that money,” Mindy said.
Carrie swallowed. “My gift only cost 58 cents, and it’s been used,” she said slowly. They all exchanged looks of puzzlement. Carrie brought out her guitar. She sat down and placed the music to “Star Dust” in front of her. She played carefully. It had been the only piece of music she had played for a month. She had practiced hours every day. With a lot of help and encouragement from her guitar teacher she had learned it pretty well.
The music was yellowed with age. There were spots on the sheets where things had been spilled. No one knew Carrie could sing until then. Her voice was soft and clear. As Carrie sang, her mother mouthed the words. Tears welled up in her eyes. Everyone was watching Carrie.
As the song ended, Carrie looked up doubtfully. She had expected criticism, but all she heard was her mother’s trembling voice saying, “Again, Carrie. Sing it once more.”

Ashley and Sara gazed at the display case. The light seemed to dance on the silver, heart-shaped locket. “It sparkles like a star,” Sara said as she admired the treasure.
“When I get my allowance on Saturday, I’ll finally have enough money to buy it,” Ashley said, not taking her eyes off the locket. She had been saving her allowance all summer to buy it.
The bell hanging on the door of the shop jangled as the two girls left to begin their walk home. As they walked, Ashley’s mind was still on the locket. “I can’t wait to wear it to church next Sunday!”
“It’s the most beautiful locket I’ve ever seen,” Sara added, wishing deep down that she had seen it first. Her mind wandered to that hot June afternoon when they had ridden their bikes downtown. They’d gone inside the shop to cool off. As the cool breeze of the air conditioner gently washed over them, they looked at hair ribbons and jewelry. Sara was looking at some gold earrings on a counter display when Ashley spotted the locket in the display case below.
“Look at that!” she said in an almost-whisper, as if she did not want anyone else to hear her. “It’s beautiful! I just have to buy it! I’ll have to save up, of course, but I just have to have that locket.”
Why didn’t I see it first? Sara thought angrily. I love that locket! Now I can’t buy it because Ashley wants it. I even have enough money to buy it now! She hoped that Ashley would forget about the locket and she could buy it herself, but Ashley hadn’t.
The blaring horn of a passing car jerked Sara’s thoughts back into the present. Now I’ll never have the locket, she told herself.
Saturday morning, Ashley anxiously waited for her allowance. “Thanks, Mom. Is it all right if I go downtown to buy my necklace now?”
“Why don’t you wait a few minutes and let me drive you? I need to run a few errands anyway.”
“That would be great! I can hardly wait!”
They arrived at the shop and hurried inside. Ashley ran to the display case and searched the shelf. “It’s not here!”
“Don’t panic,” Mom said calmly. “Let’s ask the clerk if she knows anything about it.”
A friendly lady greeted them, “How may I help you ladies?”
“Could you please tell us what happened to the silver heart-shaped locket that used to be in this display case?” Mom asked.
“I’m sorry—it was sold yesterday. Is there anything else I can help you with?”
“No, thank you very much.” Mom gently guided Ashley toward the door.
Ashley didn’t say anything on the ride home. She just stared out the car window. My locket is gone! It isn’t fair!It just isn’t fair!
On Sunday, Ashley stood in front of the mirror in her bedroom. She wore her favorite dress—the bright green one—but it didn’t cheer her up. She gazed into the mirror and imagined how pretty the locket would have looked with it.
At church she looked for Sara. She wanted to tell her how sad she was about the locket. Finally she saw Sara in the corner talking excitedly with some girls in their class. As she joined them, Ashley saw the locket—her locket—around Sara’s neck. “How could you?” she cried. “You stole my locket!”
“It wasn’t your locket,” Sara snapped back. “And I didn’t steal it.”
“But you knew that I wanted it.”
“Well, I wanted it, too, and I had enough money to buy it, so I did!”
“I’ll never forgive you for this, Sara,” Ashley cried. All through Primary she glared at Sara, who just sat quietly and stared at the floor.
After church, Ashley stormed into the house, ran to her bedroom, and slammed the door. Soon Mom knocked on the door. “Ashley, Sara’s here to see you.”
“Tell her to go away! I never want to see her again!”
“She seems really upset. I think that you ought to talk with her.”
Ashley slowly walked to the front door, where Sara stood waiting on the porch. “What do you want?”
“I came to apologize. I’m sorry that I bought the locket that you wanted. It’s just so pretty! But I want you to have it. You don’t even have to buy it from me.” The necklace sparkled in the sunlight as Sara held it in her outstretched hand. “I’m really sorry. Can you forgive me?”
“No, I can’t. And I don’t want the locket now. It’s ruined—you’ve worn it!” Ashley slammed the door in Sara’s face, then stomped back to her bedroom. I’ll never forgive her for this, she told herself. Never!
Soon Mom appeared in the doorway. “What happened?”
Ashley told her how Sara had known that she had been saving up to buy the locket and had bought it, anyway. “She came here to apologize, but she’s too late!”
“So you won’t forgive her?”
Ashley shook her head.
“I think Sara is very sorry,” Mom said. “Don’t you think you should try?”
“I don’t care if she’s sorry. She knew it was wrong, but she did it anyway.”
“Ashley, how would you feel if Heavenly Father wouldn’t forgive you for the things that you’ve done wrong?”
Ashley was quiet for a minute. “I would feel terrible,” she answered softly.
“Would you want Him to tell you that you couldn’t be forgiven because you knew that what you did was wrong but did it anyway?”
“No.”
“The Savior said that in order for Heavenly Father to forgive us for our mistakes, we must forgive other people.” Mom patted her on the shoulder and left her.
Kneeling by her bed, Ashley began to pray. “Heavenly Father, please help me to forgive Sara. …”
At recess the next day, Ashley found Sara sitting on the swings alone. “Hi, Sara,” she said timidly. Sara just stared at the ground and drew circles in the dirt with her foot.
“Please let me talk to you,” Ashley pleaded.
“OK,” Sara said at last.
“I’m sorry that I didn’t accept your apology yesterday. I don’t care about the locket anymore. You’re more important to me than any locket ever could be. Can you forgive me for being so mean to you?”
Sara finally looked up. “Of course I can. Ashley, I really am sorry that I bought the locket.”
“Thank you for saying so—it means a lot to me for us to be best friends again.” Ashley climbed into the swing next to Sara’s. As she began to swing higher and higher, she thought about how free she felt without a heart full of anger and resentment. She looked up at the sky and silently thanked Heavenly Father.

My brother-in-law, Taylor, works in Washington, D.C., for the United States Department of Agriculture. As part of his job, he is expected to attend a number of social functions. These functions almost always have alcohol served to the guests. The people who work with Taylor know of his religious beliefs and commitment to abstain from all alcoholic beverages, and they will often thoughtfully provide something else to drink in their place.
At one particular function, someone had brought a few beverages that claimed to be alcohol free. Taylor was offered one of these drinks, but since the brand and type of drink were unfamiliar to him, he said in a friendly manner, “I’ll have to check that label first.”
Taylor read the fine print on the bottle, and sure enough, the drink contained a small amount of alcohol. “Look,” Taylor said, “it has alcohol in it.”
The person who had offered the drink said, “Let me see that!” After looking for a minute, he turned to Taylor and pointed at the label. “Taylor, it has only 1% alcohol. Can’t you even drink that?”
Not wanting to offend his friend, yet not willing to compromise his standards, Taylor replied, “Well, when you’re 100% committed, 99% just isn’t good enough.” He thanked them for trying to accommodate him but turned down the drink.

Tony brought to the adventure the exalted title of commercial hot-air balloonist, and several of the young men are now close to earning the same title, but the beginnings were a little ragged. Their public debut was before a packed stadium at a BYU homecoming football game. They went aloft tethered to a long rope, but a vicious gusty wind soon aborted the venture. Trying to land they got on top of a fence somehow, and the basket tipped over. Tony ended the rout by pulling the rip panel that opens a slit the length of the balloon and deflates it. About that time the BYU marching band swung into “Up, Up and Away” in a fine touch of gallows humor, and some little boys, seeing the long opening in the side of the $5,000 balloon, made a business proposition. “Hey, mister,” they shouted, “your balloon is broken. Can we have it?”
The offer was declined, and the crew went on to become proficient balloonists. They can assemble, launch, fly, land, and repack the unit with cool competence, observing all safety requirements.

The young soldier stood at attention before the court.
“William Scott, you have been found guilty,” the judge said in a firm voice. “You will be shot by a firing squad within twenty-four hours!”
William’s heart was heavy with fear. He was only twenty-two and had joined the Union Army a few months earlier to fight for his country.
Two nights before, one of William’s comrades had been too sick to do guard duty so William had taken his place. Then the very next night William found himself assigned to guard duty.
The young soldier doubted he could stay awake, and so he went to the captain and told him of his fear. “I’m afraid I can’t keep awake on guard duty a second night,” William explained. “Could you find a replacement for me?”
The captain was busy, and without really listening he brushed aside the boy’s request.
That night William reported for guard duty, and only a few hours later he was found asleep at his post. Now he was to be shot as a traitor!
As the captain heard the judge pronounce sentence on the young soldier, he stepped forward and pled with the judge. “If anyone ought to be shot,” he said, “then I should be the one. Please save William’s life.”
The sorrow and concern of the captain and the other men of William’s regiment for their comrade’s life touched the heart of the judge. He thought about the matter for a few minutes, and then he turned to the captain and said softly, “There is only one man who can save your friend. Come, we will go to President Lincoln.”
A short time later the judge and captain arrived at the White House. Although the president was very busy, he took time to listen quietly to the story the two men told. When they finished, he said, “It would be a sad thing for a young man like William Scott to die like this.”
President Lincoln’s voice was full of compassion as he promised, “I will look into the matter myself this very day.”
That afternoon the president went to the guardhouse of the army camp. He talked with William about his friends back home, his school, and especially about his mother.
“William, you should be thankful that your mother still lives,” President Lincoln said gently. “If I were in your place, I would try to make her a proud mother and never cause her any sorrow.”
William listened patiently and then he asked the president a question that had been troubling him. “Would it be possible not to appoint any men from my own regiment to the firing squad?” he asked. “The hardest thing of all would be to die by the hands of my friends.”
“My boy,” said President Lincoln, “you are not going to be shot tomorrow. I am going to trust you to go back to your regiment. Your country has great need of men like you.”
For a moment William could not believe what he had heard, but when he looked into President Lincoln’s loving eyes, he knew the words were true. “How can I ever repay you, sir?” he asked in a voice that trembled because of the big lump in his throat.
President Lincoln put his hands on the young boy’s shoulders. “My boy,” he said, “my bill is a very large one. No money can pay it and no friends can help you. There is only one person in all the world who can pay your debt, and his name is William Scott. If you will fight bravely and do your duty as a soldier, then the debt will be paid. Will you make that promise?”
William promised he would do as the president asked. Then with tear-filled eyes, William vowed to himself that with God’s help he would keep the solemn promise he made that day to President Abraham Lincoln.
And he did!

Between 1857 and 1861 two events resulted in a serious impact upon the settlement in Lanai: the departure of the Utah missionaries and the arrival of Walter Murray Gibson. News of Johnson's Army approaching Salt Lake City prompted Brigham Young to recall all missionaries laboring in the Islands as well as in other areas outside of Utah. With the elders away, local Hawaiian leaders gradually deferred leadership of the Palawai Valley settlement to Walter Murray Gibson. An articulate man of distinct appearance and energy, Gibson presented and later misrepresented documents signed by Brigham Young to permit him to establish control over the community. Titles to land were recorded with his name, decisions about planting, irrigating, and building plans all went through him.

At first, the local saints valued his efforts and followed his lead. Gradually, Napela and other Hawaiian saints noticed actions they could not embrace. Ultimately, familiar practices were discontinued. For example, many church meetings were cancelled. Making things worse, Gibson invented new church callings and positions which had no alignment with Latter-day Saint traditions. The final straw occurred when Gibson began setting fees for special church ordinations. One resident of Palawai wrote to Brigham Young: "These ordinations greatly surprised us. The certificates of ordinations could only be obtained by the payment of money, and if the money was not paid, the candidate was not ordained. The charge for these certificates was -- for one of the Twelve Apostles $100.00;-for Seventies and Elders $50.00; for Priests and Teachers $25.00;--for a Bishop $5.00 and $2.50 for a Bishops Councilor."

In the spring of 1864, two members of the Quorum of Twelve Apostles—Ezra Taft Benson and Lorenzo Snow—and former missionaries including Joseph Fielding Smith arrived in Lanai, investigated complaints and conditions, and a few days later Brother Gibson was relieved of his leadership role—a decision that clarified the authority of Priesthood over the branches in the Islands. Immediate effects were significant: most of the land remained in the hands of Gibson and church activity and membership had declined, placing new challenges upon the local Hawaiian saints. Church leaders and missionaries began looking for another parcel of land where the displaced saints could settle once again.

Two or three years ago, while I was living in New Zealand, I received a magazine published for ministers. One of the main articles stated that today we live in a world where there is a “poverty of heroes.” The article stated that many people in high places were insincere, wicked, and even corrupt, and that the world was filled with people who could not be trusted or respected in any way. The article explained that young people living in this age are being cheated because of this unfortunate condition.
As I read, I kept thinking, “This is not true. The world is filled with heroes; it always has been and always will be!” Latter-day Saint youth are in a position to see heroes everywhere.
I remember as a young man how I looked up to our bishop. He didn’t speak English very well, but he was a marvelous leader and he loved us. He was an example of everything that was good and fine. He was my hero in my youth and still is.
I remember as a young missionary in New Zealand seeing men who stood way above the other people in that country because they had testimonies of the gospel and lived the way they should. One of them was a rugby player for the All Blacks (the equivalent of being an all-American football player in the U.S.). He had played rugby all over the world and told me that he always knelt down and prayed in the locker room before going out to play in any game. When I met him, his rugby career was over, but he was strong in the faith and a good, hard worker who could shear sheep with the best of the Maori men. He has always been one of my heroes.
I remember a marvelous sister who served for 25 years as the president of the New Zealand Mission Relief Society. In her home Elder Matthew Cowley, as a young missionary, translated the Doctrine and Covenants and the Pearl of Great Price into the Maori language. As mission president he loved to go back to that home. To me she was one of the great women in the history of the Church. Her leadership lifted a whole nation of Latter-day Saints. To me she was a heroine in every way.
A few years ago when I was in Alaska, I met two elders. One had been converted about three years before in England and was now an excellent missionary.
The other elder was Jewish and had been converted only a year or two before. He said that one day, while he was at the beach in Santa Monica with some friends, he lay down to rest on a blanket. Another young fellow in the group—one whom he did not know well—came and sat by him. This stranger asked him if he would listen to an interesting story. The missionary then told me that for the first time in his life he heard about the Prophet Joseph Smith, the restoration of the gospel, and the Book of Mormon. He knew it was the truth and in a matter of three or four weeks he was ready to join the Church.
These two young missionaries in Alaska were heroes to me in a way. But the real hero was the boy on the beach in Santa Monica who had the courage to bear his testimony and tell that great story that changed the life of a fine young man.
I met a man in Florida who took 15 years to join the Church. But once he was in, he resolved to spend the rest of his life as a missionary. More than anything else, he liked to ask people questions about the gospel. He sold used cars, and one day an all-American football player asked him if he would sell him a small pickup truck. My friend said, “I’ll do that, but I want to ask you something far more important. What do you know about Moroni?”
“Moroni who?” the football player asked.
“I guess he doesn’t have a last name,” my friend said. He then persisted and taught the football player the gospel. Within a few weeks’ time the football player had joined the Church and has remained faithful ever since. My friend has brought close to one hundred people into the Church! To me he is a great hero and stands out as one of the best missionaries I have ever known.
I remember one time meeting a fine young married man who was not very large in stature. He was a professional jockey who had worked for some Latter-day Saint men who owned a large stable of fine racehorses. They taught him how to be a first-class jockey and chose him to ride a truly great horse that they owned. They also taught Johnny the gospel, and he joined the Church.
A year later, his bishop called him to go on a mission. Johnny said, “I can’t go. I’ve got to ride this special horse in the Kentucky Derby. I’m the only jockey who has ridden him.”
However, after some thought, Johnny went to his bosses and asked for their permission to go on a mission. They told him that they had a huge investment in him and couldn’t spare him to go on a mission because of the Derby and the other big races that were coming up. They were sure their horse would win the triple crown. However, neither of his Latter-day Saint bosses felt very good about their decision, so the next day they told him if he wanted to go on a mission, they wouldn’t stand in his way.
He went on his mission, and on the day of the Kentucky Derby, he went tracting in Canada while the horse he would have ridden won. It went on to win the triple crown. The other jockey earned over $200,000 while this fine young man taught the people of Canada the gospel. To me he is an outstanding hero.
Yes, there are heroes all about you. It is possible that your Laurel teacher or your priests quorum adviser or your Scoutmaster are heroes just as fine as any living on this earth. What about your seminary teacher, your bishop, your mother, or your father?
I think heroes are everywhere in our Church. They stand out in a world of sin and unrighteousness. May God bless us to recognize them and follow their fine examples. Even more than that, may he help us to become heroes to others as we serve him.

Perhaps one of the most devastating difficulties a parent must endure is to lose a child. As I share the story of my beloved son Daniel, please take particular notice of how Heavenly Father and the Savior’s love is manifested in our experience to help us through this trial.

Our son Daniel, just a few months after returning from serving his Illinois-Chicago Spanish speaking mission, was out waving signs in the community with his friends to raise awareness to the prevalent use of “ice” in 2003. I’ll let this video tell the story. I wrote this poem one year after the accident by the request of the creators of danielmapu.com (3) that Dallin and Tia Muti
“One Year Ago Today” Video
We took care of our son Daniel who suffered from severe traumatic brain injury and was unable to sit up, stand, walk, eat or do anything for himself for 10 ½ years before he passed away in 2014. He was always known as our “police baby” because he was born the year his father started his career as a police officer. When his dad retired after 32 years of service, our police baby retired also from this life.

I’d like to share very personal experiences to illustrate the Lord’s tender mercies in this experience.

While Daniel was in a coma after he was hurt, I sat next to his bedside in the Neuro ICU, with the soothing music of “In this very room” playing ever so softly in the background. We did not know at that time whether he was going to live or die. I remember quietly pleading with the Lord to bless my son. I had never prayed so hard before for anything. While in the act of praying, and crying, I paused for a moment, and as clear as day, in my mind’s eye, I could see the Savior embracing my son in His loving arms. He was not standing above him or next to him. His arms were wrapped around Daniel. I dared not open my eyes for fear of losing this image that helped to comfort and help a very distraught heartbroken mother. I was comforted from that special moment, and it strengthened me throughout the 10 ½ years of caring for Daniel.

The other special moment, among many, was through a dream that came to one of my former students, Paola from Peru. When Daniel came home from his mission, he helped the sister missionaries along with Brother Toluta’u’s son Augusti to teach a Spanish speaking couple the missionary lessons which resulted in their baptism. Paola lived with this couple and was present during the lessons and became well-acquainted with Daniel.

Shortly after Daniel’s accident, Paola was anxious to relate her dream to me. She was overjoyed to see Daniel in her dream. He seemed anxious to give her a message for our family. “Please tell my family,” Daniel said, “three things: first, tell my family not to worry about me; I am willing to go through this experience for Heavenly Father and whatever His will and purpose is for me. Second, please tell them that serving my mission was the best thing that I ever did in my life. I loved my mission! Finally, please tell my mom that I love her very much and thank her for taking such great care of me. I have to go, but please tell them.”

Upon hearing this message from Daniel, all the worries, the stress and anxieties I felt for him were lifted. I knew that our job was to take care of him as best as we could until His father made known His will for His son. Our daughter Ane was at that time serving her mission at Temple Square and sent us this scripture that helped:

Mosiah 24: 14-15
“And I will also ease the burdens which are put upon your shoulders, that even you cannot feel them upon your backs…and this will I do that ye may stand as witnesses for me hereafter that ye may know of a surety that I, the Lord God, do visit my people in their afflictions.

“… yea the Lord did strengthen them that they could bear up their burdens with ease, and they did submit cheerfully and with patience to all the will of the Lord.”

I testify that this happened. I testify that the Lord God did visit us in our afflictions and made our burdens light. I testify that He will do the same for you.

Last October I was sitting at my computer on a Tuesday afternoon. Life was good. Looking out my window I could see the grass being rolled into place for our new home. I could see where the flowers would bloom each spring in the beds. My books filled the bookcases and the windows looked up at the mountains. We had been in our new home only two months. My husband had been released from callings that required that we live in the same neighborhood all of our married life. I was musing about our new life on a quiet cul de sac, it was smaller than the rambling 100 year old house where we had reared our children.
And then the phone rang. It was my husband saying that one of the apostles wanted to meet with us the next day. My heart stopped. I didn’t ask why. I didn’t need to. It was fall; The Brethren were beginning to talk to potential mission presidents. The situation in my mind edged precariously close to the Lord’s words to the young man, “Sell all that thou hath and follow me.” Not now, I thought. We just built our house. This wasn’t just a new house. It was a dream put on hold for thirty years.
The interview last October culminated in a call from the First Presidency for my husband to preside over the England London South Mission. Come. Leave your house – no different than leaping over the side of the boat. This July, we will walk on English soil.

They first heard that message from two lady missionaries who were tracting in their area. Sister Zulema Abrea accepted the gospel immediately. She helped her son Angel understand the story of the Book of Mormon and learn to study the scriptures in preparation for his baptism, which came almost a year later. Oscar, who was then too young, entered the waters of baptism at age eight.

It would be satisfying to write that Edealo Abrea joined his wife and sons in Church membership before his death eight years ago, but that did not happen. Elder Abrea’s father nevertheless supported his family, encouraging his wife and sons in their Church service. Elder Abrea remembers that when he was baptized, his father told him, “Angel, if you are going to be a member of that Church—if you are going to be a member of the Mormon Church—you have to be a faithful member. I remember that was a Sunday morning, when he was waking me up to go to the meetings. Really, he was a tremendous help for me.”

This story happened in Finland.
Joska and his family walked quietly through the snow. It was Christmas Eve, and they were doing one of their favorite traditions. Every year, people in Finland visited the cemetery to light candles on the graves of their loved ones.
Lots of bright candles glittered in the dark. Even though it was cold, they made the cemetery feel cozy and peaceful.
Joska’s parents led them to a grave. “Who’s this?” his little sister, Aasa, asked.
“This is my great-uncle,” said Mum.
Turo, Joska’s older brother, pointed at the dates on the stone. “He was born over a hundred years ago!”
“Yes. But he’s still part of our family.” Mum pulled out a candle. “Do you want to light it, Joska?”
Joska nodded and lit the candle. Then he carefully put a metal lid with holes in it on top. It would keep the wind from blowing out the flame. He placed the candle on the ground in front of the grave. The soft, glowing light looked beautiful.
They went to the next family grave. Joska held Aasa’s hand as they walked.
“Why do we light candles on the graves?” she asked.
“Because it’s important to remember our family members,” he said.
“Even if they lived a hundred years ago?” Aasa asked.
“Yes,” Dad said. “All our aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents are part of our family. We’re all one big family because of Jesus Christ.”
Mum got out another candle. Turo helped Aasa light it.
“But why do we light the candles at Christmas?” Aasa asked.
Joska thought about that for a minute. They could light candles at the cemetery any other day. Why Christmas Eve?
“Maybe because Jesus is the Light of the World,” Joska said.
Mum smiled. “That’s a great answer. I think you’re right.” She helped Aasa put her candle in the snow next to the grave. “It’s because of Jesus Christ that we can be with our family forever. And because He lived again, all of us will live again too.”
They all stepped back to look at the lights. The whole cemetery twinkled like it was full of stars.
Joska’s heart felt warm as they walked back to the car. When they got home, they would open presents and play games. But right now, Joska was glad he could have this quiet time with his family. He would always be grateful for Jesus’s light.
Why did Joska and his family light candles on Christmas Eve?
Illustration by Flavio Remontti

Grace has several meanings. I would like to mention one.
I was with my dad once when he was selling something. Dad was apprehensive that there would be some difficulty haggling over price. In fact, the buyer addressed the price by saying that it was fair but then asked if dad could “show him some grace” on the price. Dad gave him a modest discount on the agreed price. The buyer had agreed that the price was fair and therefore he had no claim to demand a reduction, but dad gave him one anyway. This is the meaning of grace that I want to remind you of. Grace is beautiful because she works where fairness or justice have no power. When justice can’t, grace gives anyway. We have no right to the Lord’s saving or redeeming power, but He gives anyway—not just because He can show grace, but because He is full of grace [13] and “[His] grace is sufficient for all.” [14] Our Savior’s grace is abundant in any true understanding of repentance.