Gospel Story Finder

Moroni Rubio was only 16 when he earned the number one ranking among sprinters in Mexico, after breaking records in the 100- and 200-meter sprints. That same year, 2002, he took first place in the 100 meters at the Central American Junior Championships and was named athlete of the year in the state of Yucatán.
His dreams are pinned on his feet, which are expected to carry him all the way to the 2008 Summer Olympics in Beijing, China. But even if, for some reason, his feet don’t take him to the Olympics, they will have already accomplished a great work.
His feet have put his unique name in the spotlight, bringing him numerous missionary opportunities. Because of Moroni’s success, he’s been on television a number of times—each time with his name right there on the screen.
“I’m asked about my name a lot,” says Moroni, a priest in the Mérida México Lakín Stake. “It’s a great opportunity to talk about the gospel. And when I race, the members watching always know I’m a member too—by my name. I think it’s something they’re proud of.”

—Someone else was impressed with the lost money, too—the girl who lost it. She had been encouraged by her LDS friends to join them at Chiemsee and was dismayed when her funds for the entire activity disappeared. Her roommates helped her to search, had prayed with her, and had come to the desk to see if the clerk could offer any suggestions.
“Twenty dollars?” he said, trying to hide his grin. “Why, yes, someone turned it in just five minutes ago. …”
“... and the young lady’s money was returned to her,” the article implies, but the full resolution is not present in the provided text.

“Water rushed over Greg’s face and he panicked. I tried to help him, but he fought me because he was scared. We gave him a board to hang onto, but it gave away. I grabbed him, but he pulled me under with him. When we came up, I grabbed his hair and started for shore, but he threw his arms around my neck and wouldn’t let go.
“Finally I broke the hold and again started working him to shore. He struggled all the way. I was tired, but I knew I had to keep trying. The water was deep—I never touched bottom in the middle. Just as I reached shore, a cramp set in my leg and I couldn’t move. But we had made it, and were both okay.”
What may sound like a passage from a pioneer journal describing the crossing of the Mississippi is actually 17-year-old Daniel Kite’s description of how he rescued a sixth-grader from the Weber River near Ogden, Utah. Dan, a member of Troop 38, Hooper First Ward, Hooper Utah Stake, was awarded a Certificate for Heroism by the Boy Scouts of America.
Brent advised hikers to always travel with a partner and not to take shortcuts. “Stay on the trail or you’ll get in trouble,” he said. Daniel warned swimmers to know the water they’re swimming in and not to swim in conditions beyond their capability. Kristin advised everyone to learn how to swim and to become familiar with lifesaving techniques. Brother Crockett advised those who find themselves in an emergency to do something, rather than just watch, which complemented Brother Johnson’s advice to “be quick and alert, but think things out before you act. Keep calm and don’t panic. Move as quickly as possible and listen for guidance from the Lord.” Mike Poppleton said Scouts should pay attention during classes on lifesaving techniques so that when an emergency does arise, they’ll be able to think of what to do. And the entire group agreed that proper training is vital and that people should be careful about what they do if they have had no training.
Most of the group agreed that their rescue efforts had been a spiritual experience for them. “At the time I acted only on instinct, but since then I have thought how great it is that I was able to save one of Heavenly Father’s sons,” Kristin said. Dan said he felt the Lord helped him “keep a straight head,” and gave him that “additional strength needed to get to shore before the cramp set in.”

Some years ago one of my missionaries came to see me. He said: “President, I am losing my testimony. I have some questions that no one will answer for me. My bishop and stake president just told me to forget them, and they had no answers.”

I asked for his questions in writing and then suggested he come to see me in 10 days, and I would answer every one of his questions.

As he was leaving my office, I was prompted to ask him, “Elder, how long has it been since you have read from the scriptures?”

He acknowledged that it had been a long time.

I said: “You have given me an assignment; it’s only fair that I give you one. You read at least one hour from the scriptures each day until you come back for your answers.”

He agreed to do this.

When he came back, I was ready. He said: “President, I don’t need the answers. I know the Book of Mormon is true. I know Joseph Smith is a prophet. I’m OK now.”

I replied: “You will get your answers anyway. I worked hard on them!” All of this anti-Mormon stuff was what we were dealing with.

After our discussion I asked him, “Elder, what have you learned from all of this?”

And he gave me a very significant response: “I’ve learned to give the Lord equal time!”

When Ali’s eighth birthday drew near, she asked her parents if she could be baptized on her birthday—she was too excited to wait a day longer! They were able to schedule it, so on July 11, 2000, she was baptized a member of the Church. She was delighted to have her Grandma and Grandpa Balsor in attendance. “My grandparents were so touched by the Spirit that they cried,” she said. After the baptism, her mother felt inspired to give them a copy of the Book of Mormon.

My Story
Finally, how do we “keep singing” when we can’t see the Conductor or feel His presence? Bear with me as I tell you a difficult personal story.

In 2009, after a spiritually powerful performance tour with the choir, I suffered a massive crisis of faith, triggered by something I read that raised questions I couldn’t answer. What I read isn’t important; I’ll just say, it was convincing enough to destroy some weak links in what I thought was a secure testimony. I have since called this the problem of plastic parts. You know how things you buy are only as strong as the plastic parts the manufacturers put in intentionally so your item breaks right after the warranty expires? That’s a topic for another day, but it sums up the problem with my faith: it was built with too many plastic parts, meaning, even in my 40s, without realizing it, key parts of my testimony were still based on opinions of men, including my own youthful attempts to reconcile my understanding of science and the gospel. When those plastic parts failed, the whole machine fell apart. I went into a deep spiritual funk that lasted three years. I was seldom happy, my family suffered; I doubted the reality of my soul, even the existence of God.

At this moment of spiritual crisis, I realized, I had felt the Spirit and knew I had, including many times on the choir tour that year. I also recalled times in my younger life when I had unmistakably seen God’s hand, answering prayers and honoring priesthood blessings in miraculous ways that couldn’t be explained away no matter how hard my tortured mind tried.

Even in my pain, I remembered that God knew me personally, exactly as Brother Michael Lewis taught us so beautifully last week. I knew He knew my name. Through an experience too sacred to share here, I knew He even knew my phone number. Even if I couldn’t “feel so now,” I had heard and sung the song of redeeming love, and it was not imaginary.

I realized then that to be truly intellectually honest, I couldn’t dismiss my own storehouse of spiritual memories, even though I couldn’t yet answer a few hard questions. That thought—those memories—made me push the pause button and say, “Wait. Let’s give this a fair trial.”

And so I began to rewrite my song—starting with “I Am a Child of God”—which at that moment was all I felt I knew for certain. I began to build a new foundation for my faith, this time without the plastic parts.

I still believe in miracles, but not in every second-hand miracle story I’m told. I’m rebuilding my faith on the smaller but more solid blocks of daily, authentic, personal experiences with God that nobody can take away from me. Claims of “indisputable evidence” against the Church or its leaders have also lost their power to faze me. I’m imperfect, so what if my leaders are too? I’ve met many of them, including President Russell M. Nelson. They are good people, serving the Lord the best they know how, just as I am. Their mistakes, real or imagined, have nothing to do with my personal quest to learn the Lord’s song and sing my part.

Nestled on the southern edge of New Jersey are several small towns. Many of the families here earn their living from the sea. The Cape May Lighthouse guides the fishing boats and ferries around the dangerous rocks and shoals. Just as the lighthouse leads boats to safety, Chandler and Michael Altieri trust the gospel light to guide them past spiritual rocks and shoals.
Sister Christine Altieri joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints when she was ten years old. Although she did not marry a Church member, her husband, John, supported her in her beliefs. One by one their children were born: Corie (15), Lauren (13), Brittany (12), Michael (10), Chandler (7), Ty (5), Abigail (2), and Drew (11 months). Their family shared a lot of happiness and love. But one thing was missing: Dad had never joined the Church. He attended regularly and participated as fully as he could without being a member. But his family wanted him to become a member so that they could be sealed together as an eternal family.
Michael was going on eight. His dad had never had the opportunity to give a name and a priesthood blessing to or baptize any of his children. A few months before his birthday, Michael decided that, “All I want for my birthday is for Dad to baptize me.” Michael, his mother, brother, and sisters fasted and prayed harder than ever that their father would decide to join the Church and be able to baptize Michael.
Weeks passed, then months. “We kept praying and praying and praying,” Michael recalled. The week before he turned eight, his mother said, “It didn’t work. We need to talk to the branch president about your baptism and who will perform it.”
“But Mom, we’re praying, we’re praying.”
The next Sunday Brother Altieri volunteered to talk to the branch president about Michael getting baptized and to take care of all the details.
In sacrament meeting, the family was stunned with joy when the branch president announced an upcoming baptism—not Michael’s, but his father’s! The family’s prayers had been answered! Brother Altieri was baptized that week, and the following week, Michael’s dream was realized when his father baptized him. Michael said, “I had really wanted him to baptize me, and it finally happened. It felt really good.”
Chandler had also prayed that her dad would be baptized. She is now looking forward to her own baptism. “I want to be baptized so that the Holy Ghost will be with me.” She is preparing to be baptized by listening to President Gordon B. Hinckley and following his counsel. “I try to choose the right and to be kind to others.”
The Altieri family was later sealed together in the Washington D.C. Temple. “When we were sealed, Mom and Dad had to go somewhere for about three hours,” Michael remembered. “We stayed in this nursery place. We picked out white clothes and put them on. A temple lady showed us a movie that explained what being sealed was all about. At first she put in the wrong film. It was in Spanish. I thought maybe we needed to learn to speak Spanish. But then she put in the film in English. After the film, we went into the sealing room. Some other people were there, even the stake president. Then we were sealed, and I was so happy!”
Chandler still has the white ribbon she wore in her hair that day in the temple. “We were sealed so that we can be together for all eternity.”
Besides seeing his family sealed together, Michael has another hope—of becoming a champion wrestler. He’s been undefeated for three years in his weight and age division in the South New Jersey Wrestling Association. But sometimes he has to make tough choices between two things he loves—wrestling and the Church.
A few years ago, a very important tournament was coming up. Michael’s parents thought that the tournament was on a Saturday, and he signed up to go. When they found out it was on a Sunday, his father asked him if he still wanted to be in the tournament. Although he knew that his team was counting on him to score some team points for it, he said, “Well then, I can’t go.” He explained, “It’s hard not to go to Sunday tournaments, but I don’t, because it’s against a commandment. And I’ve had a lot of blessings.” Since making that decision the first time, not competing on Sundays has been easier. And his decision has showed others that he lives what he believes.
Chandler also lives what she believes. Not long ago her family was fostering a dog they called Puppy. Puppy had been mistreated the first nine months of his life, then was taken away from the people who mistreated him. But he was now skittish and frightened of people. Before he could be adopted, he had to learn to trust people and to get along with children. Teaching him that was what the Altieri family volunteered to do.
One day, he got loose and ran away. “We looked and looked for him,” Sister Altieri said, “but we couldn’t find him. Some of us got in the car to go looking for him. As I was driving, Chandler said a prayer, asking Heavenly Father to help us find Puppy. We had driven miles, and I thought that we’d never see the dog again. We turned down a road that ran along railroad tracks. Beside the tracks were thick woods. And by the railroad track, we could just see this head sticking up—it was Puppy! I’ll never forget it.”
Mom said how amazed she was that they found Puppy. “But we said a prayer, Mom,” was Chandler’s simple reply. She knows that Heavenly Father answers her prayers. Eventually Puppy learned to trust people and to play with children, and he was adopted by a good family.
Michael tries to be like Jesus by staying out of bad situations. “Sometimes my friends go back into the woods, but I don’t go. They do things back in there that I don’t want to do, like shooting off firecrackers (which is illegal), starting fires, and smoking.” One fire that was started in the woods came right up to the back of the Altieri property before it could be put out. “I tell my friends, ‘Let’s not go.’ Sometimes they listen to me, and sometimes they don’t. But I won’t go.”
Both Michael and Chandler strive to follow the gospel light as they make their way through life’s sea of choices. And by their examples they try to help others find the way, too.

A young adult woman had a gift for writing and some personal experience with depression. When her teenage sister was dealing with a difficult situation at school, she was able to recognize that her sister was slipping into despondency. Heeding the Spirit’s promptings, she wrote her sister a series of beautiful notes, expressing her love and confidence, one for each day of an especially trying two-week period. In that small choice to meet her sister’s need, this young woman was living her mission.

In October 1879, a group of 237 Latter-day Saints from several small southwestern Utah settlements was called to blaze a new route and colonize what is today known as San Juan County in southeastern Utah. The journey was to have taken six weeks but instead took nearly six months. Their struggles and heroics are well documented, particularly their seemingly impossible task of crossing the Colorado River at a place called Hole-in-the-Rock. Those who have visited this place marvel that wagons and teams could have been lowered through this narrow crack in the red-rock canyon walls to reach the Colorado River far below. Once the Colorado was crossed, however, many other severe tests awaited them on the trail to San Juan County. Tired and worn out, early in April 1880 they faced their final obstacle, Comb Ridge. The Comb is a ridge of solid sandstone forming a steep wall nearly 1,000 feet high.
One hundred and twenty years later, our family climbed Comb Ridge on a bright spring day. The ridge is steep and treacherous. It was difficult to imagine that wagons, teams, men, women, and children could make such an ascent. But beneath our feet were the scars from the wagon wheels, left as evidence of their struggles so long ago. How did they feel after enduring so much? Were they bitter after the many months of toil and privation? Did they criticize their leaders for sending them on such an arduous journey, asking them to give up so much? Our questions were answered as we reached the top of Comb Ridge. There inscribed in the red sandstone so long ago were the words, “We thank Thee, O God.”

I’d like to begin by sharing the story of a great friend we met here in Hawaii. One day, not long after we arrived, David Nagaishi came to see me at the mission home. He asked for permission to have the missionaries teach him at his restaurant in Waikiki. His wife, Wendy, was serving as the Primary President in our home ward in Kahala, but he had never been interested in the Church – in fact, he was somewhat antagonistic. But somehow, the missionaries had made contact again, and this time, he was prepared to be taught, but he didn’t want Wendy to know! His request was a bit unusual, but we made the necessary arrangements, and the missionaries began teaching him in earnest.

In due time through his study and prayers, David gained a testimony and wanted to be baptized. The day came for his baptism. Everyone in the ward knew about it, everyone except Wendy! David was dressed in white and seated on the stand in the chapel. A very large congregation of ward members was secretly seated in the chapel too, but Wendy, with a little assistance from her counselor, was in a Primary “planning meeting” in another part of the building. Pretending to hear a commotion, her counselor suggested they go to the chapel to make sure everything was okay.

Now, you can imagine the scene! Wendy’s absolute surprise as she walked into a chapel full of ward members, and David sitting on the stand in baptismal clothing! In her shock (and to the delight of everyone else), she let out an audible, “He can’t be baptized. He hasn’t had the lessons and he hates the missionaries!” Well, David was baptized that day and began his faithful journey in the Church. A year or so later, David prepared to attend the temple and asked if I would be his escort. What a sacred privilege it was for me to accompany my friend to the temple! Today, he serves as the executive secretary in his ward, and he and Wendy have been sealed for eternity with their family. About a month ago, they took their son, Michael, to the MTC to begin his own mission to Japan. As you can guess, David no longer “hates” the missionaries!

That was just one of the special conversions we witnessed while serving here in Hawaii.

John Akpik hunched behind his father on the seat of the snowmobile. The machine clacked noisily as it sped across the tundra snow. Although it was noon, only a faint sun shone above the horizon. However, the brightness of the snow and the filmy clouds overhead lighted the way.
John and his father were speeding from Kivalina to Point Hope to see Grandfather Akpik, who was dying. Grandfather was a storyteller, and John remembered the many times that he had listened to Grandfather tell of the old ways of the Eskimos.
As he thought of his grandfather, John kept a sharp eye on the country that they were passing through. It seemed to be an unrelieved white blanket of snow and ice. Yet, for those who looked closely, the country showed its secret directions: an ice ridge looked like a dog sleeping; wind lines on the snow pointed north; the smooth frozen flatness was the Kukpuk River.
Suddenly Father hollered and pointed to the left. “A whiteout! We’ll have to stop.”
The machine came to a halt. John had seen a whiteout in his village, but he had never been caught in one on the tundra. Now he watched the whiteout sweep toward them. The low clouds over the tundra seemed to gather what light there was and scatter it down. Shadows disappeared. John could still see some things in the distance, but he couldn’t tell how far away they were.
Soon the snowmobile seemed to be encased in light cotton. Without any shadows, the snow mounds, the ridges, the hills all blended together. If he and Father kept going, they might head up an ice ridge and zoom right off the other side, never realizing its height. Or they might see a river and believe it to be a mile away, when it was only several feet away. There was no way to tell by looking.
In spite of the whiteout, John thought that they should keep going. They had to see Grandfather, to say good-bye to him.
Father shook his head. “We can’t travel in a whiteout. It’s too dangerous. We could run into a river with unstable ice and not even know it was there.”
“I could walk ahead,” John said. “Grandfather told me a story once about a driver who walked in front of his dog team in a whiteout. He threw his whip ahead of him, and he could see where it landed and if it was safe to keep going. I have my knife. I could throw the sheath ahead of me and watch where it falls.”
The older man thought for a minute. Then he said, “Let’s try it. We can’t wait here. It might be days before the whiteout lifts.”
John walked ahead of the snowmobile as it inched along. It was like moving in a fog, except that the air was clear. Without shadows, John couldn’t tell if his footing would go up or down with each step. But the sheath, dark against the whiteness around them, told its story and helped them each time John tossed it. It fell low in the dips of the snow, it landed high when the land sloped up, and it clattered noisily against any snow cliffs in their path. Progress was slow but steady. Each footstep brought them that much closer to Point Hope.
And just as suddenly as it had arrived, the whiteout faded away. Shadows appeared around them and deepened. Slopes showed their heights, and ridges disclosed their depths. The snowmobile could now go fast without the great danger that the whiteout had caused.
“Grandfather helped us,” John said. “This time I will tell him a story. I will tell him how a great storyteller helped rescue his son and grandson.”

I have a very strong testimony of example. The article “In Football or in Life” (November) touched me deeply because of an experience we had a short time ago with a very special father and his sons whom we were teaching. The father said they had been jealous of their neighbors because of the happiness these neighbors had in their home. He concluded that it had to be a result of their religion because they truly live it. He wanted some of that true joy for his own family. I also think of my parents, who are the greatest examples to me. They always taught me true principles and raised me in the way that would please the Lord. They truly show charity (the pure love of Christ) in their everyday lives. My heart is full of love for my Father and mother in heaven, and my eldest brother Jesus Christ, and with gratitude for the love they have given the world. Our brothers and sisters all around the world need the gospel so much, and I’m thankful for the Church leaders who place their time and lives on the altar so that the world may receive the word of our Lord. I love all God’s children and am so thankful for the opportunity to grow by serving them.
Elder John Kevin YoungCalifornia Ventura Mission

Before I address some of these, let me share an experience that has profoundly and increasingly influenced me as I have grown older. Some of the most important lessons in life are not fully appreciated until a long time has elapsed. This personal experience was one of them.

While serving as a young missionary in Scotland, I was visiting with my mission president, Bernard P. Brockbank, who later became a general authority. Like almost all mission presidents, he had a tremendous, positive influence and impact on his missionaries. I tried always to listen carefully to his counsel and teaching, even when I did not understand or appreciate fully what he was trying to share and why.

I was serving as a District Leader and had come to discuss with the president one of the missionaries for whom I had responsibility and a particular problem this elder faced. I wanted to be more helpful to my associate than I had been and the president made some practical and positive suggestions. He then grew pensive and looked at the "board" on his office wall where all of the missionaries in the mission had their pictures posted and segregated into companionships, districts, and zones. I'll never forget that President Brockbank, without identifying any specific individual, said sadly that some of the missionaries whose pictures we could see on his wall would be lost to Church activity in the years ahead.

I don't remember if I said anything. I hope I didn't, but I do remember being absolutely sure at the time that he was wrong. I knew virtually all of these missionaries at least a little and could not conceive of a single one, even those with problems or special challenges, who would not remain true and faithful. Over the years, sadly, there have not been many, but there have been a few who did not remain faithful to their covenants, enough to demonstrate that the president's prophecy was true. Happily, some have put their lives back in order but others have yet to do so.

As I have reflected on my experience with my mission president and observed firsthand the truth of his sad predictions, I have recently understood more clearly that his observation of the missionary board that day may have been meant as a direct warning to me and not just a casual lament about others as I had assumed at the time.

Our daughter Abi is a talented runner. When she was a freshman in high school she became very focused on her performance—in showing how fast she was—and she feared failing because that would mean she wasn’t talented. One particularly hot fall afternoon she chose not to run in a meet because it just seemed too hard for her to run well. In contrast, by her senior year she used each meet, regardless of circumstances, to learn how she could improve. She scored in every race. She ended up as her team’s most consistent runner, placing better at nearly every meet, and she ran in the state championship. She demonstrated a shift from a fixed mind-set to a growth mind-set.

Harry Guan, Utah, USA
I grew up in China and considered myself a Christian, despite the fact that I never actually went to church. I was interested in God and Jesus Christ, and I thought Christian doctrine was very comforting.
When I moved to the United States for college, I started attending a nondenominational Christian church. After a few months, I heard about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints from some friends who were considering attending Brigham Young University. I asked a few students at the Christian church about the Latter-day Saints and was surprised when they fervently warned me to stay away from the “Mormons.” I listened to their advice at first, but as I was scrolling through social media about a week later, I came across an address by Elder Jeffrey R. Holland of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. In the talk, he mentioned that members of the Church should be respectful to other religions (see “Faith, Family, and Religious Freedom,” lds.org/prophets-and-apostles). As I listened to Elder Holland, I felt what I now know as the Spirit and decided that I needed to learn more about the Church.
I ended up going to church and later met with missionaries. I was touched by their teachings, particularly the plan of salvation. My parents weren’t too happy when I decided to be baptized, but they accepted that I was old enough to make my own decisions. When my grandparents visited me in America a few months later, I was able to teach them about the gospel. They both decided to be baptized.
The gospel has brought me so much joy and it has led me to my soon-to-be wife. It is worth every sacrifice I have had to make or will make.

Recently President James E. Faust told the story of a Latter-day Saint lecturer at London University, Joseph Hamstead. Brother Hamstead once spoke to a group at the university of the LDS faith, including its youth and family programs. One of those in attendance responded as follows: “I like all of this, what is being done for families, etc. If you could take out that bit about an angel appearing to Joseph Smith, I could belong to your church.” Hamstead retorted: “Ah, but if you take away the angel appearing to the Prophet Joseph, then I couldn’t belong to the Church because that is its foundation.”[12]

Boy Scouts from the Elk Grove First and Third wards of the Sacramento California South Stake organized an ice cave freeze-out, an event they hope to hold annually. The winter camp was held at the 7,000-foot level on Echo Summit between Sacramento and South Lake Tahoe.
The group backpacked two miles on snowshoes to the main campsite. There they were taught basic snow survival techniques and how to build several kinds of snow shelters by experienced leaders. These shelters served as sleeping places for the Scouts during the nights when temperatures dropped to 15°F.
The Scouts were surprised to find very little spare time for fun or horseplay as nearly every available minute was spent in preparing and serving food, building snow shelters, learning survival techniques, or just staying warm by the fire. The Scouts found that the Boy Scout motto, “Be Prepared,” is more than just a motto. They found that extensive planning and preparation were essential for a comfortable snow camping experience.

A few years ago I had the opportunity to preside at a regional conference in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma. As I enjoyed the sweet spirit which prevailed during the conference and the wonderful hospitality of the people, I reflected upon how the community’s spirit of compassionate help had been tested in the extreme on April 19, 1995. On that day a terrorist-planted bomb destroyed the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building in downtown Oklahoma City, taking 168 persons to their deaths and injuring countless others.
Following the conference, I was driven to the entrance of a beautiful and symbolic memorial which graces the area where the Murrah building once stood. The day was dreary and rainy, which tended to underscore the pain and suffering that had occurred on this spot. The memorial features a 400-foot (122-m) reflecting pool. On one side of the pool are 168 empty glass and granite chairs, in honor of each of the people killed. These are placed, as far as can be determined, where the fallen bodies were found.
On the opposite side of the pool there stands, on a gentle rise of ground, a mature American elm tree—the only nearby tree to survive the destruction. It is appropriately and affectionately named “The Survivor Tree.” In regal splendor it honors those who survived the horrific blast.
My host directed my attention to the inscription above the gate of the memorial:
We come here to remember those who were killed, those who survived and those changed forever.
May all who leave here know the impact of violence.
May this memorial offer comfort, strength, peace, hope and serenity.
With tears in his eyes and with a faltering voice, my host declared, “This community and all the churches and citizens in it have been galvanized together. In our grief we have become strong. In our spirit we have become united.”
We concluded that the best word to describe what had taken place was compassion. My thoughts turned to the musical play Camelot, written by Alan Jay Lerner and based on a novel by T. H. White. King Arthur, in his dream of a better world where people would share an ideal relationship one with another, said, as he recalled the purpose of the Round Table, “Violence is not strength, and compassion is not weakness.”

One mother who learned to put her trust in the arm of the Lord taught a son to do the same. Later, as a man bearing testimony to the power of prayer, he said: “It was through the example of my mother that I learned to depend on the Lord. Whenever we had an important decision to make, we would discuss the problem, and then my mother would say, ‘Now, let’s take it to the Lord.’ I often came home to find housework left at a standstill and my mother kneeling in prayer. Friends coming into the house sometimes asked me, ‘What is your mother doing?’ I would say, ‘She is taking a problem to the Lord.’”

Francisco is sometimes tormented at school because he is a member of the Church. One day two boys he was playing with started to hit him. One of them hit him very hard in the head. “I didn’t fight with them,” he said, “because I don’t like to fight and I know that it is bad. Also something told me not to fight with them. It was the Holy Ghost.”
The director of the school called in the parents of all three boys to help solve the problem. After the meeting, the director told Francisco’s parents how impressed she was with him for not fighting, for telling the truth, and for his good example for the other children. “My friends were punished for what they had done—they couldn’t go out at recess for one or two weeks.” Francisco is grateful that the Holy Ghost prompted him to do what was right.