Gospel Story Finder

The antique mower just wouldn’t get the edges on that patch between the cracked, roller-coaster sidewalk and the curb. The blades kept catching on the walkway to Aunt Ella’s house. All in all, I guess it did do a pretty good job, and it made the neatest noise when I pushed it. But I always had to make two passes on the driveway between the wheel tracks.
I checked my handiwork. Not too bad for 50¢. I had taken extra care around the rhodo-whatever-it-was, and I hadn’t even knocked one bloom off the ferny “jungle path” to the backyard. I liked the jungle path; it looked like every plant in the world must be back there. It was cool and misty on hot summer days playing hide-and-seek with birds, snails, and my cousins—a dark green Africa.
Aunt Ella’s garage was all of wood. Separate from the house and ever dark, it seemed to sit and brood. It kind of scared me to put the mower away. I never put the mower in the back, always right next to the pale, pink Studebaker, warily regarding the gray-on-brown-on-rust monsters that lay deeper in the tomb.
Those pesty bees about stung me every time I walked around the bottlebrush plant to get to the back door. The jungle slowly encroached upon all mobile things there. I always wondered how Aunt Ella could keep out of its clutches while she filled her bird feeder and cracked nuts on the dirty, pink tablecloth. Why, she was already 83!
The back door creaked as usual when I went into the porch. The washboard in the sink was really starting to rust. An old ladder led to the attic, where jars of apricot jam were stored. I sometimes climbed up there to check for gold and treasure.
I liked the white porcelain handles on the sink in Aunt Ella’s kitchen (even if they were a little loose) and the deep basin. When I would get the blue porcelain plates out of the cupboard, I had to be careful because the latch didn’t work very well. But what could you expect from old wood? Aunt Ella’s fridge was the only round, white one that I’ve ever seen. At least you never hurt yourself if you bumped into it. Her bathtub had feet on it, but they looked like witch’s claws.
Aunt Ella always sat in her rocker and let me eat all the hot chocolate chip cookies I wanted. I usually wandered by the perpetually black TV set, looked at all the pictures of people I had never known on the mantle, played with her black phone with the frayed cord, and tried to catch the two little birds that zipped around free in the house. I would finally plop down in the purplish pink, overstuffed chair next to the brass lamp with the fringe on it. It tipped over easy, so I had to be careful.
I made dust clouds from the chair’s arm while listening to Aunt Ella talk and waiting for Mom to pick me up. When I heard the beep I didn’t even remind her that she forgot to pay me. I said, “Bye, Aunt Ella!” opened the creaky screen door, jumped all five steps at once, hopped in the car, and waved to Aunt Ella on her dingy white and gray porch.
Later on, Mom said that Aunt Ella was getting pretty bad. I didn’t cry at her funeral, not even out of duty as I passed her open coffin.
The other day I drove by her house. The lawn was clipped to perfection, the rhododendron was gone, and the jungle path just wasn’t there. A new car was parked in the driveway, and on the porch the fancy screen door glinted in the dusky light.
Then, I cried.

Kaylan J., a 17-year-old from Montana, knew that the only grocery store in his small town of 1,700 people would be cleared out quickly in the event of a major disaster. Nobody he asked had any real food storage. If anything, they seemed confused when he brought up the concept. “I’ve always been nervous for my community that way,” says Kaylan.
So Kaylan, who comes from a farming family, decided to give his community a huge jump-start on food storage. His father generously donated 12 acres of land for Kaylan’s Eagle Scout project—12 acres that Kaylan would plant, grow, harvest, and ultimately can as wheat for the entire community. “My goal was to produce over 1,000 cans,” Kaylan explains.
As the project unfolded, many of Kaylan’s friends, most of whom are not members of the Church, began seeing the importance of food storage—which was his goal all along. “I hoped to not only immediately help the people but also maybe spark the idea for food storage,” Kaylan says.
In the end, Kaylan and 35 volunteers canned and boxed 1,002 five-pound cans of wheat, all of which are now stored under the high school gymnasium floor until needed. With enough wheat in each can to make six loaves of bread, his work can feed 1,000 people for approximately one month.
“It worked out awesome,” Kaylan says of the project. “It puts my mind at ease a little.”
Photographs © iStockphoto/Thinkstock, courtesy of Kaylan J.

South Wales Police were called to a home very close to the Bridgend Ward chapel, following a tragic and devastating incident resulting in the loss of a precious two-year-old boy.

The family and community were in shock, and the incident resonated beyond the immediate vicinity, as the details of it came to light. This sensitivity arose from another local domestic homicide, which had occurred a week earlier, when the life of a young five-year-old boy was lost.

One of the police officers called upon to assist in the investigation was Constable Jon Shorland, the elders quorum president for the ward, who was working an evening shift. That very day President Shorland had been engaged with the incident in a Church capacity. A request had been posted on social media by a local resident enquiring if the chapel could be opened for members of the public to attend, lay flowers, and grieve. Never had such a request been made before.

President Shorland immediately requested permission from the stake president, Jason Spragg, and set to work coordinating the ward’s response to the local need. Shortly afterwards, the opening of the building and the attendance of full-time missionaries and ward council members was organised, and the opportunity for anyone to attend was advertised on social media.

Several members of the community, along with Church members, subsequently attended to lay flowers and to pay their respects. Messages were written on decorative hearts provided by the stake Relief Society president, Carolyn Davies, who had been given them only a week before as a donation from the Welsh Millennium Centre.

Said the Bridgend full-time missionaries: “As missionaries, we speak a lot about baptism, how it’s a commandment, how we can be forgiven of our sins, and become a member of Christ’s Church. However, during our time acting as servants to the community, offering consolation and refuge for those experiencing horrible loss, we recall the covenant we make at baptism, in addition to every other: ‘To mourn with those that mourn; … and comfort those that stand in need of comfort’ (Mosiah 18:9). It was sobering to act as representatives of Christ at the chapel, offering hopeful words to those who came there with heavy hearts. The gospel is a joyous thing; because of Christ, there is peace and comfort to be found even in the hardest times.”

Q: What do you do to get in shape mentally before a game?
Freed: Everyone is different in that respect. Pressure is an intense thing and hard to actually define. Let me give you an example.
I remember reading about a recent tennis superstar who was going to play in the finals at Wimbledon. He woke up at three or four o’clock in the morning when someone came into his room. “Well,” he said, “I’ve got to go back to sleep for three or four more hours,” and he turned over and went back to sleep. With me, that would have been impossible.
When I was preparing for a match the next day, I’d be tired enough so that I could usually get to sleep; but once I’d get to sleep, if I ever woke up, then my mind would start operating and I’d start mentally playing the match, and I just had no hope of further rest. In fact, many nights I’ve lain in bed before a big match and never slept. I figured I got my rest by just lying down. I’ve seen kids who were the same way. As I got older, I got a little bit better, but I was still excitable. I remember playing in the senior finals at Forest Hills. The fellow I was playing was the defending champ, and he was pretty smart. He won the toss but chose to receive, so I had to serve. When I threw the ball up, my hand was actually shaking so hard I couldn’t let go of the ball. Finally, somehow, I got control of myself and managed to play a pretty fair game.
Many times players lose points by getting what we call the “elbow,” the “steel elbow.” It’s really funny, because I don’t know whether you’re afraid to win or afraid to lose; but you get so scared you’re going to make a mistake that your elbow just won’t let you go. It happens to the greatest players; everybody gets it, to a degree, one time or another.
Q: Experience has a lot to do with that also, doesn’t it?
Freed: Yes, that’s a good point. At one point in my career I said to myself, “Well, I’ve lost plenty of matches by underhitting the ball; from now on, when the big point comes up, I’m going to lose it by overhitting. I’m really going to sock the ball.” So I started losing them by socking the ball! But I really did better in the long run by hitting hard. I lost some good points when I did that, but it loosened me up, and later I won a lot more because I was a little more cool.
Q: What should you do if you get the “elbow”?
Freed: In talking to players and coaches, I’ve found they all agree that it’s a good thing to talk about it and expose it and say, “Maybe I’ll get the ‘elbow.’” It’s better to face it and then get it out of your mind; and, of course, that’s a good rule of psychology anyway.
Q: How important is physical training for a big game? I’ve heard coaches talk about trying to outrun your opponent in a game.
Freed: That’s what I used to do when I was young. I tried to beat people by outrunning them, and I did win many matches that way; but when I played a big hitter who could control a big serve and follow it to the net, he would always beat me. Then I got older and started doing the same thing myself, and I won more than I did when I was trying to outrun my opponents. Today the top college teams do roadwork in addition to their tennis playing. When I was with the Davis Cup team, I had our kids do some running whenever I could. Rope-jumping is another good exercise for tennis players.
Q: What makes the difference between a great champion and an ordinary player?
Freed: The physical equipment that you were born with has as much to do with it as anything. Then you combine that with the right mental attitude and the great determination that you need so much and always see in great champions.
Q: It’s so quiet when you’re watching a match. Can you feel the tension?
Freed: Well, I built up pressure within myself. I always did. So I guess it didn’t matter whether anyone was watching or not. If there were a million people watching, I don’t think the tension level would have gone up. This inner pressure was one of my biggest faults, and it was one of the things I was always fighting.
Q: Do left-handers have an advantage or a disadvantage?
Freed: I’ve always thought they had an advantage, and yet when you look at the records, there have been very few great stars who were left-handed, probably because most people are right-handed. But left-handers can sure make it miserable for right-handers if they know how to curve the ball in to them or slice it in to them.
Q: What should a player do when he comes up against a good left-hander?
Freed: A left-hander always seems to hit into your backhand or hit the ball so that it curves in to you. I got used to playing against left-handers, and I always did pretty well against them, just because I had the right kind of mental attitude. That’s very important. Tennis is quite an emotional game. What you think you can do, you often can. You need confidence and concentration and a good mental attitude.
Q: What about control on the tennis court? I’ve seen friends occasionally lose control and throw their racket on the ground.
Freed: A lot of potentially great tennis players don’t make it because they can’t control their emotions on the court. You know you are under close scrutiny when you are playing tennis. A lot can happen on a football field that the fans never see, but spectators can even tell what a tennis player is saying under his breath.
I think they should and will eventually have technical fouls in tennis, just as they do in basketball, for losing control. I’ve seen some kids start out to be great tennis players, but they never became champions because they couldn’t learn to lose—they couldn’t take the pressure. Thank goodness I was able to teach my children to lose. If they lost a match, okay. It was over; forget about it and go on to the next one.
I think that’s one of life’s great lessons that you can learn from sports. I say can learn because obviously everybody doesn’t learn it.
Q: What would you say to a Mormon who wanted to really get involved in the game?
Freed: Living your religion could only help you be a better tennis player. And, of course, if you ever became good enough and wanted to join the tennis circuit, you wouldn’t have the big problem of playing on Sunday as you do in other sports. One other thing—remember that the Word of Wisdom is a great asset. Living it will not only help a person be a better tennis player, but it is also essential if you are going to be a healthy person.

The Lord is also giving the Saints information and comfort through miraculous means. For instance, a sister, who was having marital problems because of her husband’s authoritative attitude, told of a dream she had that helped her resolve her bad feelings. “This sweet gentle lady came to me and told me to be patient and loving, that Arnold was a good man, and that he would change his ways. The dream stayed with me for days; I couldn’t get it off my mind. I wondered who the lady was, and how she could say what she had. Then one day, not long after, we received some long-awaited photos of Arnold’s progenitors that we had sent for to put with our genealogy. Among the photos was one of Arnold’s mother. He had never really known her, since she had died when he was only seven. But apparently she knew him well. The woman who came to me in that dream was his mother.”

When Ulisses was 15, his bishop asked him to teach a youth Sunday School class. One lesson he taught centered on gaining a testimony of the gospel. Ulisses had studied the Book of Mormon, always felt that the Church was true, and believed in the Savior Jesus Christ.

As he prepared his lesson, he wanted to strongly testify to his class of the gospel’s truthfulness. “I studied and prayed fervently,” Elder Soares recalls. “After I knelt down, there came to my heart a very sweet feeling, a small voice that confirmed to me that I was on the right path. It was so strong that I could never say that I didn’t know.”

Recently, I read about Erik Weihenmayer, a 33-year-old man who dreamed of climbing Mount Everest, a feat that defies many of the world’s most expert climbers. In fact, nearly 90 percent of those who attempt the climb never reach the summit. Temperatures sink lower than 30 degrees below zero. Besides extreme cold, 100-mile-per-hour winds, deadly crevasses, and avalanches, the climber must overcome the challenges of high altitude, lack of oxygen, and perhaps unsanitary food and water. Since 1953, at least 165 climbers have died in the attempt to scale the 29,000-foot-high summit.

In spite of the risks, hundreds line up each year to make the ascent, Erik among them. But there is an important difference between Erik and every other climber who had attempted to ascend before: Erik is totally blind.

When Erik was 13 years of age, he lost his sight as a result of a hereditary disease of the retina. Although he could no longer do many of the things he wanted to, he was determined not to waste his life feeling depressed and useless. He then began to stretch his limits.

At age 16 he discovered rock climbing. By feeling the face of the rock, he found handholds and footholds that allowed him to climb. Sixteen years later, he began his ascent up Mount Everest. The story of his climb, as you might imagine, was filled with many harrowing and life-threatening challenges. But Erik eventually scaled the south summit and took his place with those who had gone before him, one of the few to stand on top of the highest mountain on the face of the earth.

When asked how he did it, Erik said, “I just kept thinking … keep your mind focused. Don’t let all that doubt and fear and frustration sort of get in the way.” Then, most importantly, he said, “Just take each day step by step.”

Yes, Erik conquered Everest by simply putting one foot in front of the other. And he continued to do this until he reached the top.

Like Erik, we may have obstacles that would hold us back. We may even make excuses why we can’t do what we want to do. Perhaps when we are tempted to justify our own lack of achievement, we can remember Erik, who, in spite of having lost his sight, accomplished what many thought was impossible simply by continuing to put one foot in front of the other.

In January 2022, over 300 Saints gathered at the Umuahia Nigeria Stake centre for an award night organized in deep appreciation for the enormous contributions of the modern-day pioneers and Saints in the stake. As part of that celebration, plaques and letters were presented by the stake presidency after assigned young single adults read out short descriptions of the service lives of the awardees. The choir sang hymns of gratitude, pioneers shared their heartfelt testimonies and stories of consecrated efforts, the less active members and friends were invited and the history of the stake was presented. The level of socialization among Saints was on this great day very historic and all inclusive.
The then-stake president, Samuel Ekpolo, shared thoughts with us on what motivated his presidency to honor these Saints. He said, “The memories of the great sacrifices of the early Saints, the Nauvoo story, their efforts in establishing the kingdom, even the Nauvoo Temple, despite the many persecutions and attacks inspired deep thoughts of how the local Saints sacrifice their little possessions, abandon their personal and family pleasure to build, establish and restore Zion in Umuahia. Although we may not have their names in the worldwide history of the Church, they are indeed the Nauvoo people of our time whose selfless efforts in magnifying their callings and talents are yielding the unstoppable growth of the kingdom of God in Umuahia, a place where Zion hitherto fled but now restored to her beauty. It was only fair that the rising generation in the years to come may one day know by the records made of this celebration, how the Lord honors His faithful servants. Indeed, beyond appreciation for their labors and consecration, that they may be remembered as instruments in the hand of the Lord during our Nauvoo time in gathering Israel from both sides of the veil”.
There was an outpouring of powerful emotions when some awardees were asked how they felt receiving awards. Here are a few of them:
“As a pioneer, I was very excited that for 40 years of my membership, this is the first time I received an award. I found much evidence of the Lord’s blessings resting upon African Saints, many of whom had been so faithful and patient for so long. We are beginning to have a vision of the important role we need to fulfil in the Lord’s kingdom.” — Brother Kalu Ichie
“It was great and an honor receiving such award. It really motivates me to work in the vineyard of the Lord anytime, anyday.” — Brother Ukauwa Chimaobi
“I indeed was speechless, sufficiently humbled and indebtedly grateful that Elohim chose me to be used in promoting music in the Umuahia Nigeria Stake of Zion, the gathering place of the Saints, even Israel.” — Sister Linda Ajah
We are indeed so grateful for the example of the Umuahia Nigeria Stake in aligning its efforts to the Africa West Area goals by celebrating and honoring the Saints. That was a great and faith-promoting Church history activity in our area that blessed lives, reactivated many, provided missionary opportunities and inspired greater commitment among Saints, especially the rising generation who were also awardees.

The first prophetic statement regarding the temple as given by Elder Cowley was recorded by a missionary to the Northern Far East Mission, Elder Harrison Ted Price in his journal in 1949. It was given on the site where the completed Tokyo Temple now stands, 5-8-10 Minami Azabu, Minato-Ku, Tokyo, Japan, the former location of the Northern Far East Mission and later the Tokyo Mission offices. Elder Price reported that a special dedicatory service was held in the library and foyer of the mission home, Sunday, July 17, 1949.
“In the dedicatory services for the mission home at 4:30 P.M., this afternoon, President Edward L. Clissold gave a fine talk summarizing the establishment of the mission here in Japan. This was followed by the dedicatory prayer given by Elder Cowley, which was one of the thrilling prayers that I have heard. In this prayer, he told of countless blessings from the Lord that have been enjoyed here to date, and went on to prophesy—‘there will someday be many church buildings—and even TEMPLES built in this land.’ I gave the closing prayer in this meeting.
“I was sitting on the front row in this gathering and clearly heard these words. The above quote is I believe the exact words that this great prophet said, for this prophetic prayer so impressed me at the time that I went to my room shortly after and wrote these words in my diary that I now have before me. This same day, I remember asking Elder Cowley specifically about his statements on buildings and temples in Japan, and he surprised several other elders and me by answering that he didn’t remember saying that, ‘But if I said that—that’s the way it will be.’ Other experiences with Elder Cowley have convinced me that when the Spirit of prophecy was upon him, he was sometimes as surprised as his listeners at the marvelous things that he said.” (Elder Harrison T. Price, Missionary Journal No. 3, p. 149, July 17, 1949, as recounted in a letter to President Paul Andrus, Northern Far East Mission, 1958.)

I wanted to visit Salt Lake City and surprise my good friends Elder Kimball and Brother Lamar Williams. Finally, in the spring of 1969, eight years after my baptism, I visited Salt Lake City and met with Elder Kimball. He was delighted and spent the rest of the day with me.
While in Salt Lake City, I went to a salon for a haircut. I shared my testimony with the barber, who was a convert himself. One gentleman, waiting for his turn, overheard me and told me about his travels to India. He paid for my haircut, invited me to dinner, and drove me to Brigham Young University. I was impressed by the campus. I mentioned that I wanted to continue my studies here but could not afford it. The man offered to pay $1,000 for my tuition. I was surprised and immensely grateful.

At school I made an awesome football field out of clay. My friend accidentally knocked it over and broke it. I was very sad. My friend also made a football field, so my teacher asked him to give me his. He had been so excited to show his parents that I said, “No, you can keep it.” He said he was sorry, and I forgave him. It made me feel good to forgive because that’s what Jesus would want me to do.
William S., age 8, Texas, USA

My mother died in March, not from the arthritis that she had fought for several years but from pneumonia. I didn’t even know someone could get pneumonia that way. I mean she hardly ever left our home.
They say the hardest time to get through is the first Christmas after something like that happens. I guess that’s true. It’s like a complicated puzzle somebody gives you that you never wanted. You work on it hour after hour but never solve it. My thoughts keep going back to last Christmas—sorting through each detail, measuring each gesture, weighing every word. Lately I’ve been trying to remember what I gave her for Christmas, but I can’t. But I do remember what she gave me.
Arthritis is a slow disease. From day to day there doesn’t seem to be any change. I don’t even know exactly when it began, maybe four or five years ago. During that time it took my mother’s hands and deformed the joints, and bent her neck so she couldn’t hold her head erect, and weakened her knees so she couldn’t walk.
At first Dad and I had hope about getting her well. They’re doing lots of research, we thought, and any time they might find a cure. Besides, there were always people talking about a relative who ate sunflower seeds or drank goat’s milk and was cured.
“I wouldn’t mind being sick,” my mother would say, “if I could look pretty at the same time.” She was pretty once. Sometimes I look at my parents’ picture taken outside the Salt Lake Temple when they were married. My mother looks so young in the picture. My dad has dark hair and is still lean. Of course, now he’s lost most of his hair and put on a little weight around the belt.
There’s something strange about that picture. All over the temple grounds, except on the sidewalk where it’s been shoveled, there is newly fallen snow. But my mother in her white wedding gown is holding a large bunch of lilac blossoms in her arms. It must have been a late spring snowstorm that came after the lilacs had bloomed. I wish I had asked her about the lilacs.
After the disease started to win, my mother had Dad take down the mirror in the hall so she wouldn’t see herself when we wheeled her from the bedroom into the living room. She weighed less than 90 pounds.
My mother was a good musician. She was in charge of the ward choir as far back as I can remember. She also played piano in Primary. When anyone wanted a special number in sacrament meeting, they would call her up and she’d arrange it. Every Christmas she would get music together for a special presentation in church. But a year before she died, she had to ask to be released because of the arthritis.
Last year at this time I was a senior in high school. Kara Erickson and I went together to most of the ward activities. We weren’t really going steady, but in our ward there weren’t many others our age, and besides we liked each other.
One Wednesday near Christmas at Aaronic Priesthood and Young Women activity night, they turned the time over to Sister Robbins. She and her husband had just moved from Utah, where they had both been going to school.
“The bishop has asked me to be in charge of a special youth vocal number for the program before Christmas. What do you want to sing?”
There were a few groans from the Scouts.
“‘Silent Night,’” one of the Beehive girls said.
“That’s too slow,” someone else complained.
“Yea, something that doesn’t drag.”
“Christmas is such a happy time. Let’s do something with some life to it, like ‘Deck the Halls.’”
I got up and walked out into the hall and waited for them to finish singing so I could go to class. Somehow I felt depressed that they would have Christmas music without my mother there to help.
Later I drove Kara home.
There’s something you should know about Kara. She’s really beautiful and smart and everything, but in high school she didn’t get asked out as much as you’d expect. One day in early morning seminary when we were 16, we were talking about dating. She told the class that she had decided she wasn’t going to date nonmembers and she wasn’t going to kiss any guy until she was sure she loved him enough to marry him. Some of the kids in the class thought that was dumb about not kissing. But she wouldn’t change her mind.
There aren’t that many LDS guys in our small Montana town. By the time we were both seniors, I was the only one dating her, although we never decided to go steady.
After we had been dating for a long time, guys at school would come up to me and ask, “You mean you’ve never even kissed her once?”
“No.”
“I don’t believe it. That’s not normal.”
Of course, I would have liked to kiss her. But sometimes I wonder if we weren’t closer that way. I mean we talked a lot. And I began to see how lucky the guy would be who did marry her.
But that night I wasn’t very good company. We pulled up in front of her house and stopped.
“Steve, Sister Robbins was asking about you. Why didn’t you stay for the practice?”
“I didn’t feel like singing.”
“She really needs you; she only has two others singing bass.”
“I won’t sing.”
“She’s got some arrangements of things they did at BYU. She says it’s going to be the best ever.”
“It was the best when my mother led the singing.”
Another thing about Kara and me—we ended our dates with prayer. We didn’t tell anybody about that; they would have really laughed about that.
We got two weeks vacation from school for Christmas. At the same time the lady who stayed with my mother during the day asked for time off to visit her sister in Kansas. My dad asked me if I would stay home during the days of my vacation to help out my mother.
Each day of the vacation seemed much like the one before. When she woke up I would lift her out of bed into the wheelchair. I helped her wash up, getting the washcloth wet with warm water, putting soap on it, and handing it to her. When she was finished, I would rinse it out, let her get the soap off, and hand her a towel.
Eventually we got to the kitchen, and I fixed her something to eat. After breakfast I’d get her some aspirin and a Darvon. Then I wheeled her into the living room and turned on the TV. It didn’t really matter what was on. Just anything to take her mind off the pain. About 11:00 the mail came. At noon I fixed her lunch. In the afternoon she tried to walk. I’d stand beside her and hold onto her, and she’d put one foot a couple of inches in front of the other and slowly move forward. After going a couple of feet she’d be exhausted, and I would put her on the couch so she could rest.
Thursday before Christmas she had an appointment with the doctor. My dad came home from work early. He moved the car into the driveway, opening the right front door. Then he came inside and picked her up in his arms and carried her to the car.
As he began to slide her into the front seat, he stumbled a little. Her legs hit the door post.
“You clumsy!” she screamed at him. “Can’t you see you’re hurting me?”
On the way to the doctor my mother cried, first from the pain, and then because she’d said that to my dad. But he understood how it was for her.
When we got home after the appointment, Dad carried my mother into the bedroom and let her rest. Then he had to go back to work.
I turned on the TV. There was something secure about sitting there. It was as if I could plug my mind into it and let it guide me so I’d never have to remember my mother screaming with pain.
Later I went to our bookshelf and looked a long time at my parents’ wedding picture. I wondered what my dad would have done if somehow before the wedding he had been told that 20 years later that young girl beside him would turn brittle. And I wondered what disease might lay locked up inside Kara—or myself.
That night I had to get away, so I took Kara to the movies. The movie was as depressing as the day had been. After the movie I took her right home. As soon as the car stopped I opened the door and went around to the other side to let her out.
“Aren’t we going to pray together tonight?”
“Don’t ask that tonight. Just go inside.”
“Steve, please.”
“Okay,” I said harshly. “Will you offer it?”
She knew I felt rotten, and she was trying to help. “Could we kneel? We could go in the backyard by the trees.”
“Whatever you say,” I said angrily. We walked out into her backyard.
When we got to the place, isolated by some trees, she knelt down. I stood there looking at her, unable to make myself kneel down.
“I can’t, Kara. You go ahead.”
“Why can’t you pray?”
“God doesn’t listen to me anymore,” I said with bitterness.
“He loves you, Steve.”
“No, not me. The only thing I’ve ever asked him recently is that my mother would get better. Kara, she’s getting worse. But you go ahead. Don’t let me stop you. Pray for good health for your family. God listens to you.”
“Don’t say those things,” she said, hurt and disappointed.
“Well go ahead and pray if you want to pray!” I yelled at her.
She began to cry. After a few minutes that seemed a hundred years in which I couldn’t seem to force myself to move or help her, I finally broke loose and helped her to her feet. I took a tissue and wiped away the tears that I had caused.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to take it out on you,” I said.
“I know. It’s not easy for you at home.”
We walked into the front yard. The Christmas tree lights glowed delicately from the living room window. I could see Kara’s mother busy sewing a dress.
“Merry Christmas,” I said grimly. “Are there really people on the earth who have a merry Christmas? I’m so afraid of Christmas this year. I wish I could take a pill and go to sleep and not wake up until January.”
“Steve, if you would sing with us Sunday, it would be good for you.”
“No, the words would choke me. My mother used to do so much in music that it’d haunt me. You go ahead. I’m sure it will be fine. Just don’t ask me to sing.”
Friday morning was the same as Thursday morning. The TV was showing a lot of movies about Christmas. I saw White Christmas with Bing Crosby three times that week.
In the afternoon my mother slept for about an hour. When she woke up, I got her a glass of milk with brewer’s yeast in it.
“What time is it?” she asked.
“Three o’clock.”
“Can you change it to channel four?”
I got up and changed the channel. There was a documentary on fish farms in the South.
“Are you sure you’re on channel four? It’s supposed to be Search for Tomorrow.”
“It’s the right channel. Do you want me to leave it there?”
“If they say they’re going to show something at a certain time, why don’t they show it?”
“I don’t know. What do you want me to do?”
“Change over to channel seven,” she said.
“Do you want that?” I asked, looking at a program on French cooking.
“I don’t know what I want,” she said numbly. “Turn back to channel four, but turn the volume down so we’ll know if Search for Tomorrow comes on. Do you think I should take some aspirin? What time is it?”
“A little after three.”
“I guess I’ll wait so they’ll be still working when your dad comes home. Can you put me on the wheelchair and roll me out by the window?”
I pushed her next to our picture window. “Still no snow,” she said, looking out at the grays and browns. “It doesn’t seem much like Christmas, does it?”
“No.”
“A few years ago I’d be busy now getting ready for the musical program on Sunday. Do you remember when we sang parts from the Messiah? We invited the whole town. One year we had the Primary children sing the whole program. Once we even had a string quartet. I wonder if anyone in the ward remembers that.”
I said that they did, although people move in and out in our ward so fast that I doubted if very many people were still here that were here then.
“I’ve been away for so long. I don’t even know the people in the choir now. Have you met Sister Robbins? Kara’s mother told me she’s the choir leader now. I bet they’ll be singing this Sunday. Will you tell me how it goes?”
“I’m not going.”
“Steve, you’ve never missed before.”
“I’ll go to Livingston for church, but I’m not going to our ward. Don’t ask me to do it. I wish it were over.”
“What’s wrong?”
“When they sing, I’ll be sad that you’re not up there singing. In the talks someone will get up and say what great blessings he’s received. Well, we live the gospel, and you’re sick. Where are our blessings?”
“Steve, I’ve never heard you talk like that.”
“It’s just Christmas. I’ll be okay after it’s over.”
I know that really bothered her. Maybe I shouldn’t have said it. I guess if I had known she was going to die in a few months, I would have held my tongue. But I didn’t know that.
I sat down, turned up the TV, and tried to plug my mind into its security.
After a few minutes, during a commercial, I got up and rolled her back to her chair. I got her an aspirin, a Darvon pill, and a glass of water and then sat down and watched Lucy.
After Lucy there was the Brady Bunch.
“Steve, turn the TV off.”
I turned it off.
“Do you remember when we used to make special cookies for Christmas? Why don’t you and I make some now? We’ll surprise your dad when he comes home. It’ll be just like it used to be.”
I rolled her into the kitchen. She seemed excited about making the cookies. She told me what to do, helping me find the recipe, telling me where the cookie cutters were so we could make Christmas trees, Santa. Clauses, and stars. She said she’d cut out the shapes after we’d finished with the dough.
I started on the recipe, adding each ingredient as it was listed.
“A cup of sugar,” I read, going to the cupboard.
“That’s not enough.”
“It says one cup.”
“I changed the recipe. I put in more sugar.”
“How much more?”
“I can’t remember.”
“How about if I put in a cup and follow the recipe?”
“It won’t taste the same as it did on other Christmases.”
Nothing about this Christmas is going to be the same, I thought to myself.
After I finished mixing the cookie dough, I put down some waxed paper on the table and rolled the dough out.
My mother wanted to help with the cookies to please Dad. She picked up one of the cookie cutters and placed it on the dough and pressed. Although she made an indentation in the dough, she couldn’t seem to push hard enough to actually cut out the shape. She tried it again. I wanted to help her, but she wanted to do it herself so Dad would be proud.
Suddenly she just quit. “I can’t do it. I can’t do anything. There’s nothing I can do. I’m no good to anyone.”
I picked up the dough, ran with it to the disposal, and got rid of it.
I pushed her back to the living room. Tears rolled down her cheeks. She couldn’t use her hands very well to stop them, and so they streamed down and fell from her face.
We turned on the TV and sat there silently watching a documentary on raising African violets. After that we watched Password.
“Steve, I don’t want to watch any more TV.” I turned it off.
“What is this disease doing to us?” she asked. “You asked where our blessings were. Don’t you know?”
“I want you to be well. That’s all I want. Why can’t God hear me?”
“I used to wonder that too. He hears us. But if he rewarded everyone who loved him with good health and everyone who disobeyed him with sickness, who wouldn’t follow him? But then there would be no free agency. The glory of the gospel is that even in pain we can maintain our faith. This is not going to defeat me. I’m going to fight it all the way. And someday I’ll walk.”
I looked at her weak legs, feeling she’d never walk, and said weakly, “Sure you will.”
“I will. If not here in this life then in the next. I’ve memorized a scripture. ‘For I know that my redeemer liveth, and that he shall stand at the latter day upon the earth. And though after my skin worms destroy this body, yet in my flesh shall I see God.’
“I’ll see him. I’ll stand. I’ll walk again. Because of the Savior I’ll stand.”
She’d never talked to me like that before.
“Steve, when I dream in the night, I dream I’m walking. I’ll walk again. Your dad and I have been through the temple; we’ve tried to do the best we could. I want so much to stand someday beside your father and be with him in the celestial kingdom, not with this deformed body, but with a body that can stand tall and walk. That hope is one of my greatest blessings. Don’t you understand?”
I nodded my head.
“Can we have a prayer before your dad comes home so he won’t have to bear any more burden than he has already?”
“I can’t pray, Mom. I don’t even know what to ask for anymore.”
“Please, son, honor your priesthood.”
“Father in heaven, please help us get through Christmas with some happiness. In Jesus’ name. Amen.”
My dad came home about 5:00. I helped him cook supper. After that we took out our plastic tree, assembled it, and put a few ornaments on it. We put our presents under the tree. Then we sat down and watched TV.
About 8:00 we heard some car doors slam, and in a minute our doorbell rang. My dad opened the door.
It was Sister Robbins, Kara, and a bunch of kids from church.
“Could I talk to your wife?” Sister Robbins asked.
“I’m sorry to bother you like this, but we need your help. We’re supposed to put on a part for the Christmas program Sunday, and I’m afraid I’ve gotten in over my head. The kids told me you used to do this all the time. I was wondering if you’d mind listening to us and giving your suggestions.”
They got around the piano and began to sing. When they finished, my mother gave some ideas to help it. We sang another song. You should have seen my mother. The body was deformed, the old pale robe hiding weak and spindly arms and legs. But her eyes came alive. She listened and helped with such enthusiasm. Before long she had us singing parts.
I’ve found out since then that Sister Robbins is really a good musician. I’m not sure she needed as much help as she said she did. That night she asked my mother about every little thing. My mother lit up. The more she helped, the more spirit came into her face.
“Why didn’t I think of that?” Sister Robbins said at one point.
“Well, remember, I’ve had 20 years working on choirs.”
While they talked I went into the kitchen. Kara was talking to my dad while they both set out plates and glasses.
“Your dad says you’re becoming quite a help in the kitchen.”
“He’ll make somebody a fine husband,” my dad said with a grin. “After his mission, that is,” he added.
Kara set out a fresh batch of Christmas cookies she had made that afternoon. She had planned the whole thing with Sister Robbins. She was the way in which Heavenly Father answered my prayer.
We had cookies and milk. After that we sang more Christmas songs. My mother led us with nods of her head.
Of course, I sang with the choir that Sunday. My dad brought my mother to Church long enough to partake of the sacrament and listen to the musical numbers, and then the pain got too bad for her, and he had to take her home.
When I remember my mother, I can’t altogether forget the pain she had nor forget the savage way arthritis dealt with her. That’s a part of my life.
My thoughts often go back to the picture of her as a young bride holding those lilacs in the midst of all that snow. At the same time I remember her saying, “I’ll stand. I’ll walk again. Because of the Savior I’ll stand!”
That’s what she gave me for our last Christmas. Somehow I think that is what she would want me to remember.

One day in 2023, Uyanga Altansukh was at work in the northern Mongolian city of Darkhan when the Mongolian mission president entered her workplace. In her words:
“I saw him and thought he had this bright light in his countenance. He was very kind and fun to those around him, and I felt warmth. Before he left, I asked him some questions. A few days later, he came into my work again and asked if I could attend his church. I thought it might be helpful. I was worried for my children’s future, as society seemed to be full of stress and darkness. I wanted my children to be like this man with a light in their countenance, spreading joy to others around them.
“One day the missionaries taught us the law of tithing. My children said with excitement, ‘We must pay our tithing, Mom.’ I could see my children’s faith at that moment. Before I joined the Church, I watched general conference and listened to President Russell M. Nelson speak. He announced new temples all over the world and said that a new temple would be built in Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia. I rejoiced and shed tears, even though I did not understand why. With this joy, I could tell that my faith and testimony were growing.”
Uyanga, like millions of others, is part of the great gathering of Israel in preparation for the Second Coming of Jesus Christ. She has begun her journey along the covenant path and has become a disciple of Christ.

As another example, I remember my beloved grandmother, Mary Caroline Roper Finlinson, making homemade soap on the farm. Her recipe for homemade soap included rendered animal fat and wood ashes. The soap had a very pungent aroma and was almost as hard as a brick. There was no money to buy soft, sweet-smelling soap. On the farm there were many dusty, sweat-laden clothes to be washed and many bodies that desperately needed a Saturday night bath. If you had to bathe with that homemade soap, you could become wonderfully clean, but you smelled worse after bathing than before. Since I use soap more now than I did as a child, I have developed a daily appreciation for mild, sweet-scented soap.

At age eight, LeGrand contracted some type of hip bone disease. For nine months he wore a plaster cast on his leg from shoetop to hip and around his waist, during which time he used crutches and missed a year of school. Later that year, still in the cast, he was attacked by a vicious ram. The animal came at him time and again as he braced against the fence and tried to ward off its attack with his hands. It was the plaster cast around his waist that is thought to have saved LeGrand’s life.

About the time I was baptized into the Church, Elder Melvin J. Ballard visited our stake conference. He told the story of his recent visit to South America where he, in company with Rulon S. Wells and Rey L. Pratt, had begun missionary work. I didn’t know then that thirteen years later I would sit in Elder Ballard’s office and that he, as an apostle of the Lord, would set me apart to be a missionary in South America. Much less did I then realize that many years of my life would be spent in that great land and that I would see the Church there grow from just a few hundred members to hundreds of thousands of members.
Elder Melvin J. Ballard

Another sister wrote:
“It’s all over now! What? The area conference! I wish they could stay longer here,” she said. “Believe it or not it has been raining cats and dogs, but the sun shone brightly just before the prophet’s plane landed at the airport. There was a typhoon forecast, but it didn’t come until after the Brethren had left the country. I walked with Sister Kimball. I told her I could hardly believe I was walking with her. Know what she said? Well, she told me she is no different than I am. That she washed clothes, washed the dishes, and cooks food, plants vegetables, and does all the same things that I do.”

In the summer of 2001, Sister Oaks and I were in Manaus, Brazil. I spoke to about 100 missionaries in that great city on the Amazon. As I stood to speak, I was prompted to put aside some notes I usually use on such occasions and substitute some thoughts on the importance of timing—some of the scriptures and principles I have been discussing here.
I reminded the missionaries that some of our most important plans cannot be brought to pass without the agency and actions of others. A missionary cannot baptize five persons this month without the agency and action of five other persons. A missionary can plan and work and do all within his or her power, but the desired result will depend upon the additional agency and action of others.
Consequently, a missionary’s goals ought to be based upon the missionary’s personal agency and action, not upon the agency or action of others. But this is not the time to elaborate on what I told the missionaries about goals. Instead I will share some other applications of the principle of timing, giving illustrations from our personal lives.
Because of things over which we have no control, we cannot plan and bring to pass everything we desire in our lives. Many important things will occur in our lives that we have not planned, and not all of them will be welcome. Even our most righteous desires may elude us or come in different ways or at different times than we have sought to plan.
For example, we cannot be sure that we will marry as soon as we desire. A marriage that is timely in our view may be our blessing or it may not. My wife Kristen is an example. She did not marry until many years after her mission and her graduation.
The timing of marriage is perhaps the best example of an extremely important event in our lives that is almost impossible to plan. Like other important mortal events that depend on the agency of others or the will and timing of the Lord, marriage cannot be anticipated or planned with certainty. We can and should work for and pray for our righteous desires, but despite this, many will remain single well beyond their desired time for marriage.
So what should be done in the meantime? Faith in the Lord Jesus Christ prepares us for whatever life brings. This kind of faith prepares us to deal with life’s opportunities—to take advantage of those that are received and to persist through the disappointments of those that are lost. In the exercise of that faith, we should commit ourselves to the priorities and standards we will follow on matters we do not control and persist faithfully in those commitments, whatever happens to us because of the agency of others or the timing of the Lord. When we do this, we will have a constancy in our lives that will give us direction and peace. Whatever the circumstances beyond our control, our commitments and standards can be constant.
The commitments and service of adult singles can anchor them through the difficult years of waiting for the right time and the right person. Their commitments and service can also inspire and strengthen others. Wise are those who make this commitment: I will put the Lord first in my life, and I will keep His commandments. The performance of that commitment is within everyone’s control. We can fulfill that commitment without regard to what others decide to do, and that commitment will anchor us no matter what timing the Lord directs for the most important events in our lives.
Do you see the difference between committing to what you will do, in contrast with trying to plan that you will be married by the time you graduate or that you will earn at least X amount of dollars on your first job?
If we have faith in God and if we are committed to the fundamentals of keeping His commandments and putting Him first in our lives, we do not need to plan every single event—even every important event—and we should not feel rejected or depressed if some things—even some very important things—do not happen at the time we had planned or hoped or prayed.
Commit yourself to put the Lord first in your life, keep His commandments, and do what the Lord’s servants ask you to do. Then your feet are on the pathway to eternal life. Then it does not matter whether you are called to be a bishop or a Relief Society president, whether you are married or single, or whether you die tomorrow. You do not know what will happen. Do your best on what is fundamental and personal and then trust in the Lord and His timing.
Life has some strange turns. I will share some personal experiences that illustrate this.
When I was a young man I thought I would serve a mission. I graduated from high school in June 1950. Thousands of miles away, one week after that high school graduation, a North Korean army crossed the 38th parallel, and our country was at war. I was 17 years old, but as a member of the Utah National Guard, I was soon under orders to prepare for mobilization and active service. Suddenly, for me and for many other young men of my generation, the full-time mission we had planned or hoped for was not to be.
Another example: After I served as president of Brigham Young University for nine years, I was released. A few months later the governor of the state of Utah appointed me to a 10-year term on the supreme court of the state. I was then 48 years old. My wife June and I tried to plan the rest of our lives. We wanted to serve the full-time mission neither of us had been privileged to serve. We planned that I would serve 20 years on the state supreme court. Then, at the end of two 10-year terms, when I would be nearly 69 years old, I would retire from the supreme court and we would submit our missionary papers and serve a mission as a couple.
I had my 69th birthday two years ago and was vividly reminded of that important plan. If things had gone as we planned, I would have submitted papers to serve a mission with my wife June.
Four years after we made that plan I was called to the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles—something we never dreamed would happen. Realizing then that the Lord had different plans and different timing than we had assumed, I resigned as a justice of the supreme court. But this was not the end of the important differences. When I was 66, my wife June died of cancer. Two years later I married Kristen McMain, the eternal companion who now stands at my side.
How fundamentally different my life is than I had sought to plan! My professional life has changed. My personal life has changed. But the commitment I made to the Lord—to put Him first in my life and to be ready for whatever He would have me do—has carried me through these changes of eternal importance.
Faith and trust in the Lord give us the strength to accept and persist, whatever happens in our lives. I did not know why I received a “no” answer to my prayers for the recovery of my wife of many years, but the Lord gave me a witness that this was His will, and He gave me the strength to accept it. Two years after her death, I met the wonderful woman who is now my wife for eternity. And I know that this also was the will of the Lord.
I return to the subject with which I began. Do not rely on planning every event of your life—even every important event. Stand ready to accept the Lord’s planning and the agency of others in matters that inevitably affect you. Plan, of course, but fix your planning on personal commitments that will carry you through no matter what happens. Anchor your life to eternal principles, and act upon those principles whatever the circumstances and whatever the actions of others. Then you can await the Lord’s timing and be sure of the outcome in eternity.
The most important principle of timing is to take the long view. Mortality is just a small slice of eternity, but how we conduct ourselves here—what we become by our actions and desires, confirmed by our covenants and the ordinances administered to us by proper authority—will shape our destiny for all eternity. As the prophet Amulek taught, “This life is the time for men to prepare to meet God” (Alma 34:32). That reality should help us take the long view—the timing of eternity.
I pray that each of us will hear and heed the word of the Lord on how to conduct ourselves in mortality and set our standards and make our commitments so that we can be in harmony and in tune with the timing of our Father in Heaven.

Tino and Quim both found treasures of spiritual strength in the mission field. Quim recalls trying to teach one widow whose husband had spent much of his life as a missionary for another church. The woman had agreed to listen to the missionary discussions because her daughter was a Latter-day Saint. As one of the discussions progressed, however, she found it too difficult to accept the idea that the teachings of her church were not correct. “Elder Moreira,” she said, “I don’t want to hear any more of this doctrine. I am going to labor to finish the missionary work my husband started!”
Quickly, Quim offered a silent prayer, asking what to say. He was inspired to assure the woman that her husband had already accepted the gospel in the spirit world.
Later, the woman’s daughter told Quim that after saying her own personal prayers that evening, she lay meditating on how she could help her mother accept the gospel. Suddenly, “I saw my father in my room. He said, ‘That missionary spoke the truth, and I want your mother to be baptized.’”
Because of her daughter’s experience, the mother agreed to listen to the missionaries again. This time, there was a different spirit about her; she was baptized a week later.

Andy’s little sister, Trisha, had been born with many health problems. She needed extra help to do even the smallest thing. Trisha was 18 months old, but she couldn’t walk or sit up or even roll over. She couldn’t feed herself and had to eat through a tube.
Andy’s daddy, grandpa, and uncles had given Trisha many blessings, and Andy wanted to do something to help her too. He set a goal to help her do the things she couldn’t do for herself.
Every day Andy looked for ways to help Trisha. When he saw her trying to roll over, he gently helped her roll from her tummy to her back. When she struggled to sit up, Andy supported her.
One evening after Andy had helped Trisha sit up, Mommy and Daddy sat down to talk with him.
“We know you love Trisha very much and want to help her,” Mommy said. “But it’s important to let her become as independent as possible. That means we need to let her do the things she can by herself.”
“But Trisha can’t sit up by herself,” Andy said.
“She can’t sit all the way up,” Mommy said. “But she can pull herself up partway. We need to let her do that.”
Andy knew how hard Trisha struggled to pull herself up. He didn’t want her to have to work so hard. “Why can’t I help her?” he asked.
“When she tries to do things by herself, it helps her to grow stronger,” Mommy said. “I know it’s hard to watch her try so hard to do something. I want to help her too, and then I remember that Heavenly Father is always there to help and bless her.”
“Will Trisha be sick forever?” Andy asked.
“She’ll always have some problems,” Daddy said. “But we know that one day she’ll be resurrected with a healthy, whole body, and that she’ll be with our family forever.”
Andy knew that his parents had been sealed in the temple, and that he and Trisha were sealed to them.
Andy thought about what he could do for his little sister. He knew that Heavenly Father loved him and Trisha and that He listened to prayers. “I can pray for Trisha,” Andy said.
“That’s the best gift of all,” Mommy said, and gave him a big hug.