Gospel Story Finder

Trying to protect himself from the cold, Manco hunched with bent knees and pulled his pointed knit cap tightly over his ears. He was glad his brightly woven poncho hugged his body. A fierce wind swept up the rocky canyon, carrying snow as it came.
Impatiently, Manco shifted his weight. When will Papa come? he wondered. He promised me that it would be today. The boy’s stiff fingers touched the bamboo flute that had been tucked into his belt only this morning.
“My son,” his father had said with just a trace of a smile pulling at the corners of his wide, wind-wrinkled mouth, “here is the flute I have been carving for you. Today, I will teach you to play it.”
Manco felt a flush of pleasure as he remembered his father’s words. His father was Tupac, the finest flute player in the region.
Manco carefully noted the location of each of the family’s llamas and alpacas. When he was certain that the flock was safe, he drew the flute from under his poncho.
Tupac had carved the tiny finger holes and the mouthpiece with the greatest care as he sat by the cooking fire in their home high on the mountainside. He and his family grew corn and potatoes on the steep slopes there, and he and Manco climbed even higher each day to tend their small herd.
Manco put the polished wood to his lips. He wanted to send a shimmer of sound—a sound like the ones his father made—into the crisp air. But he knew he could not. He would wait until Tupac returned and taught him how to do it properly. And, he thought, I will someday be the finest flute player in all Peru. Someday my fingers will fly over the tiny holes, rippling like the birdsong I will play. And someday the women will weep at my songs of mourning, even as they shed tears when Papa played for Sinchi, who was called to the land of spirits.
Manco stood suddenly. He saw a small, dark speck descending the white ridge high above him. As the speck grew larger, the boy could see his father’s bright red cap against the snow, his face bent down to protect it from the icy blasts. He was struggling awkwardly to keep the wind from blowing him off the ridge.
The boy quickly scanned the hillside. One of the young animals was missing! Why had he not noticed it before? He had failed in his task. Now he knew why his father was having such trouble coming down the mountainside; now he could see the young llama gathered securely into his father’s warm poncho.
Suddenly Papa uttered a sharp shout. His legs twisted under him. He was caught in a snowslide!
The snow rolled over Papa’s dark figure, and Manco could see him no more. Manco plunged toward the rocky canyon that split the shoulder of the mountain. It would take a long time to descend to the bottom, then climb upward to where the snow had buried Papa.
Manco thought of going for help, but he knew there wasn’t time. Papa needed someone now, and Manco was the only one there.
When the boy reached the snow line at last, his arms and legs were like stones. His hands were bleeding, and his eyes were blurred with stinging perspiration and with his own tears. If only he could find Papa, he would never again fail to perform his tasks.
Searching the mass of snow and debris before him, Manco couldn’t see Papa anywhere! But wait—above the gasps of his own breathing, Manco heard a low moan. Swiftly he climbed higher and a little to the right. He saw a large, rough mound of snow moving slightly. “Papa?”
The boy tore at the snow with his bare hands. First he uncovered the young llama, which hobbled over to join the flock as soon as it was freed. Then Manco’s rapid digging uncovered an arm, then Papa’s shoulders, then his capped head. Tupac’s face was a strange color. His eyes were closed.
“Papa? Can you hear me?”
Tupac’s eyelids fluttered, then closed again. The look of tenseness and pain never left his face.
Manco pushed the snow from around his father’s limp form. He knew that he would not be able to get Papa home—it was too far.
There’s a shelter just over this ridge, he remembered. It’s only made of fallen tree limbs and branches, but it will be warmer there and out of the wind.
As Manco struggled to lift his father to a sitting position, Tupac came to and cried out with pain. But he struggled to his feet, saying, “I think that with your help, Manco, I can make it to the shelter.”
Evening shadows closed in on them as they made their way over the ridge. A few meters before they reached the shelter, Tupac slumped to the ground, overcome by pain and by his exertion. Manco was forced to drag his father the rest of the way.
Manco laid his father on a hastily made bed of twigs. He took off his own poncho and covered Tupac with it. Then he quickly cleared a space near his father, built a small fire, and set out to get help.
Manco soon found his uncles, who climbed up the mountainside and carried Tupac to his home. The boy’s mother and Cora, his sister, carefully tended to Tupac, cleaning and bandaging his wounds, and giving him soup to eat, and administering medicine. Manco watched anxiously until he saw his father fall into a relaxed sleep. Then the boy went to his own bed, exhausted.
It was late the next morning when he opened his eyes. His father, still in pain but feeling better, spoke his name.
“Yes, Papa?”
“The flock—is it safe?”
“No, Papa. I—I left them on the mountain.”
“You are the man of this house now,” his father told him. “Gather them and care for them. Go. And God be thy friend.”
Manco could not believe his ears. He was “the man of this house now”? But it was his negligence that had caused Papa’s accident. Papa knew why Manco hesitated, yet he called his son, who had erred, a man. The boy’s eyes stung suddenly. He bent over his father to hide tears of gratitude. “Yes, Papa. Thank you,” he whispered.
Manco stood, feeling somehow taller and older. He would not fail Papa this time. He would care for the herd alone.
Manco put on his poncho, pulled his cap over his ears, and went to the rough-hewn door.
“My son?” Tupac lifted himself slightly.
“Yes, Papa?”
“When you return, I shall teach you to be the finest flute player in all Peru.”

It was my privilege to serve for many years with President Spencer W. Kimball when he was chairman of the Missionary Executive Committee of the Church. Those never-to-be-forgotten missionary assignment meetings were filled with inspiration and occasionally interspersed with humor. I remember well the recommendation form for one prospective missionary on which the bishop had written: “This young man is very close to his mother. She wonders if he might be assigned to a mission close to home in California so that she can visit him on occasion and telephone him weekly.” As I read aloud this comment, I awaited from President Kimball the pronouncement of a designated assignment. I noticed a twinkle in his eye and a sweet smile cross his lips as he said, without additional comment, “Assign him to the Johannesburg South Africa Mission.”

One winter evening when I was five or six years old, my father took me downtown. This was during the Great Depression, when jobs were few and many people were poor. My father and I were looking at store windows as we walked, and soon we found ourselves in front of a sporting goods store. It was full of fun things like fishing lures and pocketknives.
A shabbily dressed boy was standing near us, looking longingly into the window. I didn’t pay much attention to him, but my father went over and spoke with him briefly, then put his hand on his shoulder and led him inside the store. I watched as the boy picked out a pocketknife and my father paid the shopkeeper.
I didn’t get a pocketknife that day, but I did get a lesson. As my father and I walked away from the store, he said, “You have me. He doesn’t have anybody.” Later I realized how generous and how sensitive to the needs of others my father was.

Long years ago a severe drought struck the Salt Lake Valley. The commodities at the storehouse on Welfare Square had not been of their usual quality, nor were they found in abundance. Many products were missing, especially fresh fruit. As I was a young bishop, worrying about the needs of the many widows in my ward, my prayer one evening is especially sacred to me. I pleaded for these widows, who were among the finest women I knew in mortality and whose needs were simple and conservative, because they had no resources on which they might rely.
The next morning I received a call from a ward member, a proprietor of a produce business situated in our ward. “Bishop,” he said, “I would like to send a semitrailer filled with oranges, grapefruit, and bananas to the bishops’ storehouse to be given to those in need. Could you make arrangements?” Could I make arrangements! The storehouse was alerted, and then each bishop was telephoned and the entire shipment distributed. Bishop Jesse M. Drury, that beloved welfare pioneer and storekeeper, said he had never witnessed a day like it before. He described the occasion with one word: “Wonderful!”
The wife of that generous businessman is today a widow. I know the decision her husband and she made has brought her sweet memories and comforting peace to her soul.
I express my sincere appreciation to one and all who are mindful of the widow. To the thoughtful neighbors who invite a widow to dinner and to that royal army of noble women, the visiting teachers of the Relief Society, I add, may God bless you for your kindness and your love unfeigned toward her who reaches out and touches vanished hands and listens to voices forever stilled. The words of the Prophet Joseph Smith describe their mission: “I attended by request, the Female Relief Society, whose object is the relief of the poor, the destitute, the widow and the orphan, and for the exercise of all benevolent purposes.”
Thank you to thoughtful and caring bishops who ensure that no widow’s cupboard is empty, no house unwarmed, no life unblessed. I admire the ward leaders who invite the widows to all social activities, often providing a young Aaronic Priesthood lad to be a special escort for the occasion.
Frequently the need of the widow is not one of food or shelter but of feeling a part of ongoing events. President Bryan Richards of Salt Lake City, now serving as a mission president, brought to my office a sweet widow whose husband had passed away during a full-time mission they were serving. President Richards explained that her financial resources were adequate and that she desired to contribute to the Church’s General Missionary Fund the proceeds of two insurance policies on the life of her departed husband. I could not restrain my tears when she meekly advised me, “This is what I wish to do. It is what my missionary-minded husband would like.”
The gift was received and entered as a most substantial donation to missionary service. I saw the receipt made in her name, but I believe in my heart it was also recorded in heaven. I invited her and President Richards to follow me to the unoccupied First Presidency Council room in the Church Administration Building. The room is beautiful and peaceful. I asked this sweet widow to sit in the chair usually occupied by our church President. I felt he would not mind, for I knew his heart. As she sat ever so humbly in the large leather chair, she gripped each armrest with a hand and declared, “This is one of the happiest days of my life.” It was also such for President Richards and for me.
I never travel to work along busy Seventh East in Salt Lake City but what I see in my mind’s eye a thoughtful daughter, afflicted with arthritis and carrying in her hand a plate of warm food to her aged mother, who lived across the busy thoroughfare. She has now gone home to that mother who preceded her in passing. But her lesson was not lost on her daughters, who delight their widowed father by cleaning his house each week, inviting him to dinners in their homes, and sharing with him the laughter of good times together, leaving in that widower’s heart a prayer of gratitude for his daughters, the light of his life. Fathers experience loneliness as well as mothers.

One time I went on a first date with a girl in my ward. The next morning we were the only two who showed up for our ward’s temple trip. We offered to help with whatever ordinance needed the most patrons … which turned out to be sealings.
I was so nervous, but to my surprise, doing vicarious sealings with a girl less than 12 hours after our first date wasn’t nearly as awkward as I thought it would be. If anything, that experience gave me more perspective on how important each aspect of temple work is—including sealings (read more in my digital article).

I learn a lot by watching my older brother. I love video games and soccer, and, honestly, I would probably do those things all the time if it weren’t for him. He likes those things too, and a lot of the time we play them together, but he always makes time to grow and improve. I’ll never forget being invited to do drugs at school. I immediately thought of my brother and knew what he would choose; because I want to be like him, I made the right choice and said no.
Emilio, Tennessee, USA

But the Kirtland story doesn’t end with these marvelous manifestations. A year after the temple’s dedication, the community was fraying. An international economic crisis led to massive unemployment in the United States. Banks failed across the country, including a small bank established by Church leaders in Kirtland to spur development of the community. Joseph Smith and other Church leaders desperately tried to save the economy of the community. But the tide of the global economic crisis was too much. People began to lose jobs and homes. Many began to murmur against God and the Church. Why had the Lord allowed His people to fail economically? Some began to whisper and then proclaim that Joseph was a fallen prophet.
At one meeting in the summer of 1837 in the Kirtland Temple, Joseph Smith Sr., the Church patriarch, spoke in his son’s absence. As he spoke, a dissenter tried to pull him from the pulpit. When William Smith defended his father, a fellow Apostle threatened to kill William with a sword. Other men with knives and pistols surrounded William. The temple, which had been a place of sacredness and spirituality a year earlier, was now a place of violence, dissension, and chaos.
When Joseph Smith returned to Kirtland, most Church members sustained him as the prophet, but three Apostles were removed from the Quorum of the Twelve. Economic problems had turned into spiritual problems. Within a few more months, the Lord told Joseph to leave Kirtland for the safety of his family and for the sake of his own life.

Not all battles are waged on foreign soil. Nor do the participants always bear arms, throw grenades, or drop bombs. I witnessed such a conflict on the fourth floor of a California hospital. There were no shrill sounds of mortar fire to be heard, no fields of men or equipment to be seen. Yet a life or death struggle was in progress. Happy, handsome Paul Van Dusen, age fifteen, had just lost the first fight with the feared enemy called cancer.

Paul loved life. He excelled in sports. He and his parents hoped, then prayed that the doctors” fears would not be confirmed—that his precious right leg would not be amputated. Devastated, they accepted the sad news. To save his life, he must lose his leg.

The surgery completed, Paul rested.

Entering the room after Paul’s surgery, I was attracted immediately by his cheerful smile. He radiated a spirit of hope and goodness.

The crisp, white sheet lay noticeably flat where once there had been a leg. Flowers from friends surrounded his bedside. Parents, grateful for his life, stood close by.

Paul invited me to read the get well cards he had received. One carried the message: “We love you, Paul. We’re praying for you.” It was signed by members of his Sunday School class. From his classmates at school, “May you get well soon. We think you’re great.” Still another from home teachers had the inscription, “May god bless you. Tomorrow we’ll visit you again.”

What did the Carpenter from Nazareth say of such people? “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.” (Matt. 25:40.)

The spirit of prayer came easily that day. A perfect peace filled the room. Smiles of confidence crept across lips moist with tears. From distant Capernaum we seemed to hear the echo, “Be not afraid, only believe.” Then Paul said, “I’ll be all right.”

We beheld a faith-filled heart and a countenance that reflected gratitude. Faith in whom? Gratitude for what?

Jesus of Nazareth,
Savior and King!
Triumphant over death,
Life thou didst bring,
Leaving thy Father’s throne,
On earth to live,
Thy work to do alone,
Thy life to give.
(Hymns, number 86.)

Can any good thing come out of Nazareth?
From Nazareth came example.
From Nazareth came sight.
From Nazareth came strength.
From Nazareth came life.
From Nazareth faith.
From Nazareth came peace.
From Nazareth came courage.
From Nazareth came Christ.
To him Nathanael declared, “Thou art the Son of God; thou art the King of Israel.” (John 1:49.) I testify that he is Lord of Lords, King of Kings, precious Savior, dear Redeemer. Jesus Christ of Nazareth. There is no other name under heaven given among men whereby we can be saved.

May we live his teachings, may we emulate his example, may we follow in his footsteps to life eternal.

Great-Grandma came to live with Grandpa and Grandma Marshal about two years ago. My family lives just up the street, and we like that because we can visit them a lot.
Grandma Marshal is Great-Grandma’s caregiver. She helps take care of her mother’s needs, and is a very good and loving daughter.
Great-Grandma is old. She told me one day, “I’m so old I feel guilty every time I draw a breath!”
Great-Grandma makes me laugh. And she’s always smiling, even when she’s sad. “Life’s too short to waste it by wearing a long face, even at my age. Happiness is a choice, Makinzee,” she explained one day. We were sitting on the porch swing together watching a little autumn breeze carry leaves and birds across the sky. “The only one that can make you unhappy is yourself.” Great-Grandma tapped the tip of my nose. “Besides, there’s so much to be happy about!”
“Like what, Great-Grandma?” I asked.
Her smile got as bright as the sunlight shining through the elm tree’s yellow leaves. “Even at 93, I’m a child of God,” she said. “And just look about you, child. There are birds that sing their hearts out. There’s the sun that can light a whole world, and there are flowers that bloom.”
She patted my knee. “I have a family who loves me, and I have hands to help others.” She held up a pair of fleece mittens she was sewing for a needy children’s program.
Then she looked up at the sky. “My, my, everywhere I look there’s more. A loving Heavenly Father watching over us, and, oh!” She pointed to a huge, misty rainbow a ways off. “Rainbows are not only promises of better times, but reminders that when we have trials we can still be happy.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Don’t rainbows come after it rains? Don’t wildflowers grow when it rains?” Great-Grandma asked.
I nodded.
“If rain can make the flowers grow, Makinzee, then why not the rest of us too?” Great-Grandma smiled.
The next summer Great-Grandma got really sick. She had to stay in bed a lot of the time. One day I looked quietly into her room, and she was lying in bed staring at an empty wall, watching the shadows get bigger. I guess she was happy because she said life was too short to be sad, but, well, today she looked sad.
I decided it was my turn to make her smile. Grandpa Marshal had planned for a long time to take my brother, Ethan, and me to the circus. I really wanted to go, and today was the last day before it left town. But instead I asked Grandpa if he would mind taking just Ethan. I had a strong feeling that I should stay and do something for Great-Grandma.
Grandpa didn’t say anything. His chin started shaking like the leaves do when the wind blows, and he hugged me for a long time.
When I told Grandma Marshal why I was staying, her eyes filled up with tears, and one ran down onto her smile before she could push it away. She always said if a warm tear touches your lips it makes sweet words grow, and I guess she’s right because she whispered, “Bless you.”
Grandma keeps lots of paper, crayons, watercolors, and other fun stuff for her grandchildren in what she calls the “kids’ corner.” After Grandpa and Ethan left, I set to work.
Three hours later I hung pictures of rainbows all over the empty wall in Great-Grandma’s room. She cried. It was only the third time I ever saw her cry. The first time was when she bore her testimony at church. The second was when a little bird died in her hands—she said it’s a sad thing when someone or something passes away and nobody sheds a tear. And the third time was when she saw all those rainbows. But those tears—like the ones when she bore her testimony—were happy tears. She laughed. “So many rainbows,” she said, “and all in my room!”
Two days later, Great-Grandma died. I cried, but they were warm tears, the kind that make sweet words grow. I wrote some of them down on a piece of paper and put them in Great-Grandma’s casket. I said, “I love you, Great-Grandma. Thank you for your smiles. I will try to be like you by being my own best self. Mom and Dad said that if I can learn to be happy like you, even when I’m sad, and to think of others like you always did, that I will be in pretty good shape when it’s my turn for someone to paint rainbows in my room. I’ll see you later, Great-Grandma, so I won’t say good-bye. Love, Makinzee.”

A true story from Palau.
Jewel sat on the bench in sacrament meeting with her parents and brother. She drew pictures of scripture stories. She tried listening to the speaker, but her stomach felt like it was full of nervous butterflies!
Today was Jewel’s first day going to Young Women class instead of Primary. She didn’t want to leave her friends in Primary behind. She loved singing and reading scriptures with them.
But Jewel was turning 12 this year. It was time to move into the Young Women program.
Jewel closed her eyes and said a silent prayer. Heavenly Father, please help me to have a good Young Women class.
After the closing prayer in sacrament meeting, Jewel took a deep breath and walked to the classroom. The older girls were already there. There were four of them. They were talking and giggling.
“Hi,” Jewel said.
They smiled. “Hi.”
The teacher came in and welcomed Jewel. Then she started the lesson.
For most of the class, Jewel felt alone. She was nervous to talk because she didn’t know the other girls yet. She would have to be in Young Women for a long time. It felt like forever! Would she always feel lonely here?
Then a small voice came to her mind. You won’t be in Young Women forever. You were just old enough to move on and learn more about being a disciple of Jesus Christ.
Jewel felt comforted by the words. She recognized them as the Holy Ghost helping her. Even though she didn’t have many friends in Young Women yet, she wasn’t alone. She had the Holy Ghost.
After class was over, Jewel found her family.
“How was the Young Women class?” Mom asked.
Jewel gave her a hug. “It was OK. I miss Primary, and I don’t know the girls yet. But I felt the Holy Ghost comfort me.”
Mom smiled. “That’s good to hear! And maybe next time will be even better.”
Jewel nodded. She hoped Mom was right.
The next time she had Young Women class, Jewel said hi to the girls again.
“Hi, Jewel,” one of them said. “You should sit by me!”
Jewel smiled and sat by the girl. Her name was Ellie. They talked a lot before the lesson started. Ellie was kind and made her feel welcome.
During the lesson, the teacher asked if anyone had an experience with the Holy Ghost.
Jewel raised her hand. “I felt the Holy Ghost help me when I was nervous to join Young Women,” she said. “The Holy Ghost helps me when I grow and face challenges.”
Jewel was thinking about how the Holy Ghost comforted her when she felt alone. It felt good to share her experience with the girls in Young Women.
After she shared, a few other girls shared too. Jewel liked hearing what they had to say.
Jewel still missed Primary sometimes. But because of the Holy Ghost, she was ready to keep on growing.

A little over a year ago, I was released from my assignment in the Presidency of the Seventy, a change announced here at general conference. Because my name was read near those of General Authorities becoming emeritus, many assumed I was also finishing my time of service. After the conference, I received numerous messages of gratitude and good wishes for my next phase in life. Some even offered to buy my house in North Salt Lake. It was nice to see that I would be missed and also to know we will not have trouble selling our home when I am done. But I am not there yet.
My new assignment took Monica and me to beautiful Africa, where the Church is flourishing. It has been a blessing to serve among the faithful Saints in the Africa South Area and witness the Lord’s love for them. It’s inspiring to see generational families of all backgrounds, including many successful and well-educated Church members, dedicating their time and talents to serve others.
At the same time, given the region’s demographics, many people of modest means are joining the Church and transforming their lives through the blessings of tithing faithfulness and the educational opportunities offered by the Church. Programs such as Succeed in School, EnglishConnect, BYU–Pathway Worldwide, and the Perpetual Education Fund bless many lives, especially those of the rising generation.
President James E. Faust once stated, “It has been said that this church does not necessarily attract great people but more often makes ordinary people great.”
The greatness of our Saints in Africa becomes even more evident as they face life’s challenges and the demands of a growing Church. They always approach it with a positive attitude. They embody well the well-known teaching from President Russell M. Nelson:
“The joy we feel has little to do with the circumstances of our lives and everything to do with the focus of our lives.
“When the focus of our lives is on God’s plan of salvation … and Jesus Christ and His gospel, we can feel joy regardless of what is happening—or not happening—in our lives.”
They find joy despite their challenges. They have learned that our relationship with the Savior enables us to approach difficulties with smiling faces and grateful hearts.
Let me share some of my experiences with these faithful Saints who illustrate this principle, starting with Mozambique.
A few months ago, I presided over a stake conference for a one-year-old stake that already had 10 units. More than 2,000 people filled the small chapel and three tents that were set outside. The stake president is 31 years old, his wife is 26, and they have two small children. He leads this growing and challenging stake with no complaints—only a smiling face and a grateful heart.
In an interview with the patriarch, I learned that his wife was seriously ill, and he struggled to provide for her care. After addressing the issue with the stake president, we gave her a priesthood blessing. I inquired of the patriarch how many patriarchal blessings he gives on average.
“Eight to ten,” he said.
I asked, “Per month?”
He replied, “Per week!” I counseled him that doing that many per weekend was not wise.
“Elder Godoy,” he said, “they keep coming every week, including new members and many youths.” Again, no complaints—only a smiling face and a grateful heart.
After the Saturday evening session of stake conference, on my way to the hotel, I noticed people buying food along the road late at night. I asked my driver why they were doing it when it was so dark rather than during the day. He responded that they were working during the day to have the money to do it later.
“Oh, they were working today to eat tomorrow,” I said.
But he corrected me: “No, they were working during the day to eat tonight.” I had hoped our members might be in a better situation, but he confirmed that many faced similar challenges in that part of the country. The next morning, during our Sunday session and newly aware of their circumstances, I was even more moved by their smiling faces and grateful hearts.
On the way to a Sunday meeting, the stake president and I saw a couple walking along the road with a baby and two small children. We stopped to offer them a ride. They were surprised and delighted. When I asked how far they needed to walk to the chapel, the father replied that it could take 45 minutes to an hour, depending on the children’s pace. They faced this journey back and forth, every Sunday, with no complaints—only smiling faces and grateful hearts.
One Sunday before a stake conference, I visited two branches using public schools as meetinghouses. I was shocked by the humble and modest conditions of the buildings, which lacked even some basic amenities. As I met a few members there, I was ready to apologize for the inadequate conditions of their meetinghouse, but they were happy to have a nearby place to gather, avoiding the usual long walk. Again, there were no complaints—only smiling faces and grateful hearts.
Following a Saturday of leadership training, the stake president took me to Sunday services held in a rented house. There were 240 people in attendance. Then the bishop introduced 10 new members baptized that week. The congregation was spread across two small rooms, with some members also sitting outside the building, watching the meeting through windows and doors. There were no complaints—only smiling faces and grateful hearts.
I visited this beautiful small country, also known as “the mountain kingdom,” to see a Church district preparing to become a stake. Following a Saturday of meetings, I attended Sunday services in one of their branches in a rented house. The sacramental room was overflowing, with people standing outside the door to participate. I told the branch president that he needed a bigger house. To my surprise, he informed me that this was only half of his membership. The other half would attend a second sacrament meeting after the second hour. Again, there were no complaints—only smiling faces and grateful hearts.
I returned to Lesotho later due to a fatal traffic accident involving several of our youth, already mentioned by Elder D. Todd Christofferson earlier. When I visited the families and leaders, I expected a somber atmosphere. Instead, I encountered strong and resilient Saints who were coping with the situation in an uplifting and inspiring way.
Mpho Aniciah Nku, 14, a surviving accident victim in this picture, illustrated it well in her own words: “Trust in Jesus and always look unto Him, because through Him you’ll find peace, and He will help you in the healing process.”
These are just a few examples where we see their positive attitude because they center their lives in the gospel of Jesus Christ. They know where to find help and hope.
Why can the Savior succor them and us in any circumstances of our lives? The answer can be found in the scriptures:
“And he shall go forth, suffering pains and afflictions and temptations of every kind. …
“… And he will take upon him their infirmities, that his bowels may be filled with mercy, … that he may know … how to succor his people according to their infirmities.”
As Elder David A. Bednar taught, there is no physical pain, anguish, or weakness we can experience that the Savior does not know. “You and I in a moment of weakness may cry out, ‘No one understands [what I am going through]. …’ No human being, perhaps, knows. But the Son of God perfectly knows and understands.” And why? Because “He felt and bore our burdens before we ever did.”
I conclude with my testimony of Christ’s words found in Matthew 11:
“Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.
“Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls.
“For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”
Just like those Saints in Africa, I know this promise is true. It is true there, and it’s true everywhere. Of this I testify in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

In early 2011, New Mexico—usually a mild desert state—felt record low temperatures. The freezing caused pipes all over the state to burst, including some in the stake center where the Scouts of Troop 211 meet. Within hours volunteers, including many of these Scouts, were at the building to help clean up.
But serving together is nothing new for the boys of the troop. Just days after helping clear out the building, parents and Scouts gathered to hold a court of honor for the 10 boys from the ward who would be receiving Eagle awards. These young men had performed a host of service projects in their community, including organizing a blood drive; cleaning up a baseball field; working on the landscaping, classrooms, and libraries of local schools; and assisting with research for eye diseases in Peru. In recognition of the boys’ collective service, the city’s mayor attended their court of honor and pronounced February 9, 2011, as “Troop 211 Eagle Scouts Day.”

“Danna,” Mamá called. “Ready for school? It’s scripture time!”
“Coming!” Danna slid her math book into her brightly colored school bag and slung it over her shoulder.
Danna and her family memorized a new scripture verse every week. Each day before they left for school, they practiced saying it together. Mamá said that learning a new scripture is like making a new friend. Once it’s in your heart, it’s there whenever you need it.
Danna and her younger sisters stood by the door and repeated this week’s verse. It was from the Doctrine and Covenants.
“‘Pray always, that you may come off conqueror,’” they said together.
“What does ‘come off conqueror’ mean?” Danna’s sister Tatianna asked.
“It means that you can do hard things!” Danna said.
Mamá nodded. “When we pray, Heavenly Father will help us.”
Danna repeated the scripture over and over in her mind as she hurried off to school.
Later that day, Danna’s teacher stood at the front of the classroom next to the blue and white Guatemalan flag. “Time for your math test,” Señora Morales said. She started passing out a stack of papers.
Danna liked math. And she was good at it! She had studied hard for the test, and she knew she could do well on it.
Danna grabbed her pencil and started working. She was feeling good about her answers. Then she got to the last set of problems. They were really hard. She couldn’t remember how to do them!
Danna felt a wave of panic. How could she finish her math test? She gripped her pencil and read the next problem again.
Then a thought popped into her mind. “Pray always, that you may come off conqueror. …”
Danna took a deep breath. She closed her eyes and said a quiet prayer in her heart. Heavenly Father, please help me remember what I’ve learned. Please help me to do a good job on this test.
Danna looked back at her paper. She looked at the problems she had already solved. Then she looked at the hard ones again. She started remembering how to do them! Her nervousness melted away. She took another deep breath and went to work.
After school, Danna was excited to tell her family about what happened.
“At first I couldn’t remember how to solve some of the problems,” Danna said. “But then I thought about the scripture we’re memorizing. I said a prayer, and Heavenly Father helped me.”
“Way to go!” Mamá said.
“You came off conqueror!” Tatianna said.
Danna laughed. “I did! No matter what score I get, I know I did my best.” She gave Mom and Tatianna a big hug. She couldn’t wait to see what scripture friend they would make next week!
This story happened in Guatemala. Go to page 10 to learn about that country!

Many sisters’ acceptance letters were simple expressions of gratitude at the opportunity to serve, while others tell stories of incredible courage and faith. Julia Curtis’s husband died before he could fill his mission call. After her baby also died, she wrote to the First Presidency, saying, “I now am alone, ready and anxious to fill this mission and take my husband’s place.”15 Julia was called to serve in Colorado, and upon her return, she married one of the missionaries who had previously served in that mission.

The Lowell family came to the community under unusual circumstances. Brother Lowell had just finished his doctorate degree at BYU and was searching for a job. “I knew I wanted to coach swimming because Cal was in swimming. He showed talent as a youngster, and all I really wanted to do was help him develop it. I wanted to find a job that would allow me to spend time with my son.”
But after graduation Brother Lowell was 50 and unemployed. He’d been fasting and praying about finding a job and worrying particularly about his older son Ron who was still on a mission. As he sat at the kitchen table reading a swimming magazine, a small classified ad caught Brother Lowell’s attention. It described a coaching position available in a desert town 150 miles southeast of Los Angeles. Every detail seemed to be describing him. “It was like a hand came down on my shoulder, and I had to get up and call the number. I figured that an ad in a national magazine would already be filled, but I knew I had to call just the same. I told the man who answered the phone, ‘You may think I’m crazy, but I think the Lord wants me to come to Indio and coach swimming. I’m a Mormon, and I think that I’m being told that that’s what I should be doing.’ The man said, ‘I don’t think you’re crazy; I’m a Mormon, too!’” Brother Joe Rile, the man Brother Lowell had phoned, was on the board of directors for a private swim club in Indio. Soon the whole Lowell family was relocated.

A few years ago I drove to Temple Square in Salt Lake City to meet an acquaintance of the missionaries. Their guest did not keep the appointment. My response to the missionaries was, “The Lord will provide someone for us to teach.” In less than two to three minutes, two adult men walked through the front door of the North Visitors’ Center and directly up to us. They spoke Spanish, and we did not! We assured them the best we could that someone would be able to help them. In moments, the only Spanish-speaking sister missionaries in the entire mission arrived at the visitors’ center because they felt impressed to come there that morning!

Over a period of several weeks the missionary discussions were taught to those men, and they asked to be baptized. The Lord was true to His word. “An effectual door” was opened in the very moment it was needed for this beautiful experience.

This pattern can be seen in the life of Jasmine B. of Washington, USA, who received help in coping with a disease. Before contracting the disease, she was a healthy young woman who excelled on her high school track team and loved getting up early for seminary.
Then she started feeling ill. She lost 15 pounds very quickly, and no matter how much sleep she got, it became harder and harder to get up for seminary. She couldn’t run as well as she used to and was hungry, thirsty, and weak all the time.
Over a month went by before she started to pray for help. “I held off so long,” she says, “because the thought of praying for help was an act of submission, admitting that something was indeed wrong with me. It scared me.”
But because she humbled herself to seek the Lord’s help, answers started to come. She went to see a doctor, who discovered she had developed type 1 diabetes, which meant her body could not produce insulin to process sugar. Diabetes has lifelong consequences and must be carefully monitored. Even as the doctors developed a plan to help her manage her condition, she began to worry that she would not be able to continue running track.
“I never ceased to pray as I struggled to understand my new life and to control my disease,” she says. “I prayed for strength and understanding and that I would be able to accept this trial. I would not have made it through those hard days and weeks without prayer.”
Jasmine made incredible strides. Within two weeks of being diagnosed, she was back practicing on the track, and later that year she did well in state competitions. “I believe Heavenly Father has blessed me with a strong, healthy body,” she says. “Having diabetes was not the end of the world. With His help, I knew I could get through this.”
By the grace of God and through her dependence on Him, Jasmine is able to cope with her disease and have wonderful successes in her life.

At age 14, young Ezra T. took over management of the family’s dairy herd while his father was away on a three-year mission. He remembers sitting around the kitchen table, listening to his mother read the letters his father sent home. Reminiscing about listening to those letters, he said, “There came into that home a spirit of missionary work that never left it, and later seven sons, all of them, went on missions, to their blessing and the blessing of their posterity” (Glasgow Scotland Area Conference, June 21, 1976).

Shortly after my sweetheart, Devonna, and I were married, she shared with me a story about how she learned in her youth this important doctrine that we are free to choose but that we are not free to choose the consequences of our actions. With the help of my daughter Shelly, I would like to relate Sister Arnold’s experience:
“When I was 15 years old, I often felt that there were too many rules and commandments. I wasn’t sure that a normal, fun-loving teenager could enjoy life with so many restrictions. Furthermore, the many hours spent working on my father’s ranch were seriously dipping into my time with my friends.
“This particular summer, one of my jobs was to ensure that the cows grazing on the mountain pasture did not break through the fence and get into the wheat field. A cow grazing on the growing wheat can bloat, causing suffocation and death. One cow in particular was always trying to stick her head through the fence. One morning, as I was riding my horse along the fence line checking on the cattle, I found that the cow had broken through the fence and gotten into the wheat field. To my dismay, I realized that she had been eating wheat for quite some time, because she was already bloated and looked much like a balloon. I thought, ‘You stupid cow! That fence was there to protect you, yet you broke through it and you have eaten so much wheat that your life is in danger.’
“I raced back to the farmhouse to get my dad. However, when we returned, I found her lying dead on the ground. I was saddened by the loss of that cow. We had provided her with a beautiful mountain pasture to graze in and a fence to keep her away from the dangerous wheat, yet she foolishly broke through the fence and caused her own death.
“As I thought about the role of the fence, I realized that it was a protection, just as the commandments and my parents’ rules were a protection. The commandments and rules were for my own good. I realized that obedience to the commandments could save me from physical and spiritual death. That enlightenment was a pivotal point in my life.”
Sister Arnold learned that our kind, wise, and loving Heavenly Father has given us commandments not to restrict us, as the adversary would have us believe, but to bless our lives and to protect our good name and our legacy for future generations—just as they had for Lehi and Nephi. Just like the cow that received the consequences of her choice, each one of us must learn that the grass is never greener on the other side of the fence—nor will it ever be, for “wickedness never was happiness.” Each one of us will receive the consequences of our choices when this life is over. The commandments are clear, they are protective—they are not restrictive—and the wonderful blessings of obedience are numberless!

One of Winston’s favorite pastimes was maneuvering his collection of fifteen hundred toy soldiers in battle formation and playing out his strategies of war. Lord Randolph decided that if nothing else, Winston could become a soldier. However, Winston twice failed the entrance exam to Sandhurst, the famed military college, before barely passing it.

After two years of learning about military tactics and law, fortifications, map making, and riding, Winston graduated with honors, eighth in a class of 150. After leaving Sandhurst, he participated in various wars in Cuba, India, and Africa, often as a foreign correspondent for newspapers.