Gospel Story Finder

“Go outside and play,” the hired girl said. “You know your mother needs to rest.” So Leta, Sina, Nilla, and Clyde walked from the backdoor, past the pretty tulips, and to the field. At one end of the field was a big root cellar. The part of the cellar not filled with potatoes or other root crops was a playhouse for the four children.

“Let’s get ready for dinner,” Leta said in a special voice that meant she was pretending to be Mother. “Sina, help me tie my apron.” She pretended to take an apron out of a drawer and put it over her head.

Sina pretended to tie a bow in the back, hurrying to finish so she could play the part of big sister. “I will set the table,” she said, turning over a wooden crate and draping it with an old dish towel.

“Nilla,” Leta ordered, “you go back to the house and find us some food to eat.”

Nilla was happy to have an important part to play in this game. She was almost back to the house before she remembered that the hired girl had sent them away and might not let her go into the house again. She looked around carefully until she saw the girl talking to a boy who had ridden up on a horse.

Nilla went to the kitchen. The cupboard doors were open, but nothing was inside. They smelled of cleaning soap. On the kitchen table and chairs were boxes and bottles of various sizes and shapes.

One bottle with a worn red and white label caught Nilla’s eye. She did not know that the picture of the skull and crossbones on it meant it was poison. The label was loose, so she tore it off and threw it on the floor. Then she proudly took the bottle back to her sisters and brother, who were waiting in the playhouse.

Leta opened the bottle and looked at the white crystals inside. “Yes, this looks very good,” she said, closing it up again. “It will take a little while for dinner to be ready, so don’t sit up to the table yet.”

Leta pretended to be busy cooking over the stove, then sweeping the floor. She scolded the children from time to time when they were impatient waiting for their food. Finally she announced it was time for dinner.

When the children took their places at the table, Leta poured a little pile of the crystals in front of each of them. Clyde licked his finger, ready to eat right away, but Leta stopped him. “No food until after the prayer. And I will say it.”

This time, she reminded everyone of their father as she prayed. “Our Father who art in heaven,” she began. “We thank Thee for this food and for …” Her voice rose and fell as she prayed on and on. Her words were mumbled much of the time, so no one was quite sure what all she said. The others did hear her say, “Bless this food to our use” and “Bless the missionaries in the field.” Just when Sina, Nilla, and Clyde thought the prayer would end and the feast would start, Leta thought of a ward member she could mention in the prayer, and the prayer continued.

In the house, Mother, sick and weak, awoke with such a feeling of concern for her children that she found herself standing beside her bed before she was even fully awake. Making her way slowly out of the bedroom, she saw the hired girl asleep on the couch.

The kitchen was spotlessly clean, except for a faded red label that startled her as a breeze blew it across the floor. A picture of a skull and crossbones was on it—and the word strychnine. Mother hurried outside as fast as she was able. She saw no sign of her children in the yard, so she went straight to their playhouse in the cellar.

Leta had just said “amen,” and each child was raising a freshly licked finger over the “food,” ready to pick up the powder and eat it, when Mother’s shadow appeared in the doorway.

Mother had found the children in time! In her heart, she said her own prayer of thanks that the lives of her little children had been spared. She did not doubt for a moment that the Spirit of the Lord had awakened her and led her to the children.

That evening at supper, the children waited patiently through the rising and falling tones of their father’s long blessing on the food. It wasn’t hard to remember their own blessing on the play “food” they had almost eaten in the root cellar.

While they were eating, Nilla whispered to Leta, “Heavenly Father really does hear and understand each prayer, doesn’t He?”

“Yes, He really does,” Leta whispered back.

Mar. 4, 1854 I saw a man on a sled coming into the road that I was on. He hollered to me to hurry and ride with him. I asked him if he wasn’t a L.D. Saint. He said he was (he was the man I was going to see) and his name was Solomon Mack [Joseph Smith’s cousin on his mother’s side]. I showed him my papers. He said he received me as an Angel. I rode with him to his home in Gilsum. I was well treated by the whole family.

John’s family had been a part of the Church for many generations. He wanted to go to the temple on behalf of a family member but assumed there wouldn’t be any persons with work left to do since his family had been active in temple work for such a long time. His ward family history consultant invited him to give Ordinances Ready a try.

John followed the steps, selecting the ordinance he wanted to perform. He was surprised and excited to see Ordinances Ready find a person—a fifth cousin, twice removed. He printed the card on his home computer and took it with him to the temple. With a special joy in his heart, John was able to perform the ordinance for a family member.

For the next 14 years, Czech members kept their faith in silence, unable to worship publicly or to enjoy any regular contact with the Church beyond Czech borders. From his home in Utah, President Toronto continued to provide what assistance he could. When possible, he corresponded and sent financial aid, clothing, medicine, and Church publications. During those years, he applied nine times for a Czech visa—and received nine refusals.

It was not until 1964 that the official presence of the Church once again entered the nation. President John Russon of the Swiss Mission and Lynn Pettit, an early missionary in Czechoslovakia, arrived in Prague. Word of their arrival spread, and a small group met at a member’s home for a celebratory testimony meeting.

Meanwhile, President David O. McKay advised Wallace Toronto to apply again for a visa, saying, “[The members] have been carrying on underground long enough. They need the authority of their mission president.” Within a week the Torontos received visas. They visited members in Brno and Prague.

In July 1965 President Toronto returned to Prague, intent on reestablishing the Church. Although he was well received by many governmental officials, the secret police arrested him and evicted him from the country. Mission growth would be suppressed for another 25 years before reemerging in a new epoch of freedom.

The answer to this question from the Roy Utah Central Stake young women is a resounding, “Yes!” With a goal to collect 1,000 pairs of new or gently used shoes from the members of their stake, the young women organized a shoe drive. On the day of the drive, the young women collected, cleaned, polished, tied together, sorted, and boxed up 1,223 pairs of shoes. The week following the activity, shoes continued to trickle in. When the shoes were finally dropped off at the Church’s Humanitarian Center, there were nearly 1,500 pairs of shoes ranging from baby shoes to hiking boots to sneakers.
One person who donated shoes left a note for the young women that read, “Thanks for doing this. It is a super neat thing for you to do. You will bless many lives.”

Suppose the bishop called you into his office after sacrament meeting and said, “I have a very important calling for you in the ward. I would like you to be songbook coordinator for the ward choir.” What would you do? You might think to yourself, “But Bishop, that’s such a little job. Couldn’t you give me something important to do, something difficult that I could really get involved in, like Young Men’s president or Relief Society president—a position where I can really be of service?” But, having been taught never to refuse a calling, you smile and say, “Yes, I would love to be songbook coordinator.”
On your first day as songbook coordinator for the ward choir, you arrive half an hour early and carefully place the songbooks; after the practice you hurry to collect and return them to the proper closet. No one, you observe, puts an arm around you and tells you what a fine job you did. The next week you arrived a bit later and rush through your responsibilities. Again, no one notices your efforts.
The third week comes, and you don’t even go. After all, it’s such a little job.
It may be true that songbook coordinator is not necessarily the most difficult job in the Church. The most difficult job in the Church is the one that begins with the words “I am only.” I am only a home teacher; I am only a visiting teacher; I am only an usher; I am only a deacon. The most important job in the Church, on the other hand, is the one in which service is willingly, and faithfully rendered.
I’ve determined that there are three types of people holding positions in the Church. One is the worker who says, “Yes, I’ll do the job,” but then doesn’t fulfill his responsibility. Another is the person who does the job, but does no more than the minimum expected (and he really doesn’t enjoy it). The third type of individual is one who not only does the job, but finds joy in doing more than just what is expected.
You might ask, “But how can a ward choir songbook coordinator do more than is expected?” Let’s think about that. He might notice that several books have broken bindings, and he takes the time to repair them. Perhaps some of the books have missing pages; so he photocopies those pages from other books and inserts them into the books where they are needed. He might even build a container to carry the books so that he will not drop them as he is distributing or collecting them. There are many ways to enhance one’s service.
Let me tell you about some church workers I have known who went the extra mile. President A. Harold Goodman, of the Provo Temple presidency, once lived in Tucson, Arizona. While there, he was called to be home teacher to a man that no one had been able to visit. After attempting several times without success to find him at home, he went to the neighbors and found out that the man was working two jobs and left home every morning at 5:30 A.M. So the next morning at 5 A.M. Brother Goodman was sitting on the front porch; when the lights went on in that house, he jumped to his feet and knocked on the door. The man answered the door, and Brother Goodman said, “Good morning, I’m your home teacher.” The man was surprised to see someone so interested in him, and a warm relationship developed.
I have an aunt living in Ogden, Utah, who says that as a young girl she had a memorable Sunday School teacher. When he was called, he said, “A Sunday School teacher is the most important calling in the Church,” and he was the best Sunday School teacher she ever had. His name was David O. McKay.
I believe that the most important job in the Church is the one we hold right now. Maybe you don’t even hold a specific position. I remember being in a ward where there were just not enough ward positions for everyone to have one, so the bishop called certain people into his office and asked them to be celestial members—to set a good example for others; to fellowship those in need; and to be one-hundred-percent participators. That was an important calling—as is any calling we now or in the future will hold in the kingdom of God. For it is through righteously serving others that we bless our own lives, enrich the lives of our neighbors, and further the work of the Lord.

What do you love to do? I’ve always enjoyed playing sports. After trying different sports, I settled on American football. Through hard work and great coaching, I became an All-American quarterback in college. When I graduated, I joined the Houston Oilers professional football team.
I’ll never forget that first game. The other team’s defensive linemen were bigger than any I’d ever gone against. I was nervous! In my first big play, two huge players tackled me at the same time—harder than I’d ever been tackled before. My leg throbbed, my shoulder ached, and I wanted to quit right then. I had a decision to make. Would I give in to my fears, or would I have the courage to keep trying?
I couldn’t just give up, so I got up and played with all my might! Through courage and lots of teamwork, we won the game. I learned a lesson I’ve never forgotten: never quit when things get tough.

Preeti Khadgi says that she has become more kindhearted and she enjoys talking to people more since she became a member of the Church. Preeti is one of the few whose entire family joined the Church, starting with her father, who was the first Nepali to be baptized in Nepal and is now the branch president.
Before joining the Church, Preeti’s mother had a dream in which she found a way “to make all of her children good children.” The Khadgis feel the Church is fulfilling that dream. Preeti’s brother, Pratik, is now serving in the India Bangalore Mission.

It has been more than 50 years, but I vividly remember Christmas morning 1959. With childish anticipation, I hoped desperately for a new bicycle. My older brother and sister and I shared the same bicycle, a 24-inch (61 cm) antique we had each used to learn to ride. It had long been less than stylish, and I had appealed to my parents for a new bicycle. Looking back, I am a little embarrassed that I did not have more sensitivity to the cost of such a present to a family with limited income.
Christmas morning came, and I leaped up the stairs from our basement bedroom. Running into the living room, I looked in vain for a bicycle. My heart dropped as I noticed a small present under my stocking, and I tried to control my disappointment.
As we sat as a family in the living room, my father asked me to get a knife from the adjoining kitchen so we could open a box holding a present for my brother. I walked into the small kitchen and fumbled for the light switch to find my way. As the light illuminated the room, my excitement soared. Right before me stood a beautiful black 26-inch (66 cm) bicycle! For many years I rode that bicycle, took care of it, watched over it, and befriended it—a gift long appreciated and treasured.

My friend, Milton, has six children. His lovely wife died in a traffic accident and left him with their beautiful children. One day his six-year-old daughter came to his bedside in tears. Milton thought she had had a fight with her brothers. “No, no, Daddy,” she said, “I feel lonely. Where is Mom? I want to see Mom.” Father embraced her and told her, “Your mom is with Heavenly Father now. We will meet Mom again.”
The other day, his four-year-old daughter came to her grandma and said, “Will my mom ever come home?” Her grandma embraced and kissed her, saying, “She is with Heavenly Father.”

Being a missionary, as long as I have time, let me give you one or two little missionary experiences to indicate what Isaiah meant when he said that they would worship Him by the precepts of men.
As I finished my first mission over in Amsterdam, over seventy-five years ago, I was invited into the home of one of the Saints to talk to her neighbor. When my companion and I arrived, the neighbor was there but she had her minister with her. We had a little difference of opinion on priesthood, and right there he challenged me to a debate in his church the next Saturday night.
When we arrived, the church was full; all of his people were there, and all of our people. How our people found it out, I don’t know; I didn’t tell them!
The minister stood up and said, “Now, inasmuch as Mr. Richards is a guest in our church, we will accord him the privilege of opening this debate, and we will each talk for twenty minutes. Is that agreeable with you, Mr. Richards?”
I said, “Very much.” I didn’t tell him, but I would have given him the shirt off my back for the privilege of opening that debate, and he just handed it to me on a silver platter! I didn’t know whether the Lord had anything to do with it or not, but I thought He did!
Then I stood up and I said, “The last time I talked with my friend, we had a difference of opinion on priesthood. Tonight I have come prepared to discuss that subject, but I don’t propose to start at that point. (This was one of my strong points in my mission.) If you are going to build a house, you don’t try to put a roof on it before you get the foundation in.” They agreed with that, so I said, “I propose to lay the foundation of the gospel of Jesus Christ,” and I chose for my text the sixth chapter of Hebrews where Paul said:
“Leaving the principles of the doctrine of Christ, let us go on unto perfection; not laying again the foundation of repentance from dead works, and of faith toward God,
“Of the doctrine of baptisms, and of laying on of hands, and of resurrection of the dead, and of eternal judgment.” (Heb. 6:1–2.)
I hurried over faith and repentance—I thought they believed in them. I spoke on baptism by immersion for the remission of sin until everybody was giving me accord.
Then it came to the laying on of hands for the gift of the Holy Ghost. And they didn’t believe that. I never found a church that did believe it outside of our Church—they think the Holy Ghost comes just like the breezes that blow over the head. I quoted them the passage saying that when the Apostles at Jerusalem heard that Samaria had accepted the word of God through the preaching of Philip, they sent Peter and John. And when they came, they prayed for them, they laid their hands upon them, and they received the Holy Ghost. And when Simon the sorcerer saw that the Holy Ghost was conveyed by the laying on of the Apostles’ hands, he offered them money, saying: “Give me also this power, that on whomsoever I lay my hands, he may receive the Holy Ghost.
“But Peter said unto him, Thy money perish with thee, because thou hast thought that the gift of God may be purchased with money.” (Acts 8:19–20.)
And then I gave them a few more references on the laying on of hands for the gift of the Holy Ghost, and sat down.
The minister stood up and talked for twenty minutes, and he never once mentioned a word I had said. He started on the Mountain Meadows Massacre and the “Mormon Bible,” and stated that Joseph Smith had admitted he had made many mistakes; and then in a most courteous manner, he said: “Now if Mr. Richards will enlighten us on these matters, I am sure this audience will be most appreciative.”
I was on my feet just like that. (My companion later said, “How did you think so fast?” I said, “What have you been praying for all week?”) I said, “In the days of the Savior, his enemies tried to trick him with cunning and craftiness. I don’t suppose there’s anybody here tonight that would like to see us resort to those old tactics.” I said, “If I understand a debate, it is the presentation of argument and the answering of those presentations. Has this man answered any of my arguments?”
Everybody said, “No.”
I said, “All right, my friend, you may have your twenty minutes over again.” He couldn’t do it, and I knew he couldn’t.
Finally his wife stood up in the audience, and she said, “What Mr. Richards is asking you is fair. You ought to answer him.”
But he couldn’t do it, and I said to my companion, “Stand up and give me my coat and hat.” I said, “One more chance. I am willing to remain here until ten o’clock tomorrow morning, when we have to be in our own church, provided this debate can go forward on the basis that you set it up. If not, I am going to leave and ask my companion to leave and ask our members to leave, and we will leave it with you to settle with your people for what has transpired here tonight.”
I met him on the street a number of times after that, but he would duck his head so he didn’t need to speak to me! Now that is what Isaiah meant when he said they would teach for doctrines the precepts of men.

Now I hadn’t had time to think of what to do to earn a living in a strange land with a strange language. On Friday morning, July 26, 1872, there came a man to the house of Mons Andersen who wanted a boy to help him in the field. His name was Peter Petersen. My wages were $8.00 a month. I worked with him 20 months. I must now tell a little that happened in that time. It was customary at that time that newcomers should be rebaptized. So Peter Petersen’s wife, Karen Larsen Petersen, told me, “There will be baptisms today. So you must hitch up the horses and take these people down to the mill pond to be baptized. And you must be baptized too.” I told her I would be glad to take them down, but I was not ready for baptism yet.
That coming winter I started to go to school so I could learn a little English. I had also gone with Mons Andersen’s boys to Sunday School. Eischa Pack was the teacher at that time. They were reading in turns out of the Bible; but when it came my turn to read, Brother Pack would read my verse, and there was not even a moment wasted. I was glad although I could not understand what they said. Yet I got to enjoying Sunday School. Sister Karen Larsen Petersen became sick and died on February 7, 1873, and that ended my schooling at that time. But I learned enough so I got into the Third Reader.
Now I had been studying the gospel and praying about it. I knew Jesus’s answer to Nicodemus as we find recorded in the third chapter of John: “Except a man is born of water and of the Spirit he cannot enter into the kingdom of Heaven.” [John 3:5] So on August 30, 1873, I was baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints by Mons Andersen and confirmed by Abraham Lossee in Lehi.

May I share with you a personal experience to illustrate the above. There is, in the ward I just recently moved from, a group of teenage boys. Only one, a younger member of the group, had committed himself to serving a mission. As an older member of the group reached 19, he stated that maybe a mission wasn’t the best thing for him. Many interested members of the ward did “reprove” this young man for his decision. My opportunity came on a ski lift on a cold December day. In jest I said, “What are you going to be, a ski nut or a missionary?” He laughed and then proceeded to give me his reasons for staying home. On each subsequent trip up the lift we discussed his position, the fallacy of his reasons, his hazy standards and goals for life, the effect of his decision on the other members of his group, the long-range consequences of his decision, and ultimately what his explanation would be to the Lord for the lost opportunity to serve.
After prayerful consideration, more “reproving with sharpness,” and a sincere effort on his part, he decided to complete the application for a mission call. A short time after his departure I received a letter from him stating how great it was to be on a mission.

I’ve seen this in my own family. My great-grandfather Martin Gassner was changed forever because a humble branch president answered the Savior’s call. In Germany in 1909, times were tough and money was tight. Martin worked as a welder in a pipe manufacturing plant. By his own admission, most paydays ended in drinking, smoking, and buying rounds at the pub. His wife finally warned him that if he didn’t change, she would leave.
One day, Martin’s coworker met him on the way to the pub with a crumpled religious booklet in his hand. He had found it on the street and told Martin that he felt something different after reading the pamphlet entitled Was wissen Sie von den Mormonen?, or What Do You Know About the Mormons? I’m certain that title has changed.
An address stamped on the back was just legible enough to decipher where the church was located. It was a considerable distance away, but they were moved by what they read and decided to take the train that Sunday to investigate. When they arrived, they found that the address was not the church they expected but a funeral home. Martin hesitated—because, really, a church in a funeral home sounded a little too much like a package deal.
But upstairs, in a rented hall, they found a small group of Saints. A man invited them to testimony meeting. Martin was touched by the Spirit and was so impressed by the simple, fervent testimonies that he bore his testimony. And it was there, in that most unlikely place, that he said he already knew it must be true.
Afterward the man introduced himself as the branch president and asked if they would return. Martin explained that he lived too far away and couldn’t afford the weekly trip. The branch president simply said, “Follow me.”
They walked a few blocks to a nearby factory where the branch president’s friend worked. After a short conversation, Martin and his friend were both offered jobs. Then the branch president led them to an apartment building and secured housing for their families.
All of this happened within two hours. Martin’s family moved the following week. Six months later they were baptized. The man once known as a hopeless drunk became so ardent in his new faith that people in town began calling him, perhaps not so affectionately, “the priest.”
As for the branch president, I cannot tell you his name—his identity has been lost to time. But I call him a disciple, ambassador, Christian, good Samaritan, and friend. His influence is still felt 116 years later, and I stand on the shoulders of his discipleship.
“There is a saying that you can count the seeds in an apple, but you can’t count the apples that come from one seed.” The seed planted by the branch president has produced countless fruit. Little would he have known that 48 years later, several generations of Martin’s family on both sides of the veil would be sealed in the Bern Switzerland Temple.

Twenty-one years ago last April, I came for the first time to the Salt Lake Tabernacle for a general conference of the Church. I was awed by the immensity of the building, but even more by the room-filling presence of the General Authorities who were assembled there.
In my growing-up years, many of them had visited our small branch in Montana. We had no television, nor could we receive conference on the radio. So we looked forward to each visit as a special blessing. They had, it seemed to me, a power and faith above other men.
Then on an April day 21 years ago, I discovered one source of a General Authority’s strength.
I was seated with the six children of Elder Ezra Taft Benson, one of whom was my college roommate. My interest heightened when President McKay arose and announced the next speaker. I watched respectfully as Elder Benson, whom I had not yet met, walked toward the microphone. He was a big man, well over six feet tall. He was a man with a Ph.D., a man internationally known as the United States Secretary of Agriculture and a special witness of the Lord, a man who seemed serene and sure, one who had addressed audiences throughout the world. Suddenly a hand touched my arm. A little girl leaned toward me and whispered urgently, “Pray for Dad.”
Somewhat startled, I thought, “This message is being passed down the row, and I am to pass it on. Shall I say, ‘Pray for Elder Benson’? Shall I say, ‘You’re supposed to say a prayer for your father’?” Sensing the immediate need to act, I leaned over and whispered simply. “Pray for dad.”
I watched that whisper move along the row to where Sister Benson sat, her head already bowed.
Many times since that day I have remembered that message—Pray for Dad, the patriarch of the home. Pray for him as he serves as district president or home teacher. Pray for him when he becomes executive secretary of a civic group, when his business flourishes, or when he takes a cut in salary. Pray as he gives counsel in family home evening. Pray for Dad who works long hours so that Jerold can go on a mission and Diane can go to college. Pray for him as he speaks in sacrament meeting or gives Mother a blessing that she might be made well again. Pray as he baptizes William or gives a tiny, newborn baby a name and a father’s blessing. And in the evening, should he come home tired or discouraged, pray for him. Pray for Dad in all that he might do—the small things and the great.
As years have passed, general conferences have come and gone, and each time President Benson has stood to speak, I have thought, “His children, who are scattered across the continent, are united now in prayer for their father.”
And I have come to believe that the brief message that passed along the row some 21 years ago is the most important message a family can share. What extraordinary power and faith any man can have to meet the daily challenge of his life if somewhere in the world his daughter or son is whispering, “Pray for Dad.”

Over on the other side of the camp, teamwork was fully evident as Scouts from the New Orleans Louisiana Stake organized themselves for a firebuilding contest. One team member struck a match as others huddled around to shelter it from the wind. Another Scout raced to a pile of straw to gather fuel, rushed back, and as the initial flame leaped up, carefully nourished it. A string scorched, blackened, untwisted, broke, and a water balloon tumbled down, dousing the fire. “You have to know what each person is going to do before you start,” advised Paul Seager, 15, of the West Bank Ward. “But it feels great when you see what you can do.”

My beloved brothers and sisters, I want to sustain with all my heart and soul this day President Benson and his counselors. My sixteen years of experiences with them has taught me that they are true prophets, true ministers, and servants of the Lord, Jesus Christ. I know that they love me, and I know that they love you.
A few years ago while I was serving as stake president, I had some special, spiritual experiences, one of which I’d like to share with you today. One time in a stake conference, one of my great friends and reactivated brothers stood and bore his testimony of the power that had come into his life because of the teachings of Jesus Christ and of those who had ministered unto him. His heart was full, his eyes overflowed, as he stood before the audience with his arms around his two sons. He said, “My gratitude knows no bounds. My life has been totally changed by the gospel and by the people who have truly loved me. I will need to spend the rest of my life ministering and teaching others as partial repayment for all that I have received.”
And minister and serve he did, with love, unending effort, and great personal concern. As a home teacher, he was assigned to some special, great families who, as he had once been, were away from the Church and had challenges—some almost overwhelming.
He began his work in earnest, going to them as a friend and servant—a true minister. He visited and visited and served them in every way that he could. At first (just as he had been), they didn’t want to talk to him or hear his message, and often they would leave the room when he came. But he understood, for he had done it himself a hundred times to others, leaving his wife alone to hear them. He understood how they felt, expressed as follows by a reactivated man who is currently a bishop in the Church:
“Because I wasn’t living a righteous life, I looked down my nose at others. When you lose the Spirit of the Lord, you don’t judge things properly. You look to judge negatively and to find fault. You wrap yourself in your own cocoon, so to speak, and you rationalize. But when I started working with these men, I found some of these fellows like to do the things that I like to do. I found out that they put their shoes on the same way I did. It was the influence of those men; they accepted me. They put their arms around me, and they accepted me for what I was and who I was. And we went to work, and I ate in their homes. And I just started catching the Spirit.”
My friend prayed harder and harder for guidance and direction, went to the homes more often, and began to teach and encourage his families to pray for help to overcome problems. He became their servant, their minister, their friend, and now he was able to teach them.
One of the fathers he was teaching had what was thought to be an incurable alcohol problem. Every day after work for twenty years, he bought alcohol and consumed it until he could hardly find his way home. He received friendship and encouragement to pray to heaven for help. One day after his work, while he was driving into the countryside with his bottle, a voice came into his heart to stop his car, walk out into the field, and pray to Father in Heaven for help. His simple prayer was heard by his Father in Heaven, and as he stood up and walked back to his car, all desire to drink liquor left his life. The powers of heaven had descended upon him, and he knew that God lived and loved him.
I heard him later stand before the members and testify of the love of God and of my friend and others who had ministered unto him and taught him. My heart has been touched as I think of how powerful and important the words are: “They taught and did minister one to another.” (3 Ne. 26:19.)

Before Elder M. Russell Ballard was an Apostle, he had an unusual experience on an airplane. He was flying to Salt Lake City on a very foggy day. The small plane held only four people. When they got close to the airport, the pilot radioed the control tower.
“We’re about to close the runway because the fog is so thick,” the air traffic controller told the pilot. “But I can talk you through the landing.”
The pilot asked Brother Ballard and the other passengers, “What do you want to do? The controller can guide us down. Or we can turn back and wait for the weather to clear in a day or two.” They decided to try to land in Salt Lake.
The controller could see the plane on his radar. He told the pilot when to lower the plane and when to turn. The pilot watched the plane’s controls carefully. He followed the controller’s directions exactly.
Finally the man in the front seat shouted, “I see the runway!”
They looked out the window. The runway was directly ahead. The nose of the plane was right on the centerline! They were so grateful that the controller guided them safely to the ground.
Brother Ballard thought about how this flight was like our lives. We can’t see or understand everything, so Heavenly Father has given us ways to get help. The prophet is like an air traffic controller. He gives us directions to return safely to Heavenly Father. We also have the Holy Ghost, the scriptures, and leaders and parents to guide us safely home.

The family of Mary Goble Pay, who was 13 years of age, owned an ox team and wagon but promised to stay with two handcart companies. Though a handcart could usually travel faster than an ox wagon, the ox team could have forged ahead as the pioneers’ strength began to fail when early snow storms engulfed the group. But “we had orders not to pass the handcart companies,” Mary wrote. “We had to keep close to them to help if we could.” Gospel covenants made them “willing to bear one another’s burdens” (see Mosiah 18:8–10).
At great sacrifice, they honored their covenant and stayed with the handcarts. Mary’s sister, brother, and mother died from exposure, illness, and lack of nourishment (“Autobiography of Mary Goble Pay,” in A Believing People: Literature of the Latter-day Saints [1974], 143–45).

You may have heard a report from Osaka, Japan, about the Kansai International Airport’s world record—something almost unbelievable. After 30 years of operation and processing hundreds of millions of pieces of cargo, carry-ons, and cases, this airport has not lost one item of luggage.
Not one single piece!
How is such a thing possible?
Tsuyoshi Habuta, the airport chief of baggage operations, believes losing luggage should never happen “because luggage is precious to passengers.” That attitude permeates through his entire staff. The airport’s success, he says, is all part of a commitment to “thoroughness and an attention to detail.”
The Japanese people have developed a reputation for such attention to detail. They have a principle, kaizen, that encapsulates a mindset of constantly searching for and implementing minor improvements. This practice requires a quiet discipline of always looking for small ways to make processes better. They take pride in the fact that these improvements almost always come from those doing the everyday work.
Over the years, the staff at Kansai Airport has developed a process that makes the goal of not losing passengers’ bags a reality. They train employees rigorously and constantly ensure that every bag is counted, tracked, and cared for. They make meticulous and multiple manual checks that complement a sophisticated automated system.
Fragile items such as musical instruments are often hand-delivered to passengers. Staff members do small things such as placing bags on conveyor belts with handles facing outward for easier retrieval by passengers.
When you hand off your luggage at Kansai Airport, you get a sense that they are saying to you, “We have your precious belongings. We are responsible for them now. We will return them to you.”