Gospel Story Finder

At school, my chemistry teacher wanted to promote honesty in her class. She told us that we would check our own tests and report our own scores. As I checked my answers, I was tempted to add one single point to my score. I only needed that extra point to pass the test. I sat there for a while, wondering what to do.
While I sat there thinking, I suddenly remembered a quote from President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008) that I had placed on the back of my identification card: “What a destructive thing is a little dishonesty. … The institution may be able to stand the loss of money, but the individual cannot afford the loss of self-respect” (“I Believe,” Ensign, Aug. 1992, 5). Underneath that quote was the phrase: “If the Savior stood beside me, would I do the things I do?”
I felt peaceful and happy when I knew what I was supposed to do. I didn’t change my failing score, but I knew that I had passed a more important test—the honesty test—and I was proud of the choice I made.
Natalie A., Philippines

A true story from Zimbabwe.
“Momma, wake up,” whispered Kupa.
“The sun isn’t up yet.” Momma yawned. “Can’t you sleep just a little longer?”
“I’m too excited,” said Kupa. “It’s Sunday, and we can go to church!”
“OK. You win,” said Momma. “But I’ll need your help to get your sisters ready.”
Kupa liked to help Momma. She started by boiling cornmeal to make sadza for her little sisters, Agnes and Sheila. After they ate, Kupa helped clean up.
Kupa put on her favorite dress and chose clothes for her sisters. The room was filled with giggles as she helped them get dressed. She was so excited!
“You are a good helper, Kupa,” said Momma.
“Thanks!” said Kupa.
As they started out the door, Momma tied Sheila onto her back with a cloth wrap. “I am so glad you two are big enough to walk,” she said to Kupa and Agnes.
Momma took Kupa’s hand, and they started to walk down the dirt road. Far away, Kupa could see the temple that was being built in Harare. “I love seeing the temple,” said Kupa.
“Me too,” said Momma. “We are blessed to live where we can see it being built.”
They took a shortcut through the fields of corn. Sometimes, they stopped to rest and let Sheila wiggle and stretch. They talked, sang songs, and listened to the birds. After walking for an hour and a half, Kupa was so happy to see the church.
Kupa read the sign: “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
“We made it,” said Momma. She untied the wrap around Sheila.
“And we are early again!” said Kupa excitedly.
Soon Kupa and Momma were cheerfully greeting the others entering the building. Kupa liked being with the people at church. She felt loved there.
Kupa and her family found a place to sit. Resting her legs felt good. When she took the sacrament, she thought about Jesus Christ. Then she listened carefully as the bishop explained it was fast Sunday and invited people to share their testimonies.
Kupa watched and listened as others came to the front of the chapel to share what they believed. She wanted them all to know she had a testimony too. Kupa walked to the front of the room. She felt a little nervous, but she knew what she wanted to say.
She breathed deeply, stood tall, and said, “I love to see the temple. I know it is a special place to learn about Heavenly Father’s plan. Our life is a special gift from Him. I know the scriptures are true. I know Heavenly Father and Jesus love me. I am trying to be kind and helpful like Jesus. I know the Church is true. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
Kupa looked at the people in the room. They were smiling at her. Kupa smiled big and walked back to her seat. Momma hugged her when she sat down. Kupa was glad that she had the courage to share her testimony. Kupa loved Sundays.
Illustrations by Fotini Tikkou

“OK, Jason,” Mom said as she tucked him into bed. “You’ve been extra quiet tonight. Is anything wrong?”
Jason looked up at her. “It’s about school,” he said. “I just wish recess was different.”
“Have you made any new friends?” Mom asked.
Their family had just moved, and Jason was finally starting to feel comfortable in his new third-grade class.
“A few,” he said. “But it’s the playground helper. She’s grouchy all the time! And some of the kids say mean things about her.”
“What do you think about that?” Mom said.
“Well, I don’t think she’s nice, but I also don’t like it when the kids talk like that about her,” Jason said. “It makes me feel bad inside, even when she doesn’t hear them.”
“Jason, do you remember how the Holy Ghost speaks to you?” Mom said.
Jason tapped his heart.
“That’s right,” Mom said. “He talks to you through feelings and thoughts.”
Jason loved the peaceful feeling of the Holy Ghost. But when the kids were mean to the playground helper, he didn’t feel peaceful at all.
“But the Holy Ghost makes me feel good,” he said.
Mom nodded. “That’s right, but He also tells us when something isn’t right, or when we need to fix something. When you feel bad or uncomfortable inside, it could be the Holy Ghost telling you that something is wrong and you need to do the right thing.” She smoothed his hair. “What do you think is the right thing to do?”
“Well, I know Jesus wants us to be kind to everyone,” Jason said thoughtfully. “I guess that means playground helpers too.”
“Yes, it does!” Mom said. “We are all children of Heavenly Father, so we should treat everyone nicely.”
“Well, what can I do?” Jason said, frowning. “If she wasn’t so grumpy, maybe everyone would be nicer to her.”
“We don’t always know why people act a certain way,” Mom said. “We don’t know what’s going on in her life. Maybe she’s doing the best she can.”
Jason thought about when they had first moved here. Everything was so different from his old home. He had tried not to show it, but at first he had been scared and sad. Maybe the playground helper felt that way too.
“But if I don’t know why she’s feeling bad, how can I help?” Jason asked.
“We don’t always have to know what’s wrong to cheer someone up,” Mom said.
Jason thought about what cheered him up. “I know! Can we make her some chocolate-chip cookies?”
Mom smiled. “That’s a great idea.”
Jason was getting excited. “And maybe we can make some extra cookies to give to the kids at recess too!” he said. “I could share cookies with everyone and talk about how we can brighten her day even more!”
“Even better,” Mom said. “I sure am proud of you, Jason.”
Jason smiled. He was glad he had the Holy Ghost to remind him to treat others like Jesus would treat them. Recess was going to get a whole lot sweeter.

While serving as a member of the Council of the Twelve, Elder McKay owned a big boar named Caesar. One Sunday morning Caesar broke out of his enclosure. Not having time to repair the fence before boarding a train, Elder McKay put him in the chicken coop. But he forgot to tell any of his boys about it. That night at 2 A.M., the McKay household was awakened by the incessant ringing of the telephone. Answering it, and fearful that a tragic message was involved, they received a telegram over the phone: “Caesar in chicken coop. Water him!”

When Elder Ringger and I first arrived in Sofia, Bulgaria, on 30 October 1988, we had been led to believe, through our indirect “third-party” contact, that we would be met at the airport and that proper appointments had been made. (Incidentally, it had been our experience that most leaders in these totalitarian governments did not confirm any arrangements in writing.) So we went to Bulgaria in faith. We arrived late at night. No one was there to greet us. We took a taxi, which delivered us to the wrong hotel. Once we made that discovery, we trudged, luggage in hand, through a snowstorm until we finally found our correct accommodations. Our frustration continued the next day as bilingual telephone operators at the hotel were not able to help us identify either the office or the leaders with whom we needed to meet. We were at a complete dead end. All we could do was to pray for help.

Our prayers were answered. In a marvelous way, a day later, at 10:00 A.M., we met with Mr. Tsviatko Tsvetkov, head of the religious affairs department for the country. He had just returned to the city, and his interpreter was available also. Incredible!

At first, the atmosphere was pretty cold. He didn’t know we were coming. Through his interpreter, he scolded, “Nelson? Ringger? Mormons? I’ve never heard of you.”

I replied, “That makes us even. We have never heard of you, either. It’s time we got acquainted.” Everyone laughed, and we went on to have a great meeting.

Elder Ringger and I returned to Sofia in February 1990, at which time, as authorized by the First Presidency, an apostolic dedicatory prayer was given on February 13 at Park Na Svobodata, which means “Liberty Park.”

On this visit we again met with Mr. Tsvetkov and other governmental leaders and also with many representatives of the media. The director of the International Foundation in Bulgaria asked if could help provide teachers of English. We assured him that we could. Capable teachers were called and sent to fulfill that request. This director came to Salt Lake City in October 1990 to continue our friendship. With gratitude, he praised the work of our missionary sisters and couples who had begun teaching in Bulgaria. Their contacts have provided excellent referrals, and several individuals have since joined the Church.

A new mission, the 268th mission of the Church, was created on 1 July 1991. Kiril Kiriakov now serves as president of the Bulgaria Sofia Mission. President and Sister Kiriakov were both born in Bulgaria. Official recognition for the Church was granted by the Bulgarian government on 10 July 1991. Congregations of Saints and friends are growing in Bulgaria.

One glorious day, my daughter called to say she had been given an opportunity to go with her dear friend who was on the Primary General Board to a General Relief Society meeting in the Conference Center. And joy of joys, I had been invited too! The board member had planned to take her mother who was later unable to go. We needed to go early because the third ticket--mine--was to be brought to the Center by another sister whose mother was not able to go. We did. We went early. We waited by the door of the Center for sometime, allowing others to go in front of us. I knew the board member needed to be inside by a half hour before the meeting, and so I pled with her to take my daughter and go in. I would be fine. She had made the arrangements and was the only one who knew the sister with my ticket and so she resisted. Just before the meeting was to start, the sister, who had some difficulties in getting there, came, and so our dear friend retrieved the ticket. We started into the Center only to be told we needed to go to the back of the line. Again she graciously stayed with us until we were invited to enter, and she led us to our prescribed seating. I was embarrassed to look up. The huge room was full. In my mind, the members of the First Presidency were seated directly in front of us and looking right at us. I'm certain we were the only moving people in the Conference Center and going right down to the front at that. No sooner were we seated than the Relief Society General president arose to conduct the meeting. Later, I told someone that I was embarrassed, not so much for me, but for having to make that dear board member arrive on the very hour. My friend laughed and said tenderly, "I'm sure the members of the First Presidency were just glad you made it."

I was touched by the powerfully sweet spirit and teachings of that meeting. And I was deeply touched that it was all was made possible for me because of a gracious friend and her gift of love. Again, I was taught the great blessing of selfless service, given with a willing heart, no matter the sacrifice in the contribution.

All young men over the age of 18 in Finland are required to serve in the military for 6 to 12 months. As I began my required service, I found that the opinions and attitudes of many of my army buddies conflicted with my principles. As a result, I took steps to stay close to the Spirit, praying at least twice a day and reading the scriptures.
At first I was nervous because I didn’t know how my buddies would react, but they didn’t seem to care, so I relaxed. After a while my bunk mates asked what I was reading. “The Book of Mormon,” I told them directly. Their next question, of course, was whether I was a Latter-day Saint. I told them I was, and for a while, they let the matter drop.
In time a few of my army buddies began to ask about the Book of Mormon—its origin, contents, and so forth. Later their questions ranged from the purpose of life to principles of the Church. My religion became a natural part of our discussions, and it popped up in almost any situation.
One fellow in a neighboring bunk asked if he could read from my Book of Mormon. Of course I said yes. On another occasion, after a roommate had returned from attending a funeral for a friend, he told me that the funeral had raised many questions in his mind about life and its purpose. He asked me what the Church believed about those things. We had a long discussion about the purpose of life, the Atonement, the Creation, and other gospel topics. Afterward, other roommates became interested in the Church’s teachings and standards.
During the rest of our time together, we had many discussions that always seemed to turn to the Church’s teachings. My roommates called these discussions “Ask the Mormon” sessions. Later, after we had graduated from our training, one roommate told me he had decided to quit swearing.
Throughout my time in the military, I noticed that the more open I was about my Church membership and the more faithfully I followed gospel teachings, the more open others were toward me and the more opportunities I had to share the gospel.
I am thankful for the blessings and opportunities I had to talk about the gospel during my army service. I testify that if we are bold in standing up for our values, we will be blessed with opportunities to do missionary work. And if we let the light of the gospel shine freely in our lives, we can protect ourselves from darkness and have a positive influence on the world around us.

Julius Tirazona, another member of the local security detail for Elder and Sister Bednar, found it refreshing to see a lighter and carefree side of Elder Bednar as he joked around with those traveling with him. “I remember fondly when Elder Bednar was speaking in Tarlac,” he recalled. “Sister Bednar suddenly joined him on the stand to react to what he said and before she sat back down, she kissed Elder Bednar on the lips.” The members of the congregation gushed and cheered, which prompted Sister Bednar to stand up again and apologize, to which Elder Bednar humorously replied: “‘You don’t apologize because you kissed your spouse,’ Elder Bednar told her with a smile.”

Because I went to kindergarten early, I was always the youngest in my classes. And because I was the youngest, I always seemed to be the last one to start things. I was the last of my friends to go into Scouting, and my friends were already deacons when I was still in Primary. I felt like I was always behind. I was always the last to advance. But this became an advantage because I was able to learn from the good examples of friends who started before me.

The second example occurred more recently, in the United States.
I was in a hurry to make a close plane connection in a large city, so I was somewhat concerned at the large number of people and their slow movement down the crowded hall. I moved in and out as best I could without jostling others.
I noticed a fairly concentrated group up ahead. There seemed to be some reason for the slowdown since I could see open spaces farther ahead. As I came to the slowed group I could see a young lady slowly making her way forward with braces and canes. She was terribly crippled but doing the best she could. Most people, as they saw the situation, slowed down and patiently let her go at her own speed.
Just ahead of me, two big, strong, brown-skinned young men had just had their rapid pace slowed and could see the reason why. One turned to the other and in his native tongue said, “Ta’ahine faikehe eni ‘Oku totonu ke puna ia ki tu’a ka ta o!” which roughly interpreted is: “What a crazy girl. She ought to be thrown out so we could move!”
I knew of no Tongans living in this area of the United States. Hawaii, California, and Utah, yes, but here? Since I had served a mission in Tonga, I quickly replied to the two young men, “Oua na’a mo lau’i ae ta’ahine oku si’i heke, he taha, ko hono fo’ui,” which is more or less: “You shouldn’t speak bad about the poor girl. After all, it’s not her fault.”
They whirled around to see who on earth spoke to them. They had a combination of embarrassment and disbelief on their faces. All they saw was a typical American man in a business suit, carrying a briefcase, and scolding them with his eyes.
They just sort of disappeared down the next opening with mutterings of disbelief and dismay, “How did he know? Who was that? We better watch what we say, etc.”
I have often thought that the statistical chances of those circumstances occurring as they did—with the relatively small number of Tongans in the United States, the even smaller number in that large city, and the even smaller number of white people who could speak Tongan—were so small as to be almost nonexistent.

When I was 14, my dad left our family, and my mom was forced to flee the country. I was left with my three younger siblings, Ephraim, 9; Jonathan, 6; and Grace, 3 (names have been changed). Nothing could have prepared us for this sudden change. For the first time, we were alone.

Extended family soon offered to take each of us in, but if we went to live with them, we would be separated. It was a difficult decision. How could we reject their well-intentioned help? But at the same time, how could we give up years of playing, laughing, caring for one another, and watching each other grow?

Initially, my brothers and I turned down their help, thinking I could work to support us and we could stay together. But we knew that we could not provide the care our youngest sister needed, and so, with tears in our eyes, we let her go.

For the next few months, I worked as a building painter to buy food for my brothers and me. My income was insufficient to pay the bills for electricity and water, so we had to live without them.

Despite this trial and the gossip of others that accompanied it, our faith didn’t waver. Every night, I would gather Ephraim and Jonathan around a lamp to read the Book of Mormon. I would trim the wick so that it would produce less smoke, but we would still have to clean our noses that had turned black by the time we finished reading. But it was worth it.

Reading the Book of Mormon brought us closer to Christ. After we read, we would kneel together and take turns saying our prayers. We asked for comfort for our problem that seemed to be without a solution. We finished reading the Book of Mormon, and our faith in Jesus Christ grew stronger.

There’s a little more to the story about McKay Hatch and his No Cussing Club (page 33). McKay’s father, Brent, sent us some information about his son and the club he started. The club really took off but not without some kids making fun of McKay and giving him a hard time. One guy who started out hassling McKay eventually changed his way of talking, joined the club, and became one of the officers.

On occasion I have observed parents shopping to clothe a son about to enter missionary service. The new suits are fitted, the new shoes are laced, and shirts, socks, and ties are bought in quantity. I met one father who said to me, “Brother Monson, I want you to meet my son.” Pride popped his buttons; the cost of the clothing emptied his wallet; love filled his heart. Tears filled my eyes when I noticed that his suit was old, his shoes well worn; but he felt no deprivation. The glow on his face was a memory to cherish.

I think Emily Hill, a handcart pioneer, understood the principle of cherishing and watching over another. As she and her sister Julia struggled over Rocky Ridge in terrible conditions-in a 27-hour, 15-mile march-they were in desperate straits. Julia's granddaughter later shared this dream she had about the sisters:

"I could see Julia and Emily stranded in the snow on the windy summit of Rocky Ridge with the rest of the Willie handcart company. They had no heavy clothing to keep them warm. Julia was sitting in the snow, shaking. She could not carry on. Emily, who was freezing as well, knew that if she did not help Julia stand up, Julia would die. As Emily wrapped her arms around her sister to help her up, Julia began to cry-but no tears came, only soft whimpering sounds. Together they walked slowly to their handcart. Thirteen died that terrible night. Julia and Emily survived."[8]

For example, one time my buddies and I hiked into the mountains for a week of fishing. We had a lot of fun. The deer flies and mosquitoes were so tame they let us feed them. The jays were so friendly they’d swoop down and help themselves to food right off the griddle. And some of the trout were so dumb they let us catch them.
Now, we were on our way back. For breakfast that morning we finished off the last of the food we had packed in. Now we were surviving on lint-covered raisins from the bottom of our packs. We had about eight more miles to hike before we met our rides and headed home to good food and to showers that didn’t come directly out of a cloud.
Ordinarily, the packs are lighter on the hike out; you’ve eaten all of the food and lost half of everything else. But for some reason, I found it tougher going than usual. My companions, on the other hand, laughed as we walked uphill.
Maybe it was because my face was going from red to purple—at any rate, we stopped to rest for a few minutes. When we took off our packs, I made an interesting discovery. You see, we had brought an army surplus canvas bucket for carrying spring water into camp, and I had tied the empty bucket to the back of my pack for the trip out. But somewhere along the way someone had put a rock the size of a large grapefruit in that bucket.
Well, there was a lot of laughter. I laughed too—later. And with the heavy weight gone, I not only kept up with my buddies, I practically chased them up those hills. I also learned a valuable lesson: don’t carry unnecessary burdens.

I would now like to share with you an exciting adventure story of great personal interest to me that was brought to my attention a few years ago. I want to relate it to the theme of my talk today. I was shown an article in a Shropshire magazine (published in England) written by a man who found an old trunk in the attic of a house in the town of Shrewsbury. In the trunk was a handwritten manuscript. The manuscript represented part of the diary of an old clock-mender (Mr. James Hanny) who had lived near the England/ Wales border and whose hobby was to walk the hills of Wales. This manuscript related how in 1874 this elderly man, then age 73, had visited an old friend of his who had a farm in Wales. The story went on to say how his friend’s daughter (aged 18) agreed to take him to see the waterfalls near a small village called Llanrhaeadr-ym-Mochnant. Apparently Mr. Hanny had sustained an ambition to visit the falls (called locally Pistill Rhaeadr) for approximately forty years. Now this area is close to where I was brought up, and I have some knowledge of the country and the terrain. The distance they walked would have been approximately eighteen miles round-trip over some quite rugged hills. Here I quote from the manuscript:

My host, Mr. Humphreys, was the very embodiment of Welsh hospitality, nothing was too much for him and his household to make my stay as comfortable as possible; his charming daughter Rosamond was a most beautiful and talented young lady, and she and I became great friends. She had a deep love for Wales in her heart, which became obvious as she described her lonely walks among the wild and legendary hills, amid the wind-swept heather. . . . Rosamond was very keen to be my guide to the falls, and she promised me a wonderful walk back over the mountains; a walk, she said, I would always remember. They were, indeed, prophetic words.

As you can see, the old clock-mender had quite a graphic turn of phrase! Now, back to the narrative:

On the following day, after an early lunch, we started out. It was a long but interesting walk, and at last we arrived at the beautiful falls. I stood there for some time assimilating a sight that had been denied me for so many years. My companion stood by my side, a smile on her lovely face. She understood and appreciated this happy moment of mine. . . .

Amid the soothing influence of the tumbling waters, we ate the refreshments that Rosamond had thoughtfully brought, until she said that we had stayed longer than we should, and our walk back over the mountains must not be delayed any longer.

They started their return journey, but the day had been too strenuous for the seventy-three-year-old man. Again I quote:

I had completely underestimated my supply of strength for the arduous task ahead. My companion, bursting with the vitality of the young, and with a supply of seemingly inexhaustible energy, was well equipped for the journey, and like myself, had no conception of my limitations. The young do not understand the meaning of weakness in the old; they have never experienced it themselves and cannot conceive it in others.

His story then relates in some detail the path they took, the magnificent scenery, and the frequent stops for rest. Quoting again:

My companion called to say we must hurry on. I must admit I had been glad of the rest. Again we started off, Rose leading the way. My legs were now beginning to ache and I could feel a tightness in my chest. Once, seeing I was having difficulty in catching up with her, she ran back to me.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“Oh yes,” I lied as cheerfully as I could. “But a little rest would do me good.”

A slight troubled frown appeared on her face for a fleeting moment. She smiled. “Of course,” she said, “But . . .” She looked up anxiously at the sky where a few black-looking clouds were looming up. “We still have a long way to go. We must not stay long.”

Once again we started off, and the going became even more rough and arduous. If I had been a young man, supple of limb and muscle, I would have enjoyed the climb to the full, but the acute pain in my legs betokened the opposite. . . . The darkness deepened rapidly, and all around took on a hue of deep purple. The heavens appeared to be closing down on us. Black clouds began to obliterate the remaining light, until it was difficult to see the ground beneath our feet. . . . In a short time we were soaked to the skin. We dare not stop long; we could never hope to survive a night exposed as we were to the elements. We were already soaked to saturation point. With the helping hand of my companion we practically felt our way in the darkness. After what seemed an interminable time, Rose suddenly stopped, and pulled me back a pace or so. In the gloom I peered closely into her rain-streaked face.

“Is there anything wrong?” I asked.

“I’m not sure,” Rose replied, hesitatingly. “But I have a strange feeling we are on the wrong track. Stay here a moment.”

Carefully she lay on the ground, and as I looked on wonderingly, she crawled forward very slowly. Presently I heard her give a little cry, and following her example, I too, crawled forward until I reached her side. She put out a restraining hand to stop me venturing further. Picking up a stone she gently threw it forward. There was silence for a few moments, and then I heard the stone falling on rocks far below. I could hear it bounding from crag to crag getting fainter and fainter. We were on the edge of a dangerous cliff! We crawled back to comparative safety; I was now shivering as much with shock as with the cold. I found my companion’s hand and pressed it with a gesture of despair. Words failed me. Only one thought ran through my fevered mind. Lost! Lost on a mountain with the night in front of us. Soaked with rain; cold, and already weary to the point of complete exhaustion. What hope was there for us?

Rose’s voice broke through my bitter thoughts, and with it, renewed hope. “I think I know where we are,” she said. “In the darkness we have strayed from the right road. We must go back to find our bearings.”

She led me like a child, and amidst the howling of the wind we carefully retreated from that awful abyss. From that moment I seemed to have lost all sense of direction and time. Numbed with the cold, all my actions were those of an automaton. But for the supporting hand of Rose, I would gladly have been content to lay my weary body on the rocky ground. But somehow that frail figure kept me going. Somehow she managed to support me and we stumbled through the darkness of the night. For what seemed an eternity our passage continued until I fancied I could see little sparks of light that danced in front of my eyes like so many fireflies. My befuddled mind could not comprehend that safety was near at hand. Above the wind I heard Rosamond’s voice. “Here,” she cried. “We are here. We are coming.” The little spots of light came nearer and nearer, and it was with intense relief that at last I realized they were the lights of lanterns. For the rest of the journey we were half-carried to the blessed haven of Brynteg—the home of my friend.

The article then went on to say that as well as the manuscript, there was found in the old trunk a newspaper cutting describing the wedding at a town called Llanfyllin (in 1883), nine years later, of Rosamond Humphreys, youngest daughter of Mr. Humphreys (Brynteg) to Lewis Owen.

Rosamond Humphreys was my grandmother, whom I never met. She died before I was born, and I suspect my mother never heard about this particular exploit in the hills of Wales, because neither my brother nor I was told anything at all about it!

In the beautiful hills of Pennsylvania, a devout group of Christian people live a simple life without automobiles, electricity, or modern machinery. They work hard and live quiet, peaceful lives separate from the world. Most of their food comes from their own farms. The women sew and knit and weave their clothing, which is modest and plain. They are known as the Amish people.
A 32-year-old milk truck driver lived with his family in their Nickel Mines community. He was not Amish, but his pickup route took him to many Amish dairy farms, where he became known as the quiet milkman. Last October he suddenly lost all reason and control. In his tormented mind he blamed God for the death of his first child and some unsubstantiated memories. He stormed into the Amish school without any provocation, released the boys and adults, and tied up the 10 girls. He shot the girls, killing five and wounding five. Then he took his own life.
This shocking violence caused great anguish among the Amish but no anger. There was hurt but no hate. Their forgiveness was immediate. Collectively they began to reach out to the milkman’s suffering family. As the milkman’s family gathered in his home the day after the shootings, an Amish neighbor came over, wrapped his arms around the father of the dead gunman, and said, “We will forgive you.” Amish leaders visited the milkman’s wife and children to extend their sympathy, their forgiveness, their help, and their love. About half of the mourners at the milkman’s funeral were Amish. In turn, the Amish invited the milkman’s family to attend the funeral services of the girls who had been killed. A remarkable peace settled on the Amish as their faith sustained them during this crisis.
One local resident very eloquently summed up the aftermath of this tragedy when he said, “We were all speaking the same language, and not just English, but a language of caring, a language of community, [and] a language of service. And, yes, a language of forgiveness.” It was an amazing outpouring of their complete faith in the Lord’s teachings in the Sermon on the Mount: “Do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you.”
The family of the milkman who killed the five girls released the following statement to the public:
“To our Amish friends, neighbors, and local community:
“Our family wants each of you to know that we are overwhelmed by the forgiveness, grace, and mercy that you’ve extended to us. Your love for our family has helped to provide the healing we so desperately need. The prayers, flowers, cards, and gifts you’ve given have touched our hearts in a way no words can describe. Your compassion has reached beyond our family, beyond our community, and is changing our world, and for this we sincerely thank you.
“Please know that our hearts have been broken by all that has happened. We are filled with sorrow for all of our Amish neighbors whom we have loved and continue to love. We know that there are many hard days ahead for all the families who lost loved ones, and so we will continue to put our hope and trust in the God of all comfort, as we all seek to rebuild our lives.”
How could the whole Amish group manifest such an expression of forgiveness? It was because of their faith in God and trust in His word, which is part of their inner beings. They see themselves as disciples of Christ and want to follow His example.
Hearing of this tragedy, many people sent money to the Amish to pay for the health care of the five surviving girls and for the burial expenses of the five who were killed. As a further demonstration of their discipleship, the Amish decided to share some of the money with the widow of the milkman and her three children because they too were victims of this terrible tragedy.

I well remember a striking scene that gave me a dramatic perspective of agency and accountability. I was in a village hotel in Taiwan, several floors up, looking out the window at great numbers of the beautiful children of Taiwan on their way to school. From my vantage point I could see the school some distance away. The children knew the school was there, though they couldn’t see it yet, and, of course, they were unaware of my presence. They were charming in the official school uniform—short navy skirt or pant; clean, white starched shirt; and, on this rainy day, a canary-yellow slicker. Now, some of the children carelessly dragged their slickers behind them; a few let them fly open; others wore them tightly buttoned, like the whole armor of God.
The path they were taking through the rice paddy was well trampled, but there were big mud puddles, exciting places to hide between tall rushes, temptations behind a small shop across the way.
The children came around the corner of the hotel—wave after wave of these little people of Heavenly Father’s family—and according to their agency, they dawdled along, were detoured by the slightest distraction, or else pressed toward the mark—the school way up ahead. It was up to them now; parents weren’t around.
I was fascinated watching the children deal with their environment. Some deliberately plowed right through the deep mud puddles time and again and came forth filthy. Others automatically marched around the puddle, almost oblivious to it. Many absolutely couldn’t resist the temptation to gingerly touch a toe in the mire. One little girl, afterwards, stooped over and tried to wipe the mud from her shoe, then from her hand; then she brushed the spot on her clothes where she had wiped her hand. Mud is tough to erase.
Interesting, isn’t it? Life from a window. Agency and accountability. They made their choices, and so do we.

You may be a modern mighty woman of Israel in the face of great tragedy. One such modern mighty woman of Israel is your age. She served as a missionary with us in Guatemala. She just finished her graduate degree and will soon be getting married. During our service in Guatemala, she and her companion were kidnapped. Heavenly Father would not let me share that difficult and miraculous experience with you today. However, the Spirit does allow me to quote one of the first things she stated upon her safe release: “We taught them [meaning the kidnappers] all of the lessons.”

She recently had to face the loss of her father in a tragic accident. After the accident, but before his passing, she told my wife and me that she knew Heavenly Father had prepared her to face hard things. In a humble and committed manner, she indicated that she was prepared and would valiantly face what Heavenly Father asked of her. Of course she wanted her dad to survive, yet she knew she was prepared to accept the will of Heavenly Father. She taught her mission president what it means to be a modern mighty woman of Israel.

“My Mother opened a little country store to help keep our family out of debt. I worked with her in the store quite a bit. She taught me about respecting and serving people. Once, when I was fourteen, my mom and dad went to Salt Lake City for a conference and left me to take care of the store. The Hutterites in our area wouldn’t go to the bank to cash their huge grain checks, so Mom was an insured cashier, and we would sometimes have thousands of dollars in the store safe. I knew the combination to the safe, and I knew that my parents trusted me, so I opened and closed the store on time and took care of the customers.”

Sister Kapp believes that “the way to be happy and feel good about yourself and to please Heavenly Father is to learn to be obedient. Even if we don’t understand why we should or should not do certain things, if we will just trust in our parents and in the wisdom of our Father in Heaven, one day we will understand. My hope is that every child will develop the self-discipline to do what he knows is right. When we’re obedient, we’re happy; when we’re disobedient, we’re not happy. It’s just that simple. Let us, then, choose to be happy.”