Gospel Story Finder

“Mom, I shouldn’t have to do all of these dishes!” Roxanne complained. “David didn’t do them last night, and now I have to do his dishes too. Can’t he help me?”
“David is helping me with something else right now,” Mom said.
“But it’s not fair!” Roxanne said loudly.
“Please speak nicely,” Mom said.
Just then, David poked his head around the corner, laughing and making faces. “Yeah,” he whispered so Mom couldn’t hear. “Speak nicely!”
Roxanne put her hand under the running faucet and threw a handful of water at David.
“Roxanne!” Mom exclaimed.
Roxanne tried to explain, but Mom sent her to her room. Roxanne lay on her bed until Mom came in to talk.
“Roxanne, how do you feel right now?”
“Angry.”
“Would you rather feel happy?” Mom asked.
“Well, yes,” Roxanne said.
“I know I asked you to do more dishes than normal, and that’s hard,” Mom said. “And I know it isn’t always easy to get along with your brother. But don’t forget that you’re always in charge of your feelings.”
Roxanne thought. Even though she would rather feel happy, it wasn’t easy to let go of her anger.
“It’s hard to change how I feel,” Roxanne said.
“I understand,” Mom agreed. “I was feeling upset because we have visitors coming tomorrow, and I’m worried that we won’t be ready. But then I remembered that I would rather be happy, so I said a prayer and chose to feel good instead.”
Mom gave Roxanne a quick hug. “I need your help tonight,” she said. “When you feel better, I hope you will join me in the kitchen.”
Roxanne did want to help Mom. She knelt down by her bed. At first she didn’t feel like praying. Then she started telling Heavenly Father how she felt and asked Him to help her be happy again. She remembered how tired Mom looked and decided to pray for her too.
After her prayer, Roxanne felt calm enough to go back into the kitchen. As she walked in, Mom smiled and handed her a sponge.
Roxanne eyed the stacks of dishes in both sinks and on the counter. She sighed, then she started washing, one dish at a time. Soon, the chore didn’t seem so bad. And before the first sink was empty, she was even humming a little.

It was President Kimball who said, “The Lord answers our prayers, but it is usually through another person that he meets our needs.” An incident in the latter part of President Kimball’s ministry helped me to better understand his message and the way his own life witnessed to the truthfulness of his inspired counsel.
As a stake president during this period, I went to a local hospital to visit a dear sister suffering with a terminal illness. More than forty years earlier, I had attended school with both this sister and her husband, who had been childhood sweethearts. But they had not been blessed with children of their own, and they had filled this void by his serving as a Scout leader—and his loving companion as the “Scout mother”—to scores of young boys over a generation.
As I approached the hospital that day, my heart was heavy with foreboding for what lay ahead in the lives of this choice couple. For weeks this dear brother had stayed with his companion at the hospital day and night to give comfort and ease her burden and the pain of her suffering.
As I reached the door of her hospital room that day, I met my friend emerging from his wife’s room into the hallway. Unlike my earlier visits, when his countenance reflected the weight of their ordeal, this time his face was radiant and his eyes were aglow. Before I could utter a word, he said, “You will never guess what just happened. As my wife and I were feeling so burdened, into our room came President Kimball”—himself a patient at the hospital, where he had recently undergone surgery. “He prayed with us and he blessed us, and it was as though the Savior himself had come to lift our burdens.” Many other patients in that hospital, I might add, experienced a similar blessing from one who knew so much of pain and suffering.

When I studied for my Ph.D., I was required to take nine credits in upper-level statistics. If there was anything that was going to wash me out of the program, I thought it would be those classes. I worked hard to understand the ideas and concepts. Our professor was determined that we actually understand the math, not just be able to do it. I would walk out of class and feel like I understood the concepts. However, later that evening I just couldn't put it back together. I was frustrated and feared not getting the necessary grades. Then one day as I left my statistics class I noticed an empty classroom across the hall and walked in. I set my books and notes down at the front of the room and began to teach what I had just learned to an imaginary and empty classroom. I would become quite pentecostal about it and even stand on a chair in my statistical sermoning. I would field imaginary questions from my students requiring me to explain how things related to each other and why this had to be done before that and so on. Every once in a while someone would peek their head in the door and I suppose wonder if this doctoral student had just lost it. But it worked for me. The act of teaching solidified my understanding of the concepts and, equally important, revealed to me places where I thought I had understood but actually had not.

After boot camp and medical training, I was assigned to an air force base in Colorado, USA. One day, I received a letter from my oldest brother stationed in the Philippines. He had joined the air force about a year before I did. He told me that he had become a member of the Church, and he wanted me to meet with the missionaries. I immediately recalled the experience in boot camp with the brave airman. My wife and I met with the missionaries, and we were soon baptized.
A few months later, I had the missionaries visit my younger brother. He and his wife were also baptized. My brothers and I now have large families with grandchildren. We all love the Lord and His Church.

“It looks like Sarah will need to have an MRI of her back,” said Dr. Frank. He smiled at Sarah. “I’m going to schedule one for tomorrow. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Sarah’s back had been hurting for a while. When she woke up that morning, it hurt so much that it was hard for her to stand up straight, and she could barely walk. Sarah and her mom had come to see Dr. Frank to find out what was wrong.
“Another MRI?” asked Sarah, looking up at Mom. She’d had an MRI once before. She remembered how scared she had felt in the big tube that took pictures of the inside of her body.
“I’m sorry, Sarah,” said Mom. “But the pictures will help Dr. Frank learn what’s wrong with your back. I know you can do it. And I’ll be right there with you.” Mom squeezed Sarah’s hand.
“But you can’t come inside with me,” said Sarah. Her head dropped, and a tear slipped down her cheek. Mom could be with her in the room, but once Sarah went into the machine’s tunnel, she would be alone.
Mom put her arm around Sarah. “That’s true, but do you know who can be there to comfort you?”
Sarah remembered a name she had heard for the Holy Ghost: the Comforter. Maybe the Holy Ghost could help her not feel so afraid.
“The Holy Ghost?” Sarah asked.
Mom nodded. “That’s right. You can pray for the Holy Ghost to help you. Dad and I will pray for you too.”
That gave Sarah a great idea. “Can I ask Dad for a blessing?”
Mom smiled. “Of course. I know he’d love to do that.”
That night Dad placed his hands on Sarah’s head and gave her a priesthood blessing. When he blessed Sarah that she would be comforted by the Holy Ghost, a soft warmth filled her body. The feeling stayed with her all night.
The next day Sarah lay on the bench that would slide into the big tube in the MRI machine. She repeated in her head the words Dad had used during her blessing: The Holy Ghost will be there to comfort you. Sarah squeezed Mom’s hand tight. Then the nurse slid her into the tube.
The MRI machine made funny noises while it took pictures of her back. Sarah had to lie very still so the pictures wouldn’t be blurry. She panicked for a minute, but then she felt that warm feeling again. It felt like one of Mom’s hugs. Or a snuggly blanket. She knew that everything would be OK. Before she knew it, the MRI was over!
In Dr. Frank’s office, he showed Sarah and Mom the pictures of Sarah’s back. “You did a great job lying still,” Dr. Frank told Sarah as he knelt down beside her. “These pictures of your back show that you will need surgery to help you walk better.”
Sarah gulped.
“We’d like to do the surgery soon,” Dr. Frank said, looking up at Sarah’s mom. Then he turned back to Sarah. “It might take a few weeks afterward for you to feel like your old self again, but after seeing you today, I know you’ll do great.”
Sarah tried to think about all the things she’d do after Dr. Frank fixed her back. I’ll be able to run and swim and jump in a big pile of leaves. She missed doing all those things. But surgery was even scarier than an MRI! Then Sarah remembered her prayers and her special blessing. Heavenly Father had sent her the Comforter. He would help her again.
She looked at Dr. Frank. “Then can I jump in a big pile of leaves?” she asked.
He grinned. “Then you can jump in a big pile of leaves.”

Norberto and his family were brought into the Church through an uncle they call “Ton Ton.” Ton Ton bought their family a subscription to Etoile in 1985, and so when he visited the family in 1991, they already had an idea of what the Church was about. Ton Ton said, “The Church has now come to Madagascar. Let’s go find it.”

They found the meetinghouse, but the first time they attended, Norberto’s father, Elie, couldn’t go. He still had responsibilities with the young men’s group in another church. His mother, Esther, came home from that first meeting and told her husband, “We’ve found the right church.” He went with them the next week, and they all accepted the gospel. Norberto was only a baby at the time, but he was baptized when he turned eight, even though he was afraid to go under the water.

Eighty-three-year-old Luella Boyd, a widow, would leave her home in Basin, Wyoming, at five o’clock in the morning, drive seven hours to the temple in Idaho Falls, arriving about noon, and then participate in four endowment sessions. The next morning she would be at the temple as it opened and attend eight more sessions, going without lunch. On the third day she would start at 5:00 a.m., and complete four endowments by noon—then drive home to Basin, Wyoming, arriving at 8:00 p.m. Sixteen sessions—six hundred miles—three days—eighty-three years old! One year she did this eleven times, missing only one month because of bad weather. The most exceptional part of this story is that she currently is serving as a Family History missionary right here in Salt Lake City. Remember, Sister Boyd is eighty-three years old. And you and I think we are busy! What a marvelous spirit and dedication! She is one of 365 full-time Family History missionaries serving in Salt Lake having a remarkable spiritual experience.

Some years ago my father, who was an attorney, was trying a lawsuit. For his authority, he cited only one case--an old California Supreme Court case, issued many years before. His opponent cited a number of lower court decisions of much more recent vintage. The judge finally said to my father: "Mr. Callister, don't you have a more recent case than this?" My father looked at the judge and replied: "Your honor, may I remind you that when the Supreme Court speaks on a matter, it only needs to speak once." The judge nodded with approval. He was reminded that the Supreme Court trumps all lower court decisions, however numerous or recent they may be. So it is with God our Father--He only needs to speak once on the issue of morality, and that one declaration trumps all the opinions of the "lower courts," whether uttered by psychologists, counselors, politicians, friends, parents or would-be moralists of the day.

My first experience with BYUH wasn't typical to what one might think. When I was 16 years old I was invited by my older sister to come to paradise and babysit her toddler during my six week school holiday. When the idea of going to Hawaii was proposed to me by my parents my teenage imagination began to conjure up images of long leisurely days at the beach, mild tropical evenings, and the chance of meeting "those good looking Hawaiian boys." My brother in-law was a student and my sister worked part time at the PCC business office to put him through school. When her supervisor gave her the opportunity to increase her hours for a limited time she jumped at the chance, facilitating a need for a babysitter.

The reality of my situation quickly set in upon my arrival at their cramped one bedroom, non air conditioned TVA apartment. Soon after, I had my first encounter with a cockroach-- one I will never forget. I jumped so high I lost my balance tripped, with my arms flailing about, I fell backwards landing next to my little niece who had been playing quietly nearby. Upon seeing this she threw back her head and burst out laughing.

My holiday consisted of cleaning the apartment and watching a very curious and active toddler—quite an eye opener for a young girl, far from home, who wasn't used to the isolation, heat and humidity. The only social life I had was to have lunch with my sister. My niece and I followed a daily routine which consisted of making our way past the beautiful entrance of the school, through the Aloha center which was always bustling with students and to enter the PCC through the back gate. (They let anyone in back then). Following lunch we would make our trek back to TVA until it was time to meet my sister after work. My dream of relaxing days at the beach seemed far away. For most 16 year olds, friends and a social life are very important and so by the end of my tenure as nanny, I yearned for home-- my friends, family and a familiar climate.

When my vacation was up, I had no intention of ever returning to Hawaii. I'd had enough! However, an interesting thing happened to me on my trip home. After fastening my seatbelt and waiting for take off, I was looking out of the airplane window at the lights of Honolulu, when I had a strong impression that grew until it permeated every part of my body and mind. The impression was that I was to return to BYU Hawaii and that this campus would play a pivotal role in my life. I didn't understand it, yet I couldn't I deny it. I closed my eyes and said a silent prayer asking the Lord to guide and assist me. In the few months that followed I graduated from high school, applied to BYUH and was admitted as a full time student all the time feeling determined and settled about my decision.

Having virtually no quantitative skills, I was seldom if ever able to help our children with math and scientific subjects. One day our high school daughter Nancy asked me for “a little help” regarding a Supreme Court case, Fletcher v. Peck. I was so eager to help after so many times of not being able to help. At last a chance to unload! Out came what I knew about Fletcher v. Peck. Finally my frustrated daughter said, “Dad, I need only a little help!” I was meeting my own needs rather than giving her “a little help.”

Like you, I know some who once enjoyed the gift of the Holy Ghost but who through failure to keep the commandments of God have lost that blessing. One in particular comes to mind whose membership in the Church had been withdrawn due to transgression. He said that his initial reaction was to feel offended. He felt judged by imperfect leaders. He knew his conduct had been wrong, but he rationalized it by pointing to the faults and failings of others. After a while, he began to feel comfortable in a lifestyle outside the Church without the obligation of callings and expectations of attending worship services and ministering to others.
This continued for some time, but he began to feel ever more keenly the absence of the Holy Spirit—God’s presence—in his life. By experience, he knew what it was like to have, day by day, the comfort, guidance, and confidence born of the Spirit, and he missed it. Finally, he did what was needed to repent and qualify once more for baptism of water and of the Spirit.

One day on the bus on the way home from school, I was telling my friend James how much I enjoy going to church. When I mentioned prayer, James asked me, “What is prayer?”
“It’s a way of talking to God,” I said. He asked me how to pray, and I told him, “First you bow your head, fold your arms, and close your eyes. Then you start with ‘Dear Heavenly Father,’ thank Him for your blessings, tell Him about your day, ask for anything you need, and then end in the name of Jesus Christ.”
James said his own prayer while we were on the bus. I felt happy inside that I had taught my friend how to pray.

I want to start this morning by sharing with you a Chinese parable known as “an old man lost his horse.”
A long time ago, there was an old man in the countryside who made his living by raising horses. One day one of his horses ran away and was lost to him. This was a significant loss for his family and livelihood, and the man’s friends came to console him. They were surprised to find that he wasn’t worried at all. He replied to their expressions by saying, “I wish it wasn’t lost but…good news, bad news, who knows?”
Sometime later, the missing horse returned home safely and brought with it a companion horse that was strong and healthy and joined his stable. The man’s friends again heard the news and exclaimed, “You’re so lucky. This is amazing.” To which the old man replied, “good news, bad news, who knows?”
Later that year, the farmer’s young boy was riding the new horse when it became unruly, causing him to fall and break his leg. Again, the man’s friends rushed to his support, and again, the man was calm in the face of this tragedy and reassured his friends saying, “good news, bad news, who knows?”
The old man’s friends and neighbors had come to expect to hear this from him. They expected his steadiness. But still, they questioned what possible positive outcomes could come from this terrible accident.
A year later, the country went to war. All young and healthy men were drafted to participate in the war, and most of them died in battle. The old man’s son was not drafted because of the lingering effects of his catastrophic leg injury. The old man and his son survived the war.
The old man’s response?
Good news, bad news, who knows?
When I was a child my parents shared this story with me. Their lives have included many hardships, such as losing a very late-term pregnancy, significant chronic health issues, and crippling financial struggles. They always did and continue to live by the principle demonstrated in this story. I have vivid memories of them both saying, “good news, bad news, who knows?” during the both the ups and downs of life.

After Sister Teh and I dated for a little while, it became obvious that I wanted to spend eternity with her. Naturally, I made it a subject of earnest prayer and fasting. No particular change in my feeling followed. I did not feel a burning in my bosom. I did, however, continue to feel good about my decision, so I persevered. Sister Teh got the same answer, so here we are. Since that experience, I have arrived at many of my decisions in a similar fashion (see D&C 6:22–23).

Mom and Dad were thrilled when I was born. I was their only child and they had waited for seven years. When excited well-wishers came to the house to see the new baby, Mom held me up to the window inside the house and the onlookers viewed me from the front yard outside the house. No one was allowed into our home to welcome me and to hold me.

As I grew, we visited my grandmother often. She lived close by. I loved playing with cousins there. They could take their shoes and socks off and play in the grass and dirt. I could play, but only if my shoes remained on. My Mother insisted that my bare feet could not touch the ground. Alarmed with the flies at Grandma's house, Mom would shout at me "Don't let those flies touch you!" She was frightened by what their tiny feet might carry. She didn't like me touching door knobs or anything else others had touched. When it was time to leave, Mom would scrub my fingernails with a scrubbing brush until they would bleed. Mom initiated strict rules and I obeyed or I was beaten. I noticed as young as three years old that Mother acted differently than others. I didn't know why, but in my adulthood, her condition finally had a name and some of my questions were answered.

Mother developed OCD before I was born. She had an intense fear of germs and performed cleaning rituals to eliminate the fear. She viewed herself as germ-free. Everything and everyone else was contaminated. Mother's family knew something was wrong, but didn't know how to help her. In those days, OCD did not have a name or any kind of treatment. Thank goodness, today there are medications and behavior therapies to assist.

My dad was a fulltime National Guardsman. When he received a promotion, we moved from Driggs, Idaho to Idaho Falls and bought a new house. Dad focused his spare time on finishing our downstairs. I hoped the new home would help my mom change from her old ways. It didn't and life only got worse. Dad was tired of her compulsive behavior. He soon divorced Mom and moved out.

I thought my life had ended. I was seven years old and Mom had full custody. It was just Mom and me. She began working full time. Dad remarried and resided within our city. Mom's anxiety increased and so did her OCD. She scrubbed things at work, but most cleaning routines were performed within our home and yard.

Mom moved me to the downstairs bedroom, while my toys and most of my clothes remained with her. I was never allowed again onto the main floor of the house. I lived in the basement for the next nine years. Restrained by Mom's fears, I had no say or control. I was frightened and heartbroken in that dimly-lit basement.

Our house was connected to a one-car garage. I could enter my house only once a day by following a well-established pattern. I disrobed in the garage and Mom carried me down stairs to newspaper that I stood on while she scrubbed the stairs and stairway. When I was too big to carry, Mom allowed me to walk downstairs. After the stairs were cleaned, I could walk from the newspaper to the bathroom, bathe and dress following a certain routine. In my bedroom, I could touch only my light switch and two drawers of my dresser. In my double-sized bed, I could only touch the left-hand side. I didn't understand these rules, but I obeyed.

After Mom finished her rituals downstairs, she would climb to the top of the stairs and shout to me, "Turn off your light." I hated turning off my light! It was very dark. I worried about monsters finding me and I'd hide my head under the covers. I knew if I needed help, Mom would not respond. There was no interaction allowed until morning when Mom would choose my clothes and bring them downstairs with breakfast.

I questioned myself ... if I tried harder, if I were cleaner, if I were nicer, would Mom allow me to live on the main floor with her? I desperately wanted her to change. We never talked about it. Only occasionally did I dare ask her "to please change." She would quickly answer, "I will change tomorrow." The next day she'd be the same or worse. I was helpless, hopeless, and all alone.

The Lord provided me with good people along my path. A kind neighbor friend introduced me to Primary. I began attending with her. It was a happy setting and I looked forward to it every week! My Primary teacher taught me about Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ and that they loved me. That was survival information! It felt good, it sounded right and it provided much needed comfort. I'm grateful for that Primary teacher who week after week bore testimony of gospel truths. She didn't know I felt unloved and disvalued. She didn't know that Mom could not hug me because of my germs. She didn't know the vital impact of her words, but the Lord knew. He was there. He reminds us "[I] knoweth all things, for all things are present before mine eyes;" He knows our hardships. He knows our pain.

Also, in Primary I learned of prayer. "Pray always, and I will pour out my Spirit upon you, and great shall be your blessing." I began talking with Heavenly Father and sharing my fears. I asked him to save me from the basement monsters and later with maturity, I pleaded that I could escape Mom's compulsive behavior and demands. I felt the Lord near and I held on tightly to His hand. I had hope! I kept praying and waiting, praying and waiting.

I was fearful of Mom and knew I could tell no one about my home life. I knew I'd be punished if I told the "secret."

When school was out, Mom arranged for others to watch me at their homes while she worked. If no one was available, I would be left at my home, locked out of the house, as Mom left for work. I never had a key to open the door and the house was always locked. During the summer, Mom would bring me a sandwich on her lunch hour and I could drink from the garden hose. My bathroom was an empty tin can in the garage or a fast bike ride to the gas station. Reading Nancy Drew books, listening to my transistor radio, weeding the marigolds, watering the lawn occupied some of my time. The best times were spent riding my speedy, blue bike with friends. I have many fun memories!

My mother dated frequently and I'd stay the night with friends. A few families were active in the Church and one in particular demonstrated righteous patterns that I grew to love. For instance, every morning before breakfast was served, they knelt around their kitchen table for prayer. I cherished those moments and the spirit of family unity. Each time I bowed my head in that setting, I noticed the round braided rug we knelt on under their round wooden table. I remember that clearly and the feeling of hope I had for a future time with an eternal family that could kneel in prayer together. Was it possible? I know now that survivors of dysfunction can reverse the trend and start new patterns that follow the Savior. We are not stuck where we started.

In the garage with doors closed, I liked singing Primary songs. The lyrics would echo off the walls. It seemed extra voices sang with me. "I need my Heavenly Father to help me every day. He wants me to be happy and choose the righteous way. He wants me to be happy and choose the righteous way." Those songs helped me then and in the years ahead. Often a musical phrase would circle in my head and remind me of who I was and what I could become.

I remember a Beehive class that left a lasting impression. The topic was temple marriage. The teacher taught enthusiastically and was full of the Spirit. I left that class knowing there was only one way to marry and that's what I wanted. I held on to the Lord's hand.

It was a beautiful morning in late summer. The prairie seemed draped in gold as far as Red Moon could see. The vivid yellow blanket was made of goldenrod blooms and bright yellow daisies still glistening with dew. The flowers bowed and rippled in constant motion from the soft wind that stirred them. Along the edge of the forest, the leaves of the sumac and sassafras trees were already tinged with a melon red that signaled the end of summer. Migrating birds were beginning to come together in flocks, in preparation for the long journey to the south.
Ordinarily, the surrounding beauty would have elated the Indian girl. But not today. She stayed well behind her grandfather, trying not to intrude upon his privacy. Hers was an unpleasant assignment. She loved White Eagle deeply and understood his anger and humiliation. Butwhy do I have to be the target for his resentment? she pondered.
White Eagle had been very ill for three moons. His strong heart had grown weary. Sorrowfully, for he was the oldest and most respected member of the tribe, his people had begun to prepare for his death. Then the old man had rallied and left his tepee to sit in the warm sun. The women whispered that the old brave’s spirit had only returned for a short while, to bid farewell to the forest and streams he loved so well.
Red Moon felt that this was true. Why else had her grandfather waited until all the braves and young men were away to decide to go fishing? He was too weak to walk to the river alone, but he seemed determined. He had brushed aside his wife’s pleas and stalked away.
The girl and her worried grandmother watched the old brave leave. “You must follow!” Sequa said. “He may collapse on the way or faint and fall into the water. If so, run back quickly for help. But don’t let him see you follow,” she warned. “His feebleness shames him.”
The Indian girl had drifted along like a shadow. She had walked carefully and stayed well behind her grandfather, but the old hunter was still too crafty to be fooled. Red Moon stopped and stood trembling when White Eagle suddenly stepped out where the trail curved and confronted her. Clouds of anger were on his face, and the piercing black eyes reflected outrage.
“Why do you stalk me with footsteps that would roll a sleeping bear out of his cave?” White Eagle snapped. “Does your grandmother think I’m a frail and feeble child that must be tethered to a keeper? And a girl at that, when I have eight strong, young grandsons! I want to be alone. Return to the village at once and stay there!” he commanded. Red Moon shivered with dread.
“I cannot,” her stricken granddaughter whispered, her head bowed and not looking at him.
White Eagle was a proud man. He felt overwhelmed with frustration and resentment. An old warrior should be allowed to die in the forest alone if he wished. How dare his relatives interfere!
The old man’s eyes softened as he stared down at Red Moon’s bowed head. He could see the misery of the granddaughter he loved, and he understood her dilemma. She had always been an obedient, respectful child, but how could she obey both her grandparents this time?
“Well, then. Since your grandmother has foolishly set you upon me like a dog after a crippled fox, you may follow. But stay away from me!” White Eagle barked. He wheeled and started off down a slope toward the river.
The old man’s full stride alarmed Red Moon. His heart was too weak for such exertion, and his anger didn’t help. Fear swept over her when she saw White Eagle sag against a tree and put one hand to his chest. His bronzed face appeared washed over with gray paint. Even from a distance Red Moon could see that he was panting for breath! How can I slow him down without further injuring his pride? she wondered.
Then, noticing a log lying across the path, she deliberately tripped over it and cried out as she fell sprawling.
White Eagle hesitated, then turned back when he saw her cradling an “injured” leg. He sat down and removed her worn beaded moccasin. Tears trickled down her woebegone face, but there was no mark on the small foot or leg. A fleeting smile crossed the old man’s wrinkled face.
“We’ll rest here until it feels better,” he said softly, pulling her close. Red Moon leaned against his shoulder, holding her breath to keep from sobbing out her sorrow. Resting, White Eagle’s rapid, shallow breathing slowed.
Later when they reached the river, White Eagle selected a mossy bank, spread his blanket to sit on, and leaned back against a tree. It was an ancient oak, old when he was a boy. With trembling hands, he laid out fishhooks of bone and some lengths of hide for lines.
Then he sat quietly contemplating the beauty of one of his favorite haunts. He looked happy and content as he began to speak, his sham of going fishing now forgotten.
“Death is a dreaded enemy to youth, as it should be,” he said softly. “But it is a friend to the old ones. I have lived and hunted for over seventy-five years. My sons are grown and have become braves, and I have seen many grandchildren. I am happy. And I am not afraid, for it is only natural that I should now return and become a part of all the beauty of the earth. Now I ask you once again to leave me here alone. There should be young woodchucks under a rock ledge at the bottom of Turkey Hill. Will you go there and watch them play until the sun touches the treetops?”
Neither I nor Grandmother can keep death from coming, Red Moon thought. White Eagle deserves to greet it alone and with dignity. A brave’s final wish should be granted. She rose slowly and smiled, trying to see her grandfather’s serene face through blurred eyes. His spirit would be gone when she returned, she knew. Then she would cover him with her blanket and return to tell her grandmother.

Perhaps the best way to teach these principles is by way of parable.

There was once a man named John who, although still relatively young, had experienced much suffering and sorrow. Homeless and addicted to alcohol and other drugs, John was terribly sick and weary of life. The more he descended into illness and despair, the more he knew that if he didn’t make changes—and quickly—there was a very real possibility he would die miserable, useless, and alone.

Perhaps because he had attended Primary a few times when he was a boy, John ended up in a nearby meetinghouse where he asked to see the bishop.

“I have ruined my life,” John said between tortured sobs that emerged from the depths of his harrowed soul. He spoke of the mistakes he had made and the path of self-destruction and misery he had trod.

As the bishop listened to John’s sad story, he could tell that the man truly wanted to repent and change his life. But he could also sense that John had little confidence that he could change.

The bishop thought for a moment about what he could say. Finally, he looked up and said, “John, I have made three choices in my life that have been of value to me. They may be of assistance to you as well.”

“Please, tell me,” John pleaded. “I’ll do anything. I just want to start over. I want to go back.”

The bishop smiled and told him, “The first thing you should understand is that you can’t go back and begin where you once were. But all is not lost. You can begin where you are. Choose to begin your repentance now.”

When John heard the bishop’s words, he promised he would do what the bishop had said. Because of his addictions, John knew he needed to repent and improve his health. So he checked himself into a facility where he underwent the prolonged process of recovery. He began eating nutritious food. He began to walk and do other exercises.

Weeks passed. John was able to free himself from his addictions. He could see that his health was improving and he was getting stronger. But still he was not satisfied. There were so many things about his life that needed improvement that he felt overwhelmed and discouraged.

So, once again, he scheduled a meeting with his bishop.

That is when he learned the second choice: “John,” the bishop said to him, “you’ll most likely have a rough time if you think you can make yourself perfect all at once. What you must learn is to choose your priorities. You have to put first things first.”

John began to understand that he couldn’t change everything that was wrong with his life in an instant, but he could choose his priorities. He could focus on the things that mattered most, and with time his life would begin to improve.

With help from the elders quorum president, John found a modest place to live. He knew that he needed to find a way to support himself, and as his health and attitude improved, he found part-time work.

Each night before John went to bed, he made a list of the most important things he needed to accomplish the next day.

Eventually, John was earning a steady income. He moved into a more comfortable place and bought a car. Yet, although he was feeling much better about his life, he still felt that something was missing.

Consequently, John returned a third time to meet with his bishop.

“The reason you still feel empty,” the bishop said, “is because you have not made the third choice.”

John asked what it was.

“It’s not enough to make choices and decisions, and to work on them each day,” the bishop said. “Many have spent their lives in productive labor and have accomplished much. But they still feel empty. At the end of their days they lament that their lives had little meaning.”

That was exactly what John had been feeling.

The bishop continued, “It is not enough to do things. We must do the right things—the things our Heavenly Father would want us to do.”

“How do I know what the right things are?” John asked.

The bishop smiled and pulled from his desk a set of scriptures. The leather cover was scuffed and wrinkled. The gilded edges on the paper were nearly worn away. “Through the scriptures and the words of latter-day prophets,” the bishop replied. “These are the ‘right things.’ Some believe that the commandments of our Heavenly Father are restrictive and hard. To the contrary, they’re a handbook to happiness. Every aspect of the gospel of Jesus Christ—the principles, the doctrines, and the commandments—is a part of our Heavenly Father’s plan to help us obtain peace and happiness.”

The bishop turned to the Book of Mormon and read the words of King Benjamin: “Consider … the blessed and happy state of those that keep the commandments of God. For behold, they are blessed in all things, both temporal and spiritual; and if they hold out faithful to the end they are received into heaven, that thereby they may dwell with God in a state of never-ending happiness.”

As the bishop spoke, John thought about his own life. The things he had acquired hadn’t brought him happiness. Perhaps what the bishop was saying was true. Maybe happiness did come from living in harmony with the commandments of our Heavenly Father.

“Remember the words of the Savior,” the bishop said, as though he knew what John was thinking. “‘For what shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?’”

That very night, John made a commitment to open the word of God and to learn for himself the commandments and doctrines of his Heavenly Father. No longer did he resist the words of the Lord, but rather he embraced and cherished them. As he did, the emptiness in his soul began to shrink, and in its place he gradually discovered joy and peace that surpassed his understanding.

The things the bishop had told John had indeed transformed his life. Where once he was broken, sorrowful, and close to death, now he felt alive, vibrant, and filled with joy.

In 2019, we opened the meetinghouse as a community centre to promote family research, self-reliance courses, and Bible studies. I built a Facebook page to build relationships with our neighbours in the community. As of now, we have 400 members and counting.
We networked the page with local organisations, including local governments. Through this, we received visits from the local council leaders, and were approached and asked if we could hold ESOL language classes.
With the permission of the branch president, we invited the leaders of the Community Learning and Development department and gave them a tour of our chapel building. A further tour was set up for Ukranian and Afghan refugees, and thereafter, the ESOL language course began. Local council leaders still stop by occasionally to see how the ESOL classes are progressing.
In early 2023, a branch of the Scottish government gave us a visit to review how the Ukrainians and Afghans were doing, and we gave them a tour. This was a positive step in bringing the Church into a good light with the government. From this, we have built positive relationships with our local councils.
https://www.facebook.com/GREENOCKcommunityresourcecentre

In addition to his serious and studious nature, there was a lighter side to President Smith’s personality. He had a ready sense of humor that he exercised frequently and spontaneously.

For example, on one occasion President Smith returned from a conference assignment in California with his lunch sack filled with olives he had picked. Delighted with his treasure, and always eager to share, he asked one of his brethren if he had ever “tasted an olive right off the tree.” His unsuspecting victim had not, so he took a healthy bite into one of the fresh olives. This proved to be a rather bitter experience, and as the brother’s face puckered up, President Smith asked innocently, “What’s the matter? Did you get a bad one? Here, you had better try another one.”

At the outset I mentioned Dr. Willard Richards, whose loyalty to Joseph is so typical. Before Joseph went to the Carthage Jail, he said to Dr. Richards: “‘If we go into the cell, will you go in with us?’ The doctor answered, ‘Brother Joseph you did not ask me to cross the river with you—you did not ask me to come to Carthage—you did not ask me to come to jail with you—and do you think I would forsake you now? But I will tell you what I will do; if you are condemned to be hung for treason, I will be hung in your stead, and you shall go free.’ Joseph said, ‘You cannot.’ The doctor replied, ‘I will.’” (History of the Church, 6:616.)