Gospel Story Finder

Monday at school, I looked at the other kids. They had better clothes and shoes than I did, so I couldn’t offer them mine. Anyway, I didn’t have any extras. Everyone had a lunch, so I couldn’t share my sandwich. I was afraid that the whole week would be like this and that I’d have to tell Sister Brimley that I hadn’t found anyone to help.
At afternoon recess, the spring sun warmed my back. There must have been a hundred birds singing among the tiny yellow-green leaves on the big tree in the playground. I forgot about giving and Mrs. Brimley, took a jump rope, and walked towards Maria. Maria just moved here last week, and she doesn’t speak English very well. She mostly stands by herself on the playground.
“Maria, want to jump? Like this.” I jumped a few times. Maria’s dark eyes sparkled, and the shadow of a smile tickled her bronze face. She nodded. As I swung the rope over my head, she jumped in with me. We were laughing together by the end of recess.
When the bell rang to go home, Mrs. Hansen, our teacher, put her arm around me and whispered, “Sara, thank you for playing with Maria today. That’s the first time I’ve heard her laugh since she came.”
Suddenly I understood that this was what Sister Brimley meant when she said for me to give of myself. I really did have something to give! I determined right then and there to find someone every day to share with.

One summer I participated in a youth leadership summit hosted by a popular teen magazine. Once there, I soon made friends with the other girls. We addressed important issues like how to overcome bullying, the smart use of technology and social media, and how to be a good friend.
During my group’s free time, one of the girls pulled out her phone and began to watch a video that was very offensive. When I realized what they were watching, I was really confused. If we were the leaders, then why were they choosing to watch this awful video?
I asked them to turn the video off, which they did, but soon turned on another video that was even worse. I decided to walk away and left the room. Another girl followed close behind me, and we spent free time somewhere else.
I thought about Sister Ann M. Dibb’s general conference talk, “I Know It. I Live It. I Love It” (Oct. 2012 general conference). When we really know, love, and embrace our faith in the Savior, we can receive the help we need when tough choices have to be made.
I had been taught the gospel my whole life. In that moment, I had been able to live what I knew to be right, but most importantly, I loved the peace I felt from making the right choice.
Mia H., Missouri, USA

Today I would like to address one of the most joyful, glorious, and powerful gospel truths that God has revealed. At the same time, it is ironically one for which we have been criticized. An experience I had some years ago profoundly deepened my appreciation for this gospel truth.
As a representative of the Church, I was once invited to a religious conference where it was announced that from that moment on they would recognize as valid all baptisms performed by almost all other Christian churches, as long as the ordinance was done with water and in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost. Then it was explained that this policy did not apply to baptisms performed by The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
After the conference I was able to delve deeper into the reasons for that exception with the leader in charge of the announcement. We had a wonderful and insightful conversation.
In short, he explained to me that that exception had primarily to do with our particular beliefs about the Godhead, which other Christian denominations often refer to as the Trinity. I expressed my appreciation for him taking the time to explain to me his beliefs and the policy of his church. At the end of our conversation, we hugged and then said goodbye.
As I later contemplated our discussion, what this leader said about Latter-day Saints not understanding what he called the “mystery of the Trinity” stayed in my mind. What was he referring to? Well, it had to do with our understanding of the nature of God. We believe that God the Father “is an exalted man” with a glorified “body of flesh and bones as tangible as man’s; [and] the Son also.” Thus, every time we talk about the nature of God, in some way, somehow, we are also talking about our own nature.
And this is true not only because we all were made “in [His] image, after [His] likeness,” but also because, as the Psalmist recorded, God said, “Ye are gods; and all of you are children of the Most High.” This is for us a precious doctrine now recovered with the advent of the Restoration. In summary, it is nothing more or less than what our missionaries teach as the first lesson, first paragraph, first line: “God is our Heavenly Father, and we are His children.”
Now, you might say, “But many people believe we are children of God.” Yes, that is true, but their understanding may be a little different from the implication of its deeper meaning that we affirm. For Latter-day Saints, this teaching is not metaphorical. Rather, we truly believe that we are all literally the children of God. He is “the Father of [our] spirits,” and because of that, we have the potential to become like Him, which seems to be inconceivable to some.
It has now been over 200 years since the First Vision opened the doors to the Restoration. At the time, young Joseph Smith sought guidance from heaven to know what church to join. Through the revelation he received that day, and in later revelations given to him, the Prophet Joseph obtained knowledge about the nature of God and our relationship to Him as His children.
Because of that, we learn more clearly that our Heavenly Father has taught this precious doctrine from the very beginning. Allow me to cite at least two accounts from the scriptures to illustrate this.
You might remember God’s instructions to Moses as recorded in the Pearl of Great Price.
We read that “God spake unto Moses, saying: Behold, I am the Lord God Almighty, and Endless is my name.” In other words, Moses, I want you to know who I am. Then He added, “And, behold, thou art my son.” Later he said, “And I have a work for thee, Moses, my son; and thou art in the similitude of mine Only Begotten.” And then finally, He ended with, “And now, behold, this one thing I show unto thee, Moses, my son.”
It appears that God was determined to teach Moses at least one lesson: “You are my child,” which He repeated at least three times. He could not even mention the name of Moses without immediately adding that he was His son.
However, after Moses was left alone, he felt weak because he was no longer in the presence of God. That is when Satan came to tempt him. Can you see a pattern here? The first thing he said was, “Moses, son of man, worship me.”
In this context, Satan’s request to worship him may have been only a distraction. A significant temptation for Moses in that moment of weakness was to become confused and believe that he was only a “son of man,” rather than a child of God.
“And it came to pass that Moses looked upon Satan and said: Who art thou? For behold, I am a son of God, in the similitude of his Only Begotten.” Fortunately, Moses was not confused and did not allow himself to become distracted. He had learned the lesson of who he really was.
The next account is found in Matthew 4. Scholars have entitled this “the three temptations of Jesus,” as if the Lord was tempted only three times, which of course is not the case.
Hundreds of gallons of ink have been used to explain the meaning and content of these temptations. As we know, the chapter begins by explaining that Jesus had gone into the desert, “and when he had fasted forty days and forty nights, he was afterward an hungred.”
Satan’s first temptation apparently had only to do with satisfying the Lord’s physical needs. “Command that these stones be made bread,” he challenged the Savior.
A second enticement may have had to do with tempting God: “Cast thyself down: for it is written, He shall give his angels charge concerning thee.”
Finally, Satan’s third temptation referred to the aspirations and glory of the world. After Jesus had been shown “all the kingdoms of the world, … [Satan] saith unto him, All these things will I give thee, if thou wilt fall down and worship me.”
In truth, Satan’s ultimate temptation may have had less to do with those three specific provocations and more to do with tempting Jesus Christ to question His divine nature. At least twice, the enticement was preceded by the challenging accusation from Satan: “If thou be the Son of God”—if you really believe it, then do this or that.
Please notice what had happened immediately before Jesus went into the desert to fast and pray: we find the account of Christ’s baptism. And when He had come out of the water, there came “a voice from heaven, saying, This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased.”
Do we see the connection? Can we recognize a pattern here?
It is no wonder that every time we are taught about our divine nature and destiny, the adversary of all righteousness tempts us to call them into question.
How different our decisions would be if we really knew who we really are.
We live in a challenging world, a world of increasing commotion, where honorable people strive to at least emphasize our human dignity, while we belong to a church and embrace a gospel that lift our vision and invite us into the divine.
Jesus’s commandment to be “perfect, even as [our] Father which is in heaven is perfect” is a clear reflection of His high expectations and our eternal possibilities. Now, none of this will happen overnight. In the words of President Jeffrey R. Holland, it will happen “eventually.” But the promise is that if we “come unto Christ,” we will “be perfected in him.” That requires a lot of work—not just any work, but a divine work. His work!
Now, the good news is that it is precisely our Father in Heaven who has said, “For behold, this is my work and my glory—to bring to pass the immortality and eternal life of man.”
President Russell M. Nelson’s invitation to “think celestial” implies a wonderful reminder of our divine nature, origin, and potential destination. We can obtain the celestial only through Jesus Christ’s atoning sacrifice.
Perhaps that is why Satan enticed Jesus with the very same temptation from the beginning to the end of His earthly ministry. Matthew recorded that while Jesus hung on the cross, those “that passed by reviled him, … saying, … If thou be the Son of God, come down from the cross.” Glory be to God that He did not hearken but instead provided the way for us to receive all celestial blessings.
Let us always remember, there was a great price paid for our happiness.
I testify as with the Apostle Paul that “the Spirit itself beareth witness with our spirit, that we are children of God: and if children, then heirs; heirs of God, and joint-heirs with Christ; if so be that we suffer with him, that we may be also glorified together.” In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Some years ago, President Thomas S. Monson came to a regional conference in Hamburg, Germany, and it was my honor to accompany him.
President Monson asked about Brother Michael Panitsch, a former stake president who had been one of the stalwart pioneers of the Church in Germany. I told him that Brother Panitsch was seriously ill, that he was bedridden and unable to attend our meetings.
President Monson asked if we could pay him a visit.
I knew that shortly before his trip to Hamburg, President Monson had undergone foot surgery and that he could not walk without pain. I explained that Brother Panitsch lived on the fifth floor of a building with no elevators. We would have to climb the stairs to see him.
But President Monson insisted. And so we went.
I remember how difficult it was for President Monson to climb those stairs. He could take only a few at a time before needing to stop and rest. He never uttered a word of complaint, and he would not turn back. Because the building had high ceilings, the stairs seemed to go on forever, but President Monson cheerfully persevered until we arrived at the apartment of Brother Panitsch on the fifth floor.
Once there, we had a wonderful visit. President Monson thanked him for his life of dedicated service and cheered him with a smile. Before we left, he gave him a wonderful priesthood blessing.
President Monson could have chosen to rest between our long meetings. He could have asked to see some of the beautiful sights of Hamburg. I have often thought of how remarkable it was that of all the sights in that city, the one he wanted to see more than any other was a feeble and ailing member of the Church.
President Monson came to Hamburg to teach and bless the people of a country. But at the same time, he focused on the one.

“I’m going to enter Henry in the pet show tomorrow, Mom. I know he’ll win a prize. He’s the fattest dog on our block!” Then I began to wonder, and asked, “They do give a prize for the fattest dog, don’t they?”
“I don’t know, honey, but you’d better give him a bath before you take him anywhere. Or he’ll get a prize for being the smelliest dog.”
“Yeah, if I bathe him maybe he’ll get a prize for being the cleanest dog too!”
That afternoon as I began filling the plastic wading pool in the backyard with water from the hose, I couldn’t resist a couple of well-aimed shots at Henry. I guess that made him a little suspicious of what was about to happen, but he stood firm anyhow, eyeing me as I poured half a bottle of Mother’s Rose Bouquet bubble bath into the overflowing pool.
It was when I took my first step toward Henry that I realized he was not going to cooperate. “Come on, Henry,” I coaxed, the sugary tones in my voice making him all the more suspicious. “Nice doggie. No one’s going to hurt you.” I was getting closer. “Come on, boy.” Then I lunged at him but I only caught the end of Henry’s tail under my nose. He thought it was great fun and proceeded to lead a merry chase around the yard. On about the tenth lap, Henry cut across the porch and skirted past the pool. In hot pursuit, I clambered over the porch and was almost past the pool when I tripped over the hose and fell sideways into the “ocean” of perfumed bubbles.
I wasn’t fond of taking baths either, and I knew that I’d have to take another bath myself to get the smell of roses off me. Henry’s eyes seemed to twinkle with delight at having bathed his bather. But I was determined to get him to the pet show. So I outsmarted him!
I stepped out of the pool and fell to the ground. I didn’t move a muscle. Henry made a funny noise and slowly edged forward to investigate. He sniffed my shoes first, then my arms. When his cold nose touched my chin, I grabbed him! I held on tightly and both of us went into the bubbles this time. After we thrashed around in the suds for a couple of minutes, Henry was the first one out. He cowered near the fence and shimmied fiercely in an attempt to get as dry as possible. Then I rubbed him down with a towel. Just when I thought he was almost dry he shook himself again, and a fresh spray of water convinced me that he wasn’t.
Finally I brushed his coat, clipped his toenails, and cleaned his ears. He looked like a champ! I was so proud of him I could hardly wait until the next day to win the prize for having such a neat dog.
Dad drove Henry and me to the parking lot where the show was already in progress. Henry’s number was 103.1 guess I never realized how many other pets there were besides dogs. Birds, cats, monkeys, lizards, hamsters, rats, snakes, turtles, and even a baby alligator were there.
The dogs barked at each other, while the murmur of voices added to the confusion. Once in a while a loud voice shouted instructions over the noise, and the next contestants lined up in front of the judges with much jostling and commotion.
“We will now have the competition for the biggest animal here today. Please bring the big animals to the front,” the voice directed.
Henry was fat but not very big compared to the greyhounds, Great Danes, and German shepherds that were in the font row of the parking lot. A two-hundred-pound St. Bernard won in the large animal category. But there were lots more contests yet.
“OK, folks, now for the smallest animal here. Make room for the little fellows.”
Well, with hamsters and white mice in the competition, Henry didn’t have a chance, so we stayed to the rear again. Then they had the best-trained dog contest where the dog had to lead or walk beside its master and stop when its owner did. Henry didn’t qualify for that either.
Several events went by, and finally a voice announced the contest I hoped we’d win—the cutest dog competition. Well, Henry and I marched right up to the front row. My heart was beating fast as my excitement grew, but the judge handed the announcer a piece of paper with Number 26 written on it. I felt a little disappointed after the announcement, but we still had a chance for some of the other prizes.
A prize was given for the dog that did the best trick and the dog with the longest hair. Finally the last competition was announced—the best-groomed animal.
Well, I can’t believe my ears, I thought. They really do give a prize for the cleanest animal!
“OK, Henry, let’s go get ‘em,” I said triumphantly.
A cloud passed over the sun for a few seconds as we approached the front line. I decided to try standing a little farther away from the judge so his eyes might see Henry better as he went down the line. But after he had seen all the pets, he walked over to the announcer who said, “The winner is Minnie, a baby alligator. Her owner says she takes several baths a day.
Everyone cheered except me. I didn’t feel like being happy at all.
Henry and I headed for the car as the announcer gave away dog food and collars for prizes. Dad didn’t say anything on the way home. I think he knew how miserable I felt.
When he stopped the car in the driveway, I took Henry to the backyard. He scampered back and forth in an attempt to get a friendly game of chase started. I didn’t feel much like running, so I filled his water dish and trudged up the back steps.
As I opened the back door, I heard Mom rattling dishes in the kitchen sink.
“How did the pet show go?” she chirped. Mom always sounds happy. “Did you and Henry get a prize?”
I conjured up a smile and said, “Well, I think that those guys are nearsighted. I hope next year they get some judges who can see better.” My smile was wiggling into a frown, and I knew I better hurry to my room. I started down the hall when Mom called, “There’s something for you here on the table.”
I turned back and there was a colored ribbon with a medal that looked a lot like one of Dad’s old army medals and a card that said, “First prize to Henry for being the best dog in the world!” Beside it was a can of dog food for the winner and a cupcake for me.
It took me a minute to realize that what Mom had always tried to tell me was true. It doesn’t matter if other people can’t see the value in the same things you care about as long as you care and have deep feelings for something.
“Thanks, Mom,” I said. Then I bolted out the back door yelling, “Henry! We won! We won!” and he ran over to me. When we tired of playing chase, I dropped down, gave Henry a hug, and placed the winning ribbon around his neck.

My father passed away in April 2013. As I prepared to speak at his funeral, I realized how blessed I was to know and love his favorite scriptures. He shared them in family gatherings, and he read them with me when I needed counsel, guidance, or strengthening of my faith. I heard him share them in talks and assignments. I not only knew them, but I can still remember the sound of his voice and the spiritual feelings I had as he shared them. Through sharing scriptures and feelings, my father helped me to establish a firm foundation of faith in the Lord Jesus Christ.

Lauren had just finished her nightly prayer and started to get into bed when she noticed the hat. Chuckling, she picked it up from the desk chair where Sarah had left it. It was just like Sarah to forget her hat. She was always forgetting things.
Lauren put Sarah’s hat next to her own on the dresser. The two were identical, except that Lauren’s was slightly larger. They had bought the hats together at the first of the summer and had worn them all summer long. It was hard to believe that school would be starting next week. But there were still a few days left, and they had spent the afternoon planning just how to spend every minute until school started.
Sarah and Lauren had been best friends since before kindergarten. They had been in the same class every year in school. They both had red hair, brown eyes, and freckles. They both loved peppermint ice cream, the color lavender, the same books, the same games, the same music, and the same people. Everywhere one went, the other wanted to go too. They were almost inseparable.
As Lauren turned again to get into bed, Mom came into her room. Lauren’s smile faded when she saw her mom’s face. Something was very wrong.
“Lauren, I have something very hard to tell you,” Mom said, sitting next to Lauren on the bed. “This evening Sarah was out riding her bike with her brother. She was hit by a car.”
“Hit by a car! Was she hurt? Where is she now—in the hospital? I have to go see her right now!”
“Sweetheart, Sarah died instantly. I’m sorry.”
“Died! She can’t have! I was with her all day long. She left her hat here. We’re going swimming tomorrow morning. Then bike riding, then …” Tears streamed down Lauren’s face, and she shook all over. Her mind kept racing on: Sarah can’t be dead! We’re going to be in the same class next week. We’re going to wear look-alike outfits the first day.
Mom held Lauren tightly as she sobbed. When the sobs quieted, Mom said, “I know how sad and hurt you feel right now. It always hurts a lot when you lose someone you love. This is a very hard time for you right now. But remember that Sarah is surely happy in the spirit world. She loved Heavenly Father very much.”
“It’s not fair!” Lauren cried. “It’s not fair at all! Why should Sarah have to die? She’s too good—why couldn’t some bad person die? She’s just eleven years old—why couldn’t Heavenly Father take some old person who was ready to die?”
“I know it doesn’t seem fair, and we may never understand in this life. But we can’t change what has already happened. And we must learn, somehow, to accept it.”
Lauren cried herself to sleep that night. She cried all the next day too. She cried not only for Sarah, but for herself. She didn’t know how she could go on living without her best friend. How could she go to school without Sarah? She wondered if Sarah was missing her as much as she missed Sarah. Where was heaven, anyway? What was it like? Would Sarah have a best friend there too? A thousand more questions kept going around in Lauren’s mind.
The night before Sarah’s funeral, Lauren suddenly became very frightened. She had never been to a funeral before. What was it going to be like? What would happen? Would it be scary? She didn’t want anyone to put her best friend into the ground and just leave her. The tears and sobs started again, even harder than before.
As Lauren sobbed, she felt Mom’s arms around her. “Mom, what is it going to be like tomorrow at the funeral? What will happen? Does it hurt to be buried?”
Mom held her tightly as all Lauren’s questions and fears tumbled out. Mom was quiet at first, looking as though she couldn’t quite put her thoughts into words. Then she smiled through her own misty eyes and said, “You wait here, I’ll be right back.” A minute later she came back carrying a package of photographs. “Lauren, Dad picked these up from the camera shop today.” She handed Lauren a package of photos.
Lauren looked at the one on top, and there gazing back at her was Sarah. Sarah was smiling and waving. Lauren looked back at Mom.
“These are the photos we took of you and Sarah at our picnic last month, remember?”
Of course Lauren did. How could she ever forget such a fun day? She studied each photo. There were Sarah and she splashing in the creek with their pant legs rolled up. There they were climbing like monkeys in an old oak tree. How did Sarah keep her hat on when she was hanging by her knees in the tree? Lauren wondered as she looked at that photo. She started to laugh when she saw Sarah pulling one of her funny faces in the last photo. It felt so good to laugh again. For just a moment she forgot that Sarah had died.
“These photos aren’t actually Sarah, are they?” Mom asked. “They’re just likenesses. Even after a photo is taken of a person, that person goes on living. The likeness is left for others to see. Well, sort of like these photos, Sarah’s earthly body is left, but the real Sarah is living still. Unlike a photograph, her body will be buried, so you won’t be able to see it after tomorrow, but Sarah has gone on without her earthly body for a while. I want you to remember that tomorrow and always, Lauren.”
Mom went on to explain what the funeral would be like the next day. It helped Lauren to know what to expect. Although there wouldn’t be anything spooky or scary, she was still a little afraid. It helped to know that her parents would be with her.
Beautiful music was playing softly as Lauren and her parents entered the meetinghouse the next day. Lauren’s stomach felt empty and strange as they walked into the chapel. There were lots of people. Everyone looked sad. Lauren fought back the tears as they walked to the front of the chapel, where Sarah’s family was. Lauren held Mom’s hand tightly as she went up to Sarah’s mother, who had always seemed almost like Mom. When Sarah’s mother saw Lauren, she bent down and hugged Lauren close for a long while. When she stood up, Lauren saw tears and pain in her eyes.
“I thought you might like to have this photo of Sarah,” Lauren said, handing her one of the new photos.
Sarah’s mother’s face lit up with a smile as she studied the photo. “Thank you, Lauren. Thank you so much.”
Lauren and her parents sat down then. All through the funeral, Lauren saw Sarah’s mother looking down at her photo. As she looked at it, a small smile would cross her face. Lauren knew that the photo was helping Sarah’s mother remember that she and Sarah would be together again someday.
Lauren knew that Sarah was still her best friend. She would miss Sarah, but she was sure that Sarah was happy in the spirit world.

Throughout her life, our youngest daughter, Joéll, has been a good influence on our family. She was the one who reminded us to have family prayer. She was the one who tried to get us excited about family home evening. She devised treasure hunts; she fixed treats; she would do anything to try to get the family excited about having family home evening. Occasionally her older brothers resisted, but even as they were resisting, there was a respect for what she was trying to do.

This kind of family closeness can continue even after you grow up and leave home. While my wife and I were on our mission, our married children did a lot to support us. They stuck together and held monthly family home evenings. They published a monthly family letter that we all sent back and forth. None of them ever complained about our absence, and it was evident that their testimonies brought them closer together as siblings and to us.

Not even death should separate loving family members for long. The First Presidency and the Council of the Twelve Apostles issued a proclamation to the world concerning families. Part of it states: “The divine plan of happiness enables family relationships to [continue] beyond the grave. Sacred ordinances and covenants available in holy temples make it possible for individuals to return to the presence of God and for families to be united eternally.”

The island of Tahiti claims the bulk of the 150,000 people who make up the scattered population of French Polynesia—a self-governing French territory which elects its own members to the French parliament. Since it is a French territory and not an independent nation, Tahiti cannot enter its soccer teams in the World Cup or the Olympic Games. However, it does have a right to compete in the South Pacific Games, held every four years.
In the South Pacific Games held in Suva, Fiji, in 1979, Erroll Bennett’s strong stand on the sanctity of Sunday was to have remarkable consequences.
In the preliminary discussions with the Fijians in the months before the games, Napoléon Spitz had anticipated that the Sunday issue might again present a problem. He was right. The Fijians scheduled the soccer final on Sunday, and the issue was still unresolved when the Tahitian athletic delegation arrived in Suva, with Napoléon Spitz at its head.
In fact, the Sunday issue was not new to the games. Tonga and Samoa had raised objections in previous years, also on religious grounds, but had not managed to force a change. In 1979, however, things were to be different.
Napoleon Spitz was well-prepared. Armed with a half-forgotten and long-neglected clause in the South Pacific Games Constitution, he pointed out that the rules actually prohibited Sunday games and that he would insist they be applied.
“The soccer games were taken off Sundays,” he now relates. “There was no way I could have accepted Erroll not playing, and since he wouldn’t play on a Sunday, that was the only alternative. I remember they agreed to move the basketball games from Sunday also, because there were five Mormon basketball players in the Tahitian group.” And his face breaks into a wide smile as he adds: “You Mormons have created a real mess in South Pacific sports!”
After months of negotiations, the 1979 games finally arrived. The Tahitian soccer team, led by its LDS captain, won its quarter-finals match against the New Hebrides (now the independent nation of Vanuatu), after it was switched from Sunday to Monday. Tahiti followed it with a semi-finals win against New Caledonia—and then climaxed the series with a finals win over Fiji.

Long years ago, when I served as a bishop, I learned that Mary Watson, a member of my ward, was a patient in the county hospital. When I went to visit her, I discovered her in a large room with so many beds that it was difficult to single her out. As I identified her bed and approached her, I said, “Hello, Mary.”
She replied, “Hello, Bishop.”
I noticed that a patient in the bed next to Mary Watson covered her face with the bedsheet.
I gave Mary a blessing, shook her hand, and said good-bye, but I could not leave her side. It was as though an unseen hand were resting on my shoulder, and I felt within my soul that I was hearing these words: “Go over to the next bed, where the little lady covered her face when you came in.” I did so. I have learned in my life never to postpone responding to a prompting.
I gently tapped the other patient on her shoulder and carefully pulled back the sheet that had covered her face. Lo and behold, she, too, was a member of my ward. I had not known that she was a patient there. Her name was Kathleen McKee. When her eyes met mine, she exclaimed through her tears, “Oh, Bishop, when you entered that door, I felt you had come to see me and bless me in response to my prayers. I was rejoicing inside to think that you knew I was here. When you stopped at the other bed, my heart sank, and I knew that you had not come to see me.”
I said to Kathleen McKee: “It does not matter that I didn’t know that you were here. It is important, however, that our Heavenly Father knew and that you had prayed for a priesthood blessing. It was He who prompted me to come to you now.”
A blessing was given, a prayer was answered. I bestowed a kiss on her forehead and left the hospital with gratitude in my heart for the promptings of the Spirit. It was the last time I saw Kathleen McKee alive.

When 21-year-old Eric Ayala of Techiman, Ghana, was 3, he and his mother were at a street-side market when a car veered out of control and struck them.

“It hit my mother first and broke her leg,” Eric says. “Then it dragged me a long way before my body rolled into the gutter. I was pronounced dead and taken to a mortuary. The mortician was preparing my body when he discovered I was still alive. I was rushed to a hospital.”

Now paraplegic, Eric faced challenge after challenge as he grew up without the use of his legs. He eventually obtained leg braces that allowed him to stand, but he soon outgrew them and couldn’t afford replacements. He was given a small wheelchair, but outgrew that too. His legs withered, sometimes shaking with spasms, and his feet became deformed.

In Ghana, those with disabilities are often considered a burden. Eric’s family had little money, not enough to pay for medical treatment. When Eric was about 10, he developed pressure sores caused by lack of movement and by sitting on wood and concrete. The sores festered, oozing constantly, and they smelled terrible.

As a result, Eric lived outside, on a bench in an open-air shed. His mother, Lucy, and his sisters brought him food, washed his clothes, and helped him bathe. Eric was often drenched by rain and shivered from cold in the night. He learned to love morning sunshine because it brought warmth. Too poor to go to school and unable to work, he spent years in that shed, occasionally venturing into the neighborhood on his wheelchair.

Rather than becoming resentful, “I started to love and believe in God,” Eric says. “Nobody taught me about Him, but I could see His creations, and I could see the good and bad in people. Sometimes it is hard to believe in Him when life is hard. But then I would see something good come into my life, and I would say, ‘See, God is here, and it is wonderful.’”

Eric had not been formally taught how to pray, but he began calling upon God. He received answers—when he was sick, an unanticipated opportunity to see a doctor; when he asked for relief from his sores, they went away; when he outgrew his small wheelchair, a kind stranger brought him a larger one. “God did many good things in my life,” he says.

Still, sometimes Eric would get discouraged. He found himself crying when he was in pain and hungry. “I decided if I was going to be happy, it was up to me,” he recalls. “I forced myself to smile. If I didn’t, I was afraid I would turn to something bad.” In particular, he saw friends using alcohol and drugs, and, “my heart told me that was wrong.”

Then, in what seemed a miracle, at age 14, Eric was accepted for school. His mother, by cooking for others, had scraped together enough money to buy him a uniform and pay for books and tuition. At school, “I couldn’t go out and exercise with the others,” he explains, “so I stayed inside and studied all the time.” He amazed his headmaster by receiving top scores in math, reading, and writing.

A nun from the hospital donated a new tricycle that Eric could pedal with his hands, making it easier for him to go to school. But as Eric went back and forth, pressure sores opened again. Infection returned, along with the putrid smell as the wounds leaked. Students complained about flies constantly buzzing around Eric. He was 17 when the headmaster told him to go home and get well, or he could not return to school.

Eric’s father had a tiny farm out in the country. He had taken the family to work on the farm, but Eric remained at home in his shed, alone. Meanwhile, his sores enlarged to huge wounds and infection entered into his bones, a life-threatening condition called osteomyelitis.

When he was 18, Eric saw his friend Emmanuel Ofosu-hene speaking English with an obruni (white man). The obruni was a Mormon missionary, Elder Old. “I only spoke Twi, but Emmanuel interpreted for me: ‘I am so sick I think I will die. Can you help me know what to do so I can go to heaven?’

“Elder Old and his African companion sat with me and taught me. For some reason, they started with the Word of Wisdom. I knew they were speaking the truth because I already knew coffee and tobacco were bad.” They also gave Eric a brochure about the restored gospel of Jesus Christ and invited him to church.

“When I went, I saw this Church was different,” he says. “It was reverent.” Even though it took him an hour to push himself to church in his wheelchair, Eric loved the meetings. “I wanted to go up front and be with people,” he says. “But I stayed at the back because I knew I smelled bad.”

Eric told the missionaries, “What I am learning is true.” He also told them he wanted to be baptized, but doctors had warned him not to get his wounds wet. “I will rely on God to provide answers,” he said. He attended church for about a year and then became too ill and weak to wheel himself there.

Eric’s mother, Lucy, met the missionaries, studied the gospel, and was baptized in 2015. But because her broken leg had never been properly set, it was painful for her to walk. Attending meetings was a challenge for her, as well.

Eventually, Eric was taken to the hospital again. In Ghana, patients have to provide their own water, food, bedding, medicine, and bandages. If they have no money, they are not treated. Eric’s mother and sisters did what they could. Eric received food and medical attention infrequently, so he grew weaker.

Then Eric received some unexpected visitors. Missionaries, Sister Peprah and Sister Nafuna, had seen his photograph at the church and came to see him in the hospital and brought him food. It had been a year since he had been to church, but he told them he still wanted to be baptized.

A few days later, Eric’s sister visited him and found him very ill. She ran home and told their mother. Though their mother had suffered permanent leg damage in the accident with Eric, she walked to the hospital, wincing with every step. “You must come home,” she told Eric. “If you’re going to die, I at least want you near.”

The next morning, the sister missionaries came to the house. “You weren’t at the hospital,” Sister Peprah said. “So we came here.” With them were Elder and Sister Wood, senior missionaries from New Zealand. They took inventory of needs and promised to return.

A few days later, Eric’s father took the family back to the farm—except Eric, who found himself alone again and without food or water. When Elder and Sister Wood returned and discovered Eric alone and hungry, they brought him food and water. They returned the next day and noticed fluid running down his leg and found a huge open ulcer on his thigh. They immediately took Eric back to the hospital.

The Woods learned of a medical humanitarian team from the United States that would be coming to Ghana. The team would perform surgery for Eric without cost. The surgeon treated the ulcer on Eric’s leg. But when he saw the severity of Eric’s wounds, as well as the osteomyelitis, he determined he could not do all the necessary procedures in Ghana. Based on his recommendation, the humanitarian organization initiated a process that would eventually bring Eric to the United States to receive additional treatment and permanently close his wounds. In addition, a shelter in Winneba, Ghana, run by members of the Church, agreed to have Eric live there when he returned so that he could attend school and complete his education.

While in Utah for surgery, Eric visits the reflecting pool near the Salt Lake Temple. Eric says he loves the feeling of peace he finds at the Salt Lake Temple.

Elder Wood, an engineer by profession, rebuilt Eric’s hand-pedal tricycle. He performed a similar overhaul on his wheelchair. He also counseled with President Cosgrave of the Ghana Kumasi Mission, a medical doctor. They felt Eric could be baptized if proper precautions were taken.

Eric shows his tricycle to his mother and siblings after senior missionaries repaired it.

“Elder Wood wrapped my body in plastic, with tape around the plastic,” Eric explains. “Then he carried me into a font filled with water treated with disinfectant. I was baptized on June 26, 2016.” Eric had relied on the Lord, and the Lord had provided a way.

Today, Eric is studying to become a computer technician. But also feels he can influence others through music—he likes to rap in Twi. His upbeat message talks about how God rescued him. One of his favorite scriptures says, “Look to God and live” (Alma 37:47). And he still says, “I see God in everything.”

He adds, “I don’t want anyone to think the way Heavenly Father has blessed me is identical to how He will bless them. But He will bless those who trust Him. When you have to deal with hard things, pray and trust God.”

Eric looks forward to a bright future. He’s studying to be a computer technician and also feels he can inspire others with music.

My father sat next to me in the cramped cab as I pulled a plow behind the tractor to create furrows that would guide the water evenly through the field. Corrugating takes a long time, and the lines have to be perfectly straight. Craning my neck to see out the back window, I could already see my line was curving.
I didn’t know what to do. If I corrected, the field would have a series of S lines. If I let the curve continue, it would slowly become more pronounced. The water would never make it across the field, and much of the crop would quickly wither and die.
Pointing my tractor at the correct angle, my father told me to line up two shapes on the horizon with the tractor’s hood. He told me to make sure the three points overlapped from my point of view. As long as I kept those three points lined up, the tractor moved in a straight line.
After three hot days in the field, I gazed out over my finished work. Rows of straight lines met my eyes. When the field was completely corrugated and sown, the water flowed evenly across it. The alfalfa seeds would grow tall, strong, and green.
Just like I needed to align three points to create straight lines, we need to align ourselves with those things that are right. As we do so, we will point ourselves in the direction of the Savior, and we will have access to living water.
Heather W., Utah, USA

Below the grass and some railroad tracks, the ground fell away into a steep, wooded bank. On that bank three young men were working in the rain—cutting a path through the sumac and serviceberry down to the wide, gray, rain-dimpled Susquehanna.

As the three workers hacked away at the dripping brush under a bonfire of autumn leaves, their minds turned now and then to a bright spring day in May of 1829 when this spot was part of a Pennsylvania township called Harmony.

Last fall when the leaves were turning, the nearby branch of Honesdale scheduled a baptism in the Susquehanna near the restoration site. It had been quite a while since the last baptism there, and underbrush had reclaimed part of the trail down to the river. Rodney, Randy, and Chris volunteered to reopen the path so that the baptismal party wouldn’t have to fight limbs and thorns.

Unfortunately, that Saturday morning dawned rainy and cold. Low clouds brushed the mountaintops. The trees and brush along the river dripped water. The steep path was slick and muddy.

The three young men went ahead with the job anyway. They worked in the rain, getting drenched. Occasionally one of them slipped and went sliding down the hill. But they had a lot of fun too, as young men working together usually do. They even found a little time for skipping rocks on the Susquehanna. The young women of the branch came along to prepare a feast for the workers. Well, one of the young women came—Rodney’s sister. And damp hot dogs can be a feast if you go at it with the right attitude. At any rate, they worked on until they had cut a wide path down to the river.

After the project the young men got together at Rodney’s house in Hallstead, Pennsylvania, to dry out, watch some television, play some computer games, shoot a few baskets (Chris and Randy are on their school teams), and talk a little bit about the gospel and themselves.

When our children were young, our family spent a few days at a beautiful lake. One afternoon some of the children put on life jackets before jumping off a deck and into the water. Our youngest daughter watched with hesitation, carefully observing her siblings. With all the courage she could muster, she plugged her nose with one hand and jumped. She immediately popped up and with a bit of panic in her voice yelled, “Help me! Help me!”
Now, she was not in any mortal danger; her life jacket was doing its job, and she was floating safely. We could have reached out and pulled her back on the deck with little effort. Yet from her perspective, she needed help. Perhaps it was the chill of the water or the newness of the experience. In any case, she climbed back onto the deck, where we wrapped her in a dry towel and complimented her on her bravery.

Name: Brandon N.
Age: 14
Sport: Tae kwon do
Major Achievement: Undefeated UK tae kwon do champion in the 12- to 13-year old category at the Junior ITF Impact Competition; second place in the 14- to 17-year-old category as the youngest competitor.
“I spend six to seven hours training in tae kwon do every week. This is often difficult, as I need to balance this between my schoolwork and the gospel. I have been taught to keep important things first, so sometimes the odd training session gets missed.
“Tae kwon do has taught me that you get nothing in life unless you put in the effort. Since starting from a white belt, tae kwon do has been hard work. The first grade is a yellow tag, which means the earth as a seed is sown and takes root as training begins. This reminds me of the Aaronic Priesthood, becoming a deacon, teacher, and priest and preparing for the Melchizedek Priesthood. Seeds of the gospel are sown, and they too take root and develop into a strong tree with deep, strong roots. The gospel has the answers to challenges, and while tae kwon do is an art that develops me physically, it disciplines me mentally. I then use that discipline in my life and the gospel when things get hard or I feel fed up. Keeping the Word of Wisdom has made me strong. I am not very large in stature, yet on the day of the competition I fought off boys bigger than myself.
“Last October I moved into the 14 to 17 age category up to black belts. I was very scared when I saw my group. Not only was I the youngest (the rest in my group being 17), I was also the smallest. My dad, who is a black belt in tae kwon do, was a judge in my competition, and even he said he was praying I didn’t get killed! My sister, who is also a black belt, was judging in the next ring, and she said she never prayed so much! It was like David and Goliath.
“I couldn’t believe it when I won my first round, then second, and ended up in the final. Everybody had expected this competition would be just for experience for me. They were shocked when I got to the final. After being penalized three points, I lost by only two points to a 17-year-old black belt. I nearly won it, and that would have been a major achievement—a 14-year-old beating all the 17-year-olds. I knew my Heavenly Father had answered my prayers to do my best. I learned that faith without works is dead.”

Wherever we may be, our Heavenly Father can hear and answer the prayer offered in faith. This is especially true in the mission fields throughout the world. While presiding over the Canadian Mission, under the direction of President David O. McKay (1873–1970), Sister Monson and I had the opportunity of serving with some of the finest young men and women in all this world. The very lives of these young missionaries exemplified faith and prayer.

There sat in my office one day a newly arrived missionary. He was bright, strong, happy, and grateful to be a missionary. He was filled with enthusiasm and a desire to serve. As I spoke with him, I said, “Elder, I imagine that your father and mother wholeheartedly support you in your mission call.” He lowered his head and replied, “Well, not quite. You see, President, my father is not a member of the Church. He doesn’t believe as we believe, so he cannot fully appreciate the importance of my assignment.”

Without hesitating and prompted by a Source not my own, I said to him, “Elder, if you will honestly and diligently serve God in proclaiming His message, your father will join the Church before your mission is concluded.” He clasped my hand in a vise-like grip, the tears welled up in his eyes and began to roll forth down his cheeks, and he declared, “To see my father accept the truth would be the greatest blessing that could come into my life.”

This young man did not sit idly by hoping and wishing that the promise would be fulfilled, but rather he followed the sage advice that has been given of old: “Pray as though everything depended upon God. Work as though everything depended upon you.” Such was the missionary service of this young man.

At every missionary conference I would seek him out before the meetings and ask, “Elder, how’s Dad progressing?”

His reply would invariably be, “No progress, President, but I know the Lord will fulfill the promise given to me through you as my mission president.” The days turned to weeks and the weeks to months, and finally, just two weeks before we ourselves left the mission field to return home, I received a letter from the father of this missionary. That father wrote:

“Dear Brother Monson:

“I wish to thank you so much for taking such good care of my son who recently completed a mission in Canada. He has been an inspiration to us.

“My son was promised when he left on his mission that I would become a member of the Church before his return. This promise was, I believe, made to him by you, unknown to me.

“I am happy to report that I was baptized into the Church one week before he completed his mission and am at present time athletic director of the MIA and have a teaching assignment.

“My son is now attending BYU, and his younger brother was also recently baptized and confirmed a member of the Church.

“May I again thank you for all the kindness and love bestowed upon my son by his brothers in the mission field during the past two years.

“Yours very truly, a grateful father.”

The humble prayer of faith had once again been answered.

With Cyclone Charlotte threatening to dump rain and close roads, the youth and leaders of the Cairns Australia District set out on a 1,700-kilometer (1,100-mile) drive to the temple in Brisbane Australia. It took the group of 35 youth and 8 adults over eight months to organise and prepare for the journey. And now, on the morning of departure, it seemed that the storm was putting their trip in danger of being canceled. But with group and individual prayers asking for a delay in the storm, the group loaded onto the bus, which pulled out onto the Pacific highway ahead of the rains.
After the 24-hour journey, the bus arrived safely in Brisbane with those on board thanking the Lord for the blessings and protection they experienced.
The group spent two days attending three baptismal sessions and were baptised and confirmed on behalf of 2,000 people, most of whose names they had researched and added to the family files from their area.
A highlight of their trip was the opportunity 11 teens had of receiving their patriarchal blessings. Because so many youth wanted to receive their blessings, parents and priesthood leaders arranged for four patriarchs from four different stakes to give the youth their much-anticipated patriarchal blessings. Some of the teens were moved to tears by their blessings.
The youth were able to meet in a fireside and hear from the area leaders as well as bear their testimonies. When they returned home, the rains had subsided. The journey, plus the good accomplished personally and in the temple, made for a memorable week.

I’m very happy with my name, Janetta Ann McBride. Brigham Young gave me that name and blessed me when I was a baby. He was one of the elders who visited at my parents’ home in Church Town, England, where I was born on Christmas Eve in 1839. It isn’t everyone who can claim that a prophet gave them a name and a blessing.
My father was originally from Scotland. He came to England for work. There he met my mother and married her. They joined the Church just a few years later.
When I was six years old, my family moved to Island of Bute, Scotland. I at-tended the School of Industry, where I learned how to sew and keep house. I graduated when I was eleven years old. That’s when most children began working to help their family with expenses.
I, too, would have gone straight to work, except I got sick. Instead, I was sent to live with my grandmother by the seashore. It was thought that the sea air would be good for my health. It must have been, because I got well. But Grandmother had a serious accident one day and died. By that time, my family had moved back to England, and I moved there to live with them.
At the age of fourteen, I was apprenticed to a dressmaker and learned how to make beautiful dresses. I worked for her for two years. Then my family made the decision to move to America. Times were hard in England. Jobs and food were both scarce. Also a call had gone out from the Church for the Saints to gather to Zion.
At age sixteen, I was the oldest of the children in our family. Heber had just turned thirteen. Ether was eight, Peter six, and Margaret was still a baby, not quite two years old. We loved the Lord with all our hearts. We had been commanded to gather to Zion, and so we began our journey, one step at a time. Little did we know what would face us on the journey ahead. I think, though, that even if we had known, we still would have gone.
The Church had a special fund at that time that loaned money to members for travel to Salt Lake City, Utah. In 1856, however, there wasn’t much money in it. To cut expenses, it was decided that my family, along with many others, would travel across the plains by handcart. The journey from Liverpool, England, to Salt Lake City would then only cost about forty-five dollars per person—much less than the cost of using wagons and ox teams to cross the plains.
But first we had to sail to America!
I was excited when my family packed up their belongings and headed for Liverpool. It was a great seaport, teeming with ships of every kind. I loved watching the ships being loaded and unloaded with every kind of article you could imagine. Spices from India scented the air. Passenger ships were a hive of activity as their holds were loaded with food and water. There was so much to see!
Our ship was the Horizon, a good ship. We had fine weather all the way across the Atlantic, except for a few days when it was so foggy that we couldn’t even get candles to burn! On June 30, 1856, we safely landed in Boston, Massachusetts. We were thrilled to be in the land where the gospel had been restored!
I don’t think any of us had any idea how big America really was. When we landed in Boston, we didn’t realize that our long journey was just beginning, rather than nearing its end.
From Boston, we traveled to Iowa City, Iowa, by railroad. The new railroad saved us weeks of traveling by wagon. The cattle cars were crowded, but we endured the journey well. The train stopped in Buffalo, New York, on the Fourth of July. We could only watch the people celebrate. How I wanted to join them!
Finally we arrived in Iowa City. From the train station, we walked three miles in rain and mud to the place where we were to meet the Church’s agent in charge of organizing the trek. We had been assured that everything would be ready for us when we arrived, but it wasn’t. The handcarts hadn’t even been built! We camped and worked at preparing for the journey until all was ready.
Eventually the handcarts were obtained, and our family was assigned to Captain Edward Martin’s company. Near the end of July 1856, we cheerfully began our journey to Zion. Our family had three carts when we started out. Each cart could carry about 120 pounds of baggage, 100 pounds of flour, cooking utensils, and additional food. There were 576 people in our company. I’d never been with so many members of the Church!
Pulling the handcarts wasn’t bad at first. But many of them broke down because they were built of green wood. We pulled those carts three hundred miles to Florence, Nebraska. The last members of our company, and the Willie company, arrived there on August 22. As soon as we arrived, there was some disagreement as to whether we should continue on. Some said that it was too late in the year. They felt that we should set up a winter camp in Florence and wait until spring to travel to Salt Lake City. But most of the Saints were for starting immediately. After much discussion, it was decided to continue on. We were anxious to finish our long journey. About a thousand miles remained ahead of us, but we had already come so many miles that another thousand seemed like a short trip. We didn’t know that the worst part of our journey was still ahead.

As I sat on a chartered bus in front of the Chicago Illinois Temple, the fact that my family and I were about to move across the country finally hit home. Realizing that this was the last time I’d come to this temple to do baptisms for the dead with our stake youth did more to make reality sink in than the “For Sale” sign at my house, all the piles of packing boxes, and even my empty closet.
As I looked out the bus window at the beautiful building, I thought to myself, This is the last time I can come here like this with these people, hear their testimonies, and feel this kind of spirit. I am leaving for real.
Just as I was thinking this, a comforting thought came clearly to my mind: The Spirit is the same wherever you go. Take what you feel here and share it where you are going. At that point, I knew that the gospel really is the same wherever you go, that the same Heavenly Father is always there, and that He will help us get through everything.
Do not be afraid of moving. It’s not the end of the world to leave friends and places behind. I have learned that. No matter where you go, you can always have the comfort the gospel can bring into your life. It really is the same gospel no matter what place in the world you are in. The packaging might be a little different, but the contents are always wonderfully the same.

Wong Yun Tai remembers the warm September evening in 1984 when her life changed. The Wong family live on the 21st floor of the Wu Yuet House, a government housing project in the Tuen Mun area of Hong Kong’s New Territories. That evening, 15-year-old Wong Yun Tai, who goes by the English name Belle, was eating dinner when a knock came at her door. Two strangers wearing white shirts, ties, and curious black name tags were at the door. They talked to her through the metal gate that remained locked even though the door was open.
Belle was busy eating, so she told her two visitors to come back in an hour. “I was interested in religion, and I really wanted to know what was true. I was just like Joseph Smith. I really wanted to know which church was God’s true church,” recalls Belle.
When the missionaries returned, she listened politely to their message. Afterward, they gave her a Book of Mormon to read, said a prayer, and then left. It was a simple meeting, but it had a powerful effect on Belle. “When I prayed, I had a very unique, good feeling in my heart,” she says.
A month later, Belle was baptized. Then the real work began. Belle, the second oldest child of Wong Hong Tsuen and Wong Leung Nan Ho, wanted her parents and brothers and sisters to experience the same gospel joy that had become such an important part of her life. She began sharing what she had learned.
Now, more than a decade later, she’s still sharing. Since those humble beginnings, seven of the eight Wong children have joined the Church, as have Mom and Dad. Belle served a mission in Hong Kong. So did two younger sisters, Angela and May.