Gospel Story Finder

My grandfather, Fritz Hjalmar Lundgren, emigrated from Sweden when he was 19 years old. He arrived in America alone, with a suitcase and six years of formal schooling. Unable to speak any English, he made his way to Oregon and worked there as a lumberjack and then later, with my grandmother and my mother, joined the Church. He never presided over a ward, but as a faithful home teacher, he brought more than 50 different families into Church activity. How did he do that?

After Grandpa’s death, I was going through a box of his papers and came across a letter written by a man who had come back to church because of Grandpa’s love. The letter read, “Brother Fritz’s secret, I believe, is that he is always on an errand for Heavenly Father.”

That letter was from Brother Wayne Simonis. Grandpa visited him and got to know each member of the family. In time, Grandpa told them that they were needed and invited them to attend church. But that Sunday, Brother Simonis awoke with a dilemma—he had not finished reroofing his house, and rain was expected that week. He decided that he’d go to church, shake hands with Grandpa, and then leave and go home to finish the roof. His family could attend sacrament meeting without him.

His plan was working just fine until, on the roof, he heard someone climbing the ladder. In his words: “When I looked up, … standing at the top of the ladder was Brother Fritz. He just gave me that big smile. At first, I was embarrassed and felt like a little kid getting caught for skipping school. Then … I felt anger. [But Brother Fritz just] took off his suit coat and hung it on the ladder. As he rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt, he turned to me and said, ‘Brother Simonis, do you have another hammer? This work must be very important or you wouldn’t have left your family, and if it’s that important, I want to help you.’ As I looked into his eyes, I saw only kindness and Christlike love. My anger left. … I laid my tools down that Sunday and followed my good friend down the ladder and back to the chapel.”

Grandpa had obtained his errand from the Lord, and he knew he was to seek out lost sheep. Just as when the four men who carried their friend with palsy onto a roof and then let him down to be healed by Jesus Christ, so too did Grandpa’s errand take him to a rooftop. The Lord sends revelation to those seeking to help others.

President Harold B. Lee, in his book entitled Decisions for Successful Living, used this illustration: “One of the most scenic drives in the State of Arizona is through Oak Creek Canyon that lies between Flagstaff and Jerome. To enter the canyon from Flagstaff, the descent is very steep, requiring expert roadbuilders to construct the winding highway with sharp hairpin turns to get the traveler to the floor of the canyon. Just as with all paths that lead downward, no effort at all is required to get all the way to the bottom; indeed, all the going is so easy that unless you apply your brakes at the dangerous turns, you would meet early disaster. When you arrive at Jerome, however, the situation is just reversed. Before you is a sheer wall of the canyon that can only be surmounted by a series of ladder-like roads constructed on ascending levels. What energy or gasoline you think you saved in coming down, you now must expend, and more, to climb back up. Woe be to the motorist if his gasoline is poor or the sparkplugs are fouled. If a tire should go flat, or if some mechanical defect should develop, Jerome would have an unwilling visitor added to its population.”

“Keep yourselves open to the inspiration of the Lord. Listen to the whisperings of the Spirit. I remember when Brother [Harold B.] Lee set me apart as a stake president. He said, ‘Listen for the whisperings of the Spirit in the stillness of the night.’ Now, I believe in that. I have seen in my experience, and I think I can testify that the Lord has spoken quietly. I didn’t hear any words, but in the middle of the night, ideas have come into my head which, I think, have been prophetic in their nature.”7

Two is an important number to Jonathan and Anthony. Not only are they the only two children in their family, but they speak two languages, have lived in two countries, and can even claim two last names. Their father is from Spain, where the mother’s maiden name is added after the father’s surname, so that there they would call themselves Jonathan Porras Holt and Anthony Porras Holt.
Jonathan (5) and Anthony (2) live in a house with a fenced-in yard. Their favorite playmate is Linda (pronounced LEAN-dah; Spanish for pretty), the family’s collie. The boys are hard workers and love helping Dad clean the local high school. All summer they help Grandma Holt plant, weed, and harvest her garden. A special treat is getting to help Grandpa Holt in his meat-processing plant.
Like most American children, they like macaroni and cheese—but they love corn on the cob fresh from Grandma’s garden, and hamburgers from Grandpa’s plant.
A five-minute drive from home gets them to almost everywhere in town. Besides going to church, they love family home evening, their new family project of memorizing the Articles of Faith in both Spanish and English, trips to the local library, family outings to the mountains, having Mom teach them to ride Grandpa’s horses, and playing soccer with Dad, an ex-pro soccer player from Barcelona, Spain.
Last summer Jonathan and Anthony spent the summer in Barcelona with Yayo and Yaya (their names for their Grandpa and Grandma Porras).
Yayo and Yaya live on the sixth floor of an apartment building, where the boys soon learned the dos and don’ts of elevators. Anthony and Jonathan spent many hours looking down on the world from their bedroom window. Instead of Linda as a playmate, there were lots of neighborhood kids who never tired of showing their American visitors a good time. Instead of a fenced-in yard, there were concrete play areas and a park down the street. And what did they play most? What else but Spain’s number one sport—fútbol! (It’s called soccer in the United States.)
Food was the biggest change in the boys’ lives, but they soon learned to love chorizo (pepperoni-type meat), tolerate paella (rice with shrimp, octopus, clams, etc.), and beg for more of Yayo’s homemade fresh banana or chocolate helado (ice cream) on a stick.
Instead of going on trips to the mountains, riding horses, and visiting the library, they went to the beach to feed the pigeons, to the Barcelona Zoo, and to two amusement parks.
Both boys loved the airplane ride to Spain and home again—in one plane they were given a tour of the cockpit! But they were just as delighted to ride buses, taxis, trains, and subways in Barcelona. They really learned to appreciate the five-minute walk to church in Salina compared to the forty-five minute walk in Barcelona from Yaya’s house to the chapel.
Jonathan and Anthony love being a part of two worlds. Although they missed their life in Salina while in Spain, they now talk excitedly of returning to visit their other world, where they’re known as “the Porras Holt kids.”

Michelle D. Craig toughens her feet walking barefoot.

As I sat at my desk, pondering the events of the upcoming day, I caught a glimpse of the early sun trying to pierce the dark clouds. My eyes focused on a nearby calendar in the corner of the room. It was the first day of October, and I had been on the England Manchester Mission staff for nearly five months. I could not believe how quickly the time had passed.
My thoughts were interrupted as I gazed at the morning mail heaped upon my desk, just waiting to be sent to eager missionaries. I quickly sorted through the letters and found several addressed to the mission. I carefully tore open each envelope, expecting to find referrals, bills, or notices.
The last envelope, however, contained a letter and a return envelope. Puzzled, I read the letter.
“Dear Sir,“My name is Ian Holden, and I will soon be 16 years old. I am writing to you after reading the New Era magazine.
“Last Thursday, I went to Halingden Library, as I often do after school. I went into the reference/periodical room, where I usually read magazines, newspapers, or use the reference books. On looking through the magazines, I noticed one I had not seen before, the June 1976 edition of the New Era.
“After reading through the magazine and finding it very interesting, I decided to further my knowledge of the Latter-day Saints by asking my Religious Education teacher if I could borrow any books that she might have on the Mormons. The result was my reading a critical booklet. Although the booklet was very critical, I was still deeply attracted to finding out more.
“Therefore, I must ask you to help me find my ‘new era’ in life. Please could you send me further details of the Latter-day Saints. I know that my parents would not mind me becoming a Mormon.
“Please reply soon.
“Yours Thankfully,”Ian Holden
My head pounded with excitement as I shared the letter with the rest of the office staff. I immediately looked up the missionaries in Ian’s area. He lived in an area assigned to the zone leaders in one of the Preston zones. The zone leaders happened to be coming in that very morning for supplies.
When the zone leaders, Elders Brown and Johnston, arrived, I rushed them into my office and let them have the news. They were also very excited and said they would drop by the following evening and try to meet with Ian.
Meanwhile, I quickly sat down to the typewriter and composed a short note to Ian, telling him that the missionaries would be coming by. I added a few brief words on how his letter had touched me, and ended with my testimony. I popped it in the letterbox right before the morning mail was collected.
Four days had not passed when I received a letter from Ian. He said that Elders Brown and Johnston had come by, and he expressed some of his inner feelings concerning Joseph Smith and his gratitude for the missionaries who brought this message.
He also recounted a little opposition that he was going through in gaining a strong witness of the truth. It was evident that he was studying the message out very deeply and sincerely in his mind. He had become a little depressed and expressed his feelings of doubt. I wasn’t too worried because many investigators experience feelings of doubt before a real testimony is gained.
I quickly jotted another brief note to Ian, trying to motivate and comfort him. I also sent an inspiring poem that my mother had sent me.
I kept in close contact with Elder Brown and Elder Johnston as I was anxious to hear of Ian’s progression. They assured me things were fine.
Another week passed, and I received yet another letter. This letter was full of excitement. Ian openly expressed how he had felt as he received his answer. His letter radiated gratitude for the gospel and what it was already doing for him.
He said, “I know that Satan will try harder, but now I have a stronger armour. My armour of faith is growing. In contrast to last week, which was one of depression, I have experienced great happiness. Today, for the first time in many years, I almost cried with happiness.” He also expressed another very special thought—he hoped to serve a mission. My head burned within me as I tucked the treasured letter in my desk drawer.
Ian’s next letter contained the exciting news of his upcoming baptism on the 26th of October. He said, “When the elders gave me the challenge, my eyes quickly filled with tears and I found it hard to give a reply.” He also mentioned that he had the highest respect for all missionaries, and he was looking forward to the day when he would be a missionary himself.
Weeks have passed, and Ian continues to write to me and share with me his growing experiences as a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Many people throughout the world are waiting to discover this “new era,” the gospel of Jesus Christ, as was this curious young man, Ian Holden.
Elder Mark E. ChristensenEngland Manchester Mission

“Wake up, partner,” Daddy whispered. “It’s time to get ready.” I looked out my window and saw stars twinkling in the dark sky. Inside, our house was as quiet as could be. Mom, Grandma, Robby, Paul, and Jonathan were all fast asleep.
“But, Daddy, it’s still nighttime,” I said, rubbing my eyes.
“Not really,” he said, laying my clothes on the bed. “It’s just very early in the morning, and according to the fishing forecast, that’s when the fish are supposed to bite best today. So hurry and get dressed while I make our lunch.”
When I got to the kitchen, Daddy was putting our lunch into the cooler. “All ready, Lucille?” he asked, closing the cooler and grabbing his camera.
“All ready,” I said. “I’m going to catch the biggest fish in the ocean.”
Daddy laughed. “That’s what all the fishermen say.”
By the time we stopped for breakfast, I was starved. I had eggs, sausages, milk, and a yummy doughnut that dripped grape jelly all over my new white jacket.
“But, Daddy,” I said as he rubbed and rubbed the purple spots with a wet napkin, “aren’t you glad I ate all my breakfast?”
“Very glad,” he said. “You have to be strong to catch fish. Early, too, so let’s go.”
It was almost light when we got to the marina and carried our fishing rods, the cooler, and Daddy’s camera down the long wooden dock.
Our boat’s name is Fish Tales, and it’s printed on the side in bright blue letters. Fish Tales is seven years old, the same as me, and Daddy has taken our whole family for rides in it lots of times. But today he was just taking me.
Daddy unsnapped the canvas cover on Fish Tales and folded it neatly. Then he lifted me into the boat, tucked the fishing rods and camera inside a compartment, and put the cooler beside them. Finally he slipped the key into the ignition.
“Here we go,” he said as he turned the key. But nothing happened. Daddy tried and tried, but Fish Tales just wouldn’t start. Daddy lifted the engine cover and sighed a big sigh. I sat in the driver’s seat and pretended to steer. While Daddy worked on the engine, I pushed some buttons. Maybe I can get the boat to work, I thought.
“Don’t play with the controls, Lucille,” Daddy said. But there was a black box with knobs that I hadn’t tried, so I turned one of the knobs and heard crackling noises. I turned it some more and heard voices talking about the weather out on the ocean. I remembered what the black box was for and pushed the button next to the knob.
“Hello,” I said into the box. “This is Lucille, and my father’s real mad ’cause our boat’s broke.”
“LUCILLE! Please don’t help!”
I turned off the radio and didn’t push any more buttons or turn any more knobs.
“I’m hungry,” I said after a while, “and thirsty too.”
“Help yourself,” Daddy said. “But choose something nutritious. It’s still pretty early.”
I picked chocolate cookies and cream soda, and I really didn’t mean to spill the whole can of soda all over the boat.
“Lucille,” Daddy said when we finished wiping up the mess, “I’ll get out a blanket, and you can catch up on your sleep while I fix the boat.”
I didn’t want to sleep, but the blanket felt soft and Fish Tales rocked so gently. I dreamed I caught the biggest fish in the ocean.
A loud noise woke me. Fish Tales was fixed and ready to go.
“It’s almost nine o’clock,” Daddy said. “Let’s hurry before all the fish are gone.”
He unhooked the ropes that held us to the dock, and we went slowly past the other boats at the marina. Then we went fast. Then faster. I sat very still and watched the foamy path that Fish Tales left in the water. It was a wonderful, bouncy ride as we cut through the waves, looking for just the right place to fish.
Finally we slowed down and stopped where other boats had stopped too. But the waves didn’t stop, and it was hard to stand while the boat swayed from side to side.
“You’ll get used to it,” Daddy said. But I wasn’t at all sure of that. I looked up and tried to find the sun, but all I saw were big, dark clouds.
Daddy put a piece of slippery, white fish on the end of my line and dropped it over the side of the boat. Down, down it went until it hit the ocean’s bottom. Daddy handed me the rod and told me, “Hold on tight.”
“You’ll know when a fish is nibbling, Lucille,” he said. “You’ll feel a little tug on your line. Tell me when you do, and we’ll catch the first one together.” Then he put bait on his own line and fished from the other side of the boat.
I waited and waited and waited and waited.
Then I waited some more.
Not even a little fish tugged on my line. But raindrops sure dribbled on my head.
“Come on, Lucille,” Daddy said. “Let’s eat lunch. We’ll try again when the rain stops.”
I wasn’t too hungry, but it was dry inside Fish Tales’s cabin, so I sat and tore the crust off my bologna sandwich and tossed it through a porthole into the water. Then I pressed my sandwich flat and tried to eat it. But the boat rocked and rolled, and so did my stomach. Even the green grapes and cream soda didn’t taste too good.
“Daddy,” I said, “my stomach feels funny.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “The water is getting a bit choppy. Forget about lunch, partner. We’ll eat later.”
“Are you sure there’re fish in this ocean?” I asked.
“I’m sure,” he said. “Look. It’s only drizzling. Let’s fish again. If we don’t catch anything in ten minutes, we’ll go. Sometimes, Lucille, they just don’t bite.”
My stomach felt awful as I stood in the rain and lowered my line again. I yanked on it, but just a little, to get the fishes’ attention. Suddenly it felt heavy, so I pulled harder—and harder. Something really gigantic was on the end of my line. I just knew it was the biggest fish in the ocean.
“I got one!” I yelled, and Daddy dropped his rod and hurried over to help me. Together we reeled and pulled and reeled and pulled. I was glad I’d eaten such a good breakfast, because it took all our strength to land that rusty old kitchen chair.
“Can we keep it?” I asked.
“Well … Sure, why not?” Daddy muttered. “It’s the only thing we’ve caught all day.” He unhooked the old chair, and my line fell back into the water. “Let’s go home,” he said. “We’re both soaked. I guess today is just not our day. We’ll come back another time.”
I began to reel my line in, but I didn’t think I would ever want to go fishing again. And my stomach felt worse than ever.
Suddenly my line went taut, and my rod bent into an arch.
“I think I caught another chair,” I said.
When Daddy saw my rod bend almost in half, he scrambled over to help. “Something is definitely on there,” he said, “and it’s not a chair.”
“Oh, boy!” I said. “I’ve finally got a fish. Maybe the biggest—”
“I don’t know,” Daddy interrupted. “It’s not tugging on your line like a fish would. But I’ll tell you this, Lucille: It’s big!”
Slowly we reeled and pulled. I was so excited I could hardly wait.
The people on the boats around us stopped to watch Daddy and me reel in our catch.
I forgot the pouring rain.
I forgot the rocking and rolling of Fish Tales.
I almost forgot my terrible stomach.
I could think of only one thing: I had probably caught the biggest fish in the ocean.
Then I saw it. It wasn’t a chair. Or a fish. It looked like a dinosaur!
“Huh!” Daddy said. “Quick, Lucille. Get my camera.” He pulled the creature close to the surface. It was green and scaly, and it had dark eyes and a huge, round body.
“Hold the rod tightly, Lucille,” Daddy said, letting go. “It’s only snagged under its shell, and I want to take a picture before it breaks free.”
I held the rod steady. “It’s a dinosaur!” I called to the other boaters.
“It’s not a dinosaur,” Daddy said, and he laughed as he snapped an instant picture. “It’s a big sea turtle, and it came up to see who was on the other end of the line.”
The turtle must have seen my bologna sandwich crust floating on the water, because with one, quick move it was free, and, snatching that soggy crust, it dove back to the bottom of the ocean.
“You’re quite a fisherman, Lucille,” Daddy said, hugging me. “You’ve caught the biggest turtle that I’ve ever seen, and we have the picture to prove it. Let’s go home and tell everyone. They’ll be so surprised.”
Well, today I caught the biggest chair and the biggest turtle, and next time I’m going to catch the biggest fish in the ocean. But then, that’s what all the fisherman say.

Some time ago, we were in the kingdom of Tonga. A family home evening, with music and spoken word, was arranged by President Muti in his stake center. The home evening was in honor of His Majesty King Tupou the Fourth, the reigning monarch of Tonga. The king, his daughter, and granddaughters graciously attended, as did many of the nobles and diplomatic representatives in Tonga. Our members put on a superb program of song and verse. One of the king’s granddaughters sang a little solo entitled “How Much I Love My Grandfather.” Elder John Sonnenberg and I were invited to respond briefly, which we were pleased to do.
After the program was over, the king ignored the usual royal protocol and came over to graciously greet us and our wives as an expression of appreciation for the performance of his subjects who are members of the Church. Social protocol is observed in many places, but the expression of kindness is universally appropriate.

Eric Hansen, who orchestrated all the music and conducted the 23-piece orchestra, remembers a few discouraging moments. “When I was first given the assignment, I thought of how impressed my friends would be,” he said. “But at first, no matter how hard I tried, nothing worked.” He said that when you try to please God first, your talents will be recognized, adding, “I had to humble myself and do it for Him, not for me.”

In college Richard met another good example. Her name was Jeanene. One night she told him, “When I marry, it will be to a returned missionary in the temple.” Richard decided to pray about going on a mission. Soon he and Jeanene both left on missions. After they came home, Richard and Jeanene were married in the Manti Utah Temple.

Foni P. grew up in a single-parent home. During her childhood and teenage years, Foni watched her mom struggle to raise three kids alone. As a result, Foni developed negative feelings toward her father. Then recently, after she turned 19, her father started reaching out to try and connect.
“I was upset,” Foni says. “My thinking was, ‘He had 19 years to enter my life but didn’t. Why now?’” Even though she prayed and pondered, Foni still couldn’t find peace. Talking with her mom and aunt helped a little, but it still left her feeling tied in knots. Then something incredible (but simple) happened: Foni’s best friend invited her out for ice cream and shopping.
“A lot of people would look at that and think it wasn’t a big deal,” Foni says, “but it meant so much! I felt the sun on my skin. We were walking outside, and I saw the trees. I felt the wind, and I felt the Spirit at the same time. It was amazing.”
Did this impromptu shopping trip solve Foni’s problems? Well, no. Foni admits that her relationship with her father is still challenging. But that simple act of kindness from her friend allowed Foni to feel the Holy Ghost again. She could then better face her struggles with extra strength. “I know she was prompted by the Holy Ghost to take me out of the house,” Foni shares.

Moving can be a scary thing, especially when you go from sixth grade in an elementary school to sixth grade in a middle school, as I did.
My mom took me to school on my first day to get me enrolled. After a quick tour of the school with the school counselor, we were taken to my classroom. My teacher wasn’t there when we arrived, so the counselor said he would find her and let her know I was new in the class. Then he left us with a class full of kids busy with schoolwork.
I was becoming nervous when one boy turned around and said, “Are you new?”
I said, “Yes.”
He stood up, walked over, stuck out his hand, and said, “Hi, I’m Chase.”
“I’m Zack,” I said, shaking his hand. To my surprise, several other boys lined up with outstretched hands and introduced themselves. I didn’t dare look at my mom because I thought she might be crying because these boys made me feel so welcome. I felt good the rest of the day because a group of boys noticed someone who needed a handshake.
After school, my mom asked me how it felt to have a welcome like that. “It felt good!” I said. She told me that if I ever noticed a new person, I would know what to do to make them feel good, too.

The big day Neal was waiting for finally arrived. All week long he had anxiously watched his dad build a tree house for him, and now it was almost finished.
“Can I sleep in it tonight, Dad?” Neal asked, dancing around the tree trunk while waiting for the answer.
The door of the tree house opened and his dad, crouching low, came out and climbed down the ladder. “Well, it’s done,” he said, collecting his tools. “Do you think you’re ready to sleep up there?”
Neal’s face lit up. “I sure am. Can I?”
“I guess a boy who has just turned seven is big enough to sleep out all night,” Dad answered. “Get your sleeping bag and whatever else you need and then wash up for supper.”
After Neal finished eating, he rushed out and climbed up into his tree house. What a great place! he thought. When Neal looked out of either window, he could see the branches waving in the gentle breeze. He rolled his sleeping bag out on the wooden floor and plumped up his pillow. He was set!
To help pass the time until darkness and bedtime, Neal played in the sandbox that his dad had made under the tree house. Long shadows crept across the grass as he finished making the last road for his small cars. By the time he had all his things put away, the sky had darkened, and a few stars were blinking brightly.
Neal crawled into his sleeping bag and zipped it up halfway.
“You all settled?” Dad asked, opening the door a crack.
“Yeah, Dad,” Neal answered. Even though he was happy to finally be sleeping in his tree house, he felt lonely when Dad left. Soon his eyes became used to the dark and he could see the shadows of the trees dancing on the inside walls of his house. Neal played a game, trying to find the shapes of animals in the strange shadows. But before long his eyes became heavy and he drifted off to sleep …
During the night Neal was awakened by a loud clatter. His blue eyes widened with fear as he lay still, waiting to hear the sound again. Then he heard a garbage can rolling around in the wind. The tree house creaked.
“Whew!” Neal said, crawling further into his sleeping bag. “It sounds like a storm coming.”
The rain began to pound on the roof and against the windows. And the tree branches scraped the sides of the tree house, making a scratching sound.
Neal huddled in his bag and wished he were in his own bed. But he was too frightened to climb down the ladder and run to the house that seemed so far away.
Neal’s ears perked up when he heard a new sound. One of the boards on the ladder was creaking. He saw a yellow light bobbing through the window. Neal’s eyes darted from the light to the door. It rattled slightly and slowly began to open.
The frightened boy scooted back into the corner, his sleeping bag pulled up to his chin, a scream frozen in his throat. Through the opening door appeared a bright light. Then, with relief flooding over him, Neal saw it was only a lantern, and Dad’s smiling face was behind it.
“Hi, Neal,” Dad said. “I couldn’t sleep in the house so I thought I’d come out here. Do you mind?”
Neal smiled. “Nope, I’m glad you came,” he replied and slid his bag over so Dad could spread out his sleeping bag.
The lantern’s soft glow made everything in the tree house look friendly and safe. The storm seemed less scary as the two slid down into their bags. They could still hear the rain beating on the roof, and Neal said, “That storm is really loud, huh?”
“Yeah,” his dad answered. “I like to be with someone when it’s storming, don’t you?”
But Neal only mumbled an answer, “Uh huh,” because already he was drifting off to sleep, snuggled up next to his dad.

Gerald woke up on New Year’s Day feeling tired.
“Time to get up,” called Mother. “Breakfast is on the table.”
When Gerald came into the kitchen rubbing his eyes, Mother asked, “Did you make any New Year’s resolutions?”
Gerald didn’t answer his mother’s question just then. He felt like complaining that he hadn’t had enough sleep, but instead he forced a smile and said, “Morning, Mom.” Then Gerald saw that they were having oatmeal for breakfast. He was going to say, “Ugh! I can’t stand oatmeal.” Instead, he said, “Thanks, Mom, you’re sure nice to have my breakfast ready.”
“Good morning, Gerald,” said Dad. “Greg and Jennie and I have been talking about our New Year’s resolutions.”
Greg and Jennie were Gerald’s little brother and sister. They were twins and it seemed to Gerald that all they ever did was argue.
“I resolved to eat all of my oatmeal every morning,” said Jennie with a giggle.
“Big deal!” said Greg. “That’s no resolution. You love oatmeal.”
“Jennie also resolved to make her bed every morning before playing,” said Dad.
“And Greg resolved to write a letter to Grandma and Grandpa once a week and make his bed every morning.”
“How about you, Gerald?” asked his mother again. “Have you made any resolutions?”
“As a matter of fact, I have,” answered Gerald with a grin. “But, they’re a secret.”
“A secret!” cried Greg. “That’s no fun! How will we know if you’re keeping your resolutions?”
“Oh, you’ll know,” answered Gerald with an even bigger grin. “I made five resolutions and you’re supposed to guess what they are by watching me.”
“Ah ha!” said Mom. “That explains a few things that have already surprised me this morning. I think I know what two of your resolutions are.”
“Well, one of my resolutions is to see that the garage stays clean,” said Dad. “And I notice that someone has left my tools scattered all over the workbench. I expect that someone to put them back where they belong.”
“I didn’t touch them,” said Jennie.
“I haven’t been in the garage,” Greg declared.
“I didn’t do it,” was what Gerald was about to say, but then he remembered using them. “I used them, Dad, and I’ll put them away today for sure,” he promised.
Dad smiled. “I think I’m beginning to guess one of your secret resolutions too,” he said, winking at Gerald.
“What is it?” teased Jennie.
“You have to guess,” Gerald answered.
“I’m going to tidy up the garage this morning,” Dad announced. “Why don’t each of you do whatever you need to, and then we’ll play a game of football when I’m through.”
“I’ll make my bed,” shouted Jennie and Greg at the same time, and they both ran off to their bedrooms.
“I’ll do these dishes,” Mom said and began clearing the table.
“I’ll warm up the football,” Gerald almost said; then he remembered. “Can I help you, Mom, before I put away the tools?”
After Gerald finished helping with the dishes and putting away Dad’s tools, he went to his room to make his bed and get the football. When he walked down the hall he found Jennie and Greg arguing over who should put away an animal game that was spread on the hall floor.
“You got it out,” complained Jennie.
“You helped me play with it,” said Greg.
“Will you two ever quit fighting?” was what Gerald nearly said, but he didn’t.
“Hey, you two, it will just take a minute to put this game away if you both help. In fact, I’ll help you. Let’s see how fast we can pick it up.”
Gerald’s family had fun playing football and doing many other things that day. By evening Gerald’s family thought they had guessed all five of his resolutions. They wrote them down and gave them to Gerald to see if they had guessed right.
And they had!
Can you guess what Gerald promised to be when he made his New Year’s resolutions? Unscramble the five words if you don’t already know.
rfeeluhcloteiplufhtrutplufelhgmakceepain.
Answers:

Walter and Edith were serving a temple mission and had only a few months left when he became seriously ill with cancer and was bedridden for the first time in his life. During his illness, he reflected on his life. “He could see that he had accomplished much,” says Gloria, “but he also saw that he probably could have led a more balanced life. He softened at the end, in all of his suffering. The thing that made him happiest was that his family had strong testimonies of the gospel of Jesus Christ.”

Walter Spät died on 15 May 1989.

Lindsey Walch and Carson Evers, two 17-year-olds from the Santa Cruz California Stake, had to decide what the Sabbath meant to them. When challenges came, they made their decision and found greater understanding and peace.
Carson’s game is basketball, and he loves to play in tournaments. The problem, of course, is that many tournaments include Sunday in their schedules.
“At this one particular tournament we had a chance in the finals, which were on a Sunday,” he says. “I was thinking about going because it was the final big tournament. I said to myself, ‘I don’t want to give up. I don’t think it’s right.’”
When he talked to his coach, he felt even more pressure. “He was kind of pushing me to go because we were in the finals of the big tournament.”
What made it even more difficult were his own prior choices. “Before then I was kind of used to making exceptions,” he says. “I used to go play some on Sunday every once in a while for tournaments. I always played my worst game then. It just never worked out.”
But this time he made a decision about what the Sabbath meant to him. “I talked about it with my parents,” he says. “They said, ‘Whatever you decide.’ I always hate that when they make you choose.”
Carson also received support for his decision from a friend and teammate, who is also LDS and chooses not to play on Sunday. “It’s kind of easy for me, because he is a member,” says Carson. “He’s like my best friend, and we always play sports together. And it’s easier for me because we both don’t do that stuff on Sundays. It’s just good having another person there. I’m not the only one.”
When Carson made his decision not to play, it had quite an effect on him. “I had this good feeling about it when I went to church that Sunday,” he says. “I knew I needed to be there and not at my tournament. That whole day, I just knew—that nice little chill up the spine feeling, you know?”
Attending church is an important part of the Sabbath for Carson, particularly renewing his covenants and remembering the Savior through the sacrament. “It makes me keep the Sabbath day a little more holy,” he says. “It helps me think of the Sabbath as a holy day and not just a day of rest.”
So what does the Sabbath mean to Carson?
“For me, it’s about showing respect for Heavenly Father and what He commanded,” he says. “It’s resting, taking a day off, just getting back in the groove. By the end of the week I’m burned out; I’m done. I always need a rest.”
One of his favorite things about Sunday is spending time with his family. “It’s just good to have one day just with my family to get to know them better,” he says. “During the week I don’t have the time to be with my family as much as I’d like. So Sunday’s a pretty good day to be with them.”

I delight in families. Recently I delighted in the birth of a new grandchild into a family that understands that parents have the solemn responsibility to rear their children in love and righteousness. The older siblings had a natural curiosity about their little sister’s entrance into this world. Their first lessons about this holy subject were taught by loving parents in a sacred family setting, in the celestial climate that accompanies a new soul’s birth into mortality, and in the context of our Father’s great eternal plan. By contrast, the next day upon returning home from kindergarten, our granddaughter reported that she had learned that day in class “a big new term called sexual abuse.” I felt concerned that at this early age children already have to be aware, for safety reasons, of the negative facets of the subject they had so beautifully talked of the night before. I delighted as never before in a nurturing family founded upon the teachings of Jesus Christ.

I would like to share a simple experience that illustrates the struggle we sometimes have to embrace the personal nature of the Lord’s Atonement.
Years ago, at the invitation of my file leader, I read the Book of Mormon from cover to cover and marked the verses that referenced the Lord’s Atonement. My leader also invited me to prepare a one-page summary of what I learned. I said to myself, “One page? Sure, that is easy.” To my surprise, however, I found the task to be extremely difficult, and I failed.
I have since realized that I failed because I missed the mark and had incorrect assumptions. First, I expected the summary to be inspiring to everyone. The summary was meant for me and not for anyone else. It was meant to capture my feelings and emotions about the Savior and what He has done for me so that every time I read it, it will bring to the surface wonderful, poignant, and personal spiritual experiences.
Second, I expected the summary to be grand and elaborate and contain big words and phrases. It was never about big words. It was meant to be a clear and simple declaration of conviction. “For my soul delighteth in plainness; for after this manner doth the Lord God work among the children of men. For the Lord God giveth light unto the understanding.”
Third, I expected it to be perfect, a summary to end all summaries—a final summary that one cannot and should not add to—instead of a work in progress to which I can add a word here or a phrase there as my understanding of Jesus Christ’s Atonement increases.

The summer of 1870 was a good time to live in the valley of the Great Salt Lake and to be 16 years old! The pioneers’ original settlement was becoming a bustling city, and there was work for anyone willing and able.
That is just what young Robert Hemphill Gillespie was. Bob had gained a reputation for being good with horses and cattle and for being a hard worker.
Bob already had a fine horse and the necessary gear for it—a big accomplishment for such a young man, especially one who had been on his own with no home or parents since he was nine. He had proven himself to be trustworthy and dependable, and people liked to hire him.
One fine June day, Bob accepted a job that required him to cross 100 miles (160 kilometers) of the Great Salt Lake desert. Today people can cross this desert in a car in less than two hours. But on that day more than 130 years ago, it took many hours on a horse. Friends told Bob to be sure and take along some water, so he filled a canteen and set off.
Bob had never crossed a desert before, and he didn’t realize the danger of needing water and having no place to get it. He drank all the water he had before he had covered even half the distance. When he and his horse really began to suffer, Bob figured they still had about 60 miles (98 kilometers) to go.
He thought, “Oh, if I had only saved some of the water! It was warm, but it was wet! If I hadn’t hung the canteen on my shoulder where it was so handy, I might have a little left now!”
He thought of all those swallows of water he had taken when he was not in real need as he was now! In desperate hope, he turned the canteen upside down above his mouth once more. The water really was gone! Fear made him urge his horse to go faster—for a while. Then he noticed that his horse was sweating, and he slowed down.
Soon Bob’s tongue was so swollen he couldn’t close his mouth. His horse was suffering too. “We have to have water!” Bob said to himself.
Just then he saw a small cabin a short distance off the trail. A cabin meant there would be water! He immediately turned in that direction. When he reached the cabin, he found it deserted. There was a deep hole in the ground nearby, and there appeared to be water at the bottom. Bob climbed inside. There was a little water! But there were also dead birds, a dead rabbit, and maggots! The water was bad. Sorrowing, Bob climbed out, mounted his horse, and returned to the trail.
Then he remembered his mother teaching him to pray when he was a small child. He had not prayed in a long time, but he decided to try. Looking around for a suitable place, he left the trail again. He found a large, low place, dismounted, knelt, and began to pray, pleading for water: “Please send me a drink, Lord. Yes, and a drink for my poor horse too! My fine, good horse! Please, Lord!”
Bob thought of rain. “God, canst Thou send rain, please?” he prayed. “Please forgive me, Lord, but we need a drink. Please make it rain. I thank Thee, Lord. Amen.”
After his prayer Bob felt a little better. He climbed back on his horse and rode on, still filled with thoughts of the heat, his thirst, and his horse’s thirst.
Recalling that he had asked for rain, Bob began to scan the sky for clouds. All he could see was one tiny cloud, far to the southwest. He watched that cloud closely, wondering and thinking. After a while he noticed a little wind coming toward him from the direction of that little cloud. Could it be drifting his way? It seemed larger now too. “Yes, Lord,” he said aloud, “I prayed for rain.”
Soon a drop of rain hit his hand. Another hit his saddle, another hit the horse, and then one hit his hand again. Suddenly there came a rain shower from that one little cloud! Within a few minutes, water was rushing down the trail and into a little ravine beside the trail, reaching almost to the horse’s knees! The horse bowed his head and drank. Bob dismounted, got down on his belly, and gratefully drank his fill of the muddy water. Then he refilled his canteen. Refreshed, he and his horse continued on their way.
After riding just a short distance, Bob found that the trail and the ground all around him were hot, dry, and dusty once again. It was then that Bob fully realized what had happened. Halting his horse, he again dismounted and knelt on the dusty trail. Again he prayed with a full heart: “I thank Thee, Lord, for making rain come from a small cloud in the desert so my horse and I could have a drink.”
From that day until Bob died at the age of 86, he told this experience many times to his children and grandchildren. They never tired of hearing it, and they have passed it on to their children and grandchildren.
The most thrilling moment every time Bob told the story was when he bore his testimony: “Now, children, don’t ever let anyone convince you that the Lord can’t answer your prayer, for I know that He can!”

One sentence in my patriarchal blessing thrilled me: “You will be called to preach the gospel in the world.” I had a lifelong desire to serve a mission, and so when I heard that sentence, I felt that I would have that opportunity.

When it was time for me to serve a mission, the United States was involved in a war and only a few young men were actually allowed to serve missions. The rest were expected to serve their country in the war if they were drafted.

At that time, all prospective missionaries were interviewed by General Authorities as well as by their local Church leaders. I went through the interview process and, because of that sentence in my patriarchal blessing, thought that I would be called on a mission. I was terribly disappointed when I was notified that I was required to serve my country, instead.

I often thought about that sentence in my patriarchal blessing. When and how will I be called to preach the gospel? I asked myself. Today, of course, as a General Authority, I am preaching the gospel all over the world. I can see now how that promise is being fulfilled. But when I was younger, I often wondered.