Gospel Story Finder

He knew they would be looking for him, so David scrunched down in his seat on the bench behind Brother Johnson. He figured the deacons quorum adviser wouldn’t be able to find him way back there, even though the chapel wasn’t very crowded and it would be difficult to remain unseen.
He knew if they found him he would be asked to pass the sacrament, and he didn’t want to. He was a priest now and tall enough to play on the high school basketball team. It was embarrassing to stand at the front of the chapel with the little 12-year-old deacons, who all seemed half his size.
His father had been watching him from the stand, and David felt his disapproval. Much to David’s surprise, however, he wasn’t asked to assist the deacons. Before anyone could ask him, Brother Hensley volunteered.
Brother Hensley was a new member of the Church, not much older than David, and recently ordained to the Aaronic Priesthood. Everyone had been excited to learn that he was taking the missionary discussions. He had been very popular in high school and was now attending college.
He stood tall alongside the deacons. He walked proudly and passed the sacred emblems with dignity.
Several members were talking to Brother Hensley in the foyer after the meeting. David couldn’t help overhearing their conversation, especially when he moved closer.
“Thanks for helping us out today,” someone was saying. “I hope it didn’t bother you to work with the young deacons.”
“Not at all,” David was surprised to hear him say. “I consider it a great honor. You know who the first person to ever pass the sacrament was, don’t you?” Then answering his own question, he continued. “It was Jesus Christ—when He passed the sacrament of the Last Supper to His Apostles. It is my understanding that our apostles and prophets today administer and pass the sacrament to one another just as we did today. I guess if they consider passing the sacrament a privilege, well, so do I.”
David moved on quietly as he reflected upon what he had just heard. He decided he would sit in plain sight the following Sunday. He would sit where they could find him.

While I was serving as mission president in Scotland from 1975 to 1978, the Church had much opposition and criticism. On one occasion three ministers made derogatory statements publicly in a particular city. I wrote an open letter to the local newspaper announcing that we would be holding a public meeting there to dispel some of the misunderstandings which were being voiced around. It was a wonderful meeting. We first showed the fine Church filmstrip Meet the Mormons, and then I spoke to the large group concerning our beliefs and way of life. When we opened the meeting for questions, a number of people who were not members of the Church stood and said kind things about the Church and the Latter-day Saints they knew. Positive results ensued, and the work moved forward.

As a young missionary going to Chile, I learned a life-changing lesson about the conversion power of the Book of Mormon. Mr. Gonzalez served in a respected position in his church for many years. He had extensive religious training, including a degree in theology. He was quite proud of his biblical expertise. It was obvious to us that he was a religious scholar.
He was well aware of the missionaries of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints as they went about their work in his home city of Lima, Peru. He always wanted to meet with them so that he could school them in the Bible.
One day, almost as a gift from heaven, so he thought, two missionaries stopped him in the street and asked if they could come to his home and share the scriptures with him. This was his dream come true! His prayers had been answered. Finally, he could set these misguided young boys straight. He told them that he would be delighted to have them come to his house and discuss the scriptures.
He could hardly wait for his appointment. He was ready to use the Bible to disprove their beliefs. He was confident that the Bible would clearly and articulately point out the error of their ways. The appointed night came, and the missionaries knocked on the door. He was giddy. His moment had finally arrived.
He opened the door and invited the missionaries into his home. One of the missionaries handed him a blue book and bore a sincere testimony that he knew the book contained the word of God. The second missionary added his powerful testimony of the book, testifying that it had been translated by a modern prophet of God named Joseph Smith and that it taught of Christ. The missionaries excused themselves and left his home.
Mr. Gonzalez was so disappointed. But he opened the book, and he started to leaf through its pages. He read the first page. He read page after page after page and didn’t stop until late into the afternoon of the next day. He read the whole book and knew that it was true. He knew what he had to do. He called the missionaries, received the lessons, and gave up the life he had known to become a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
That good man was my MTC teacher in Provo, Utah. Brother Gonzalez’s conversion story and the power of the Book of Mormon made a great impression on me.

As I reflected on the message I wanted to share today, I was reminded of an experience my mother-in-law, Helen Thomas, had a few years ago. She noticed that her vision was deteriorating. The images she saw were becoming increasingly blurred and faint. Finally she scheduled an eye exam and was told she had cataracts. Fortunately she was able to have corrective surgery, which restored her vision. My mother-in-law was so excited after the operation, she said, “I hadn’t realized how much my eyesight had changed. I have not been able to see this well for years. My vision must have changed just a little bit at a time.”

“Serve and Volley” was the theme for the Laurel/priest activity held on a sunny day in the Modesto California Region. What would you expect but a service project with a little volleyball afterwards?
But it was much more than that. First they met to clean, clear, and revamp a recreational county park. Nearly 200 people did so much work the park ranger who supervised got all choked up.
Everyone then went back to the stake center for a potato bar/sundae bar dinner, awards ceremony, and video of the day’s work. After that they headed to a recreation center for the promised volleyball, golf, Ping-Pong, etc. It was all in a day’s work and a night’s play. The kids loved it!

Before leaving Nauvoo in the winter of 1846, President Brigham Young had a dream in which he saw an angel standing on a cone-shaped hill somewhere in the West pointing to a valley below. When he entered the Salt Lake Valley some 18 months later, he saw just above the location where we are now gathered the same hillside prominence he had seen in vision.
As has often been told from this pulpit, Brother Brigham led a handful of leaders to the summit of that hill and proclaimed it Ensign Peak, a name filled with religious meaning for these modern Israelites. Twenty-five hundred years earlier the prophet Isaiah had declared that in the last days “the mountain of the Lord’s house shall be established in the top of the mountains,” and there “he shall set up an ensign for the nations.”1
Seeing their moment in history as partial fulfillment of that prophecy, the Brethren wished to fly a banner of some kind to make the idea of “an ensign for the nations” literal. Elder Heber C. Kimball produced a yellow bandana. Brother Brigham tied it to a walking stick carried by Elder Willard Richards and then planted the makeshift flag, declaring the valley of the Great Salt Lake and the mountains surrounding it as that prophesied place from which the word of the Lord would go forth in the latter days.

My brother and I are a year and a half apart. For the past four years, insults between us have outnumbered the praises and expressions of love. He is beginning to see himself as the person I described to him through my insults. I now see that he lacks confidence in himself. I can’t change what I’ve said, and I may have lost a wonderful brother. I can ask for forgiveness, but tearing down the wall between us is much harder. Before you belittle someone with your insults, think about what you risk losing eternally.
Name Withheld

Ellen Grae lives with Mrs. McGruder in the small town of Thicket so that she may go to the same school her father attended. She has a terrific imagination and tells such interesting stories that most people think she has made them up. Ellen; Grover, a friend who is one year older than Ellen; Ira, a friendly, misunderstood, silent man; and his goat, Missouri, have interesting adventures together. Ellen finds out about a strange secret. She knows that should anyone else find out about this secret, Ira would be in serious trouble. What Ellen decides to do makes good reading.

One story I like to share is when many years back, a missionary serving in the Honolulu Hawaii Mission, called us to see if he could come meet my parents. He shared that his mother was once the girlfriend of one of my Dad’s coaches in Canada. She often came to practices and games and would see my father’s interactions with my younger brother and me.
She knew we were members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and admired our family relationship and how my father had different standards from other players. Later in her life, missionaries happened to knock on her door and she remembered what she saw and felt with our family and she welcomed the missionaries in her home. Obviously, she joined the church and raised her sons to serve the Lord.

When I was a young mother of several small children, at the end of days filled with diapering, dish washing, and disciplining, no one sang more emphatically the Primary song “I’m so glad when daddy comes home.”15 I’m sad to admit, however, I was not always cheerful when Craig seemed to bounce through the door after a hard day of work. He always greeted each of us with a hug and kiss and turned many difficult and sometimes disastrous days into delightful daddy times. I wish I had been a little less preoccupied with the endless list of to-dos still to be done and had more wisely focused, like he did, on things that mattered most. I would have stopped more often and enjoyed sacred family time and would have thanked him more often for blessing our lives!

Our family moved to Logandale, Nevada, more than eight years ago, and we have been involved with the Clark County Fair ever since. It is held each year in April, near Easter. Children can show pigs, steers, or lambs they have raised. The animals are judged on Thursday, and the auction takes place on Saturday.
I always dread the auction. I worry that one of my children will have an animal that doesn’t sell. Most parents try to get someone to prebuy their child’s animal. But even if your child’s animal is presold, you still have to wait endlessly for his or her turn at the auction.
One of the most touching events I have ever witnessed took place at the auction three years ago. We had sat most of the day on aluminum bleachers, listening to the auctioneer’s bark, the crowd’s babble, and the animals’ bleating, mooing, and squealing. Suddenly we heard another sound—the wind pelting a freezing rain against the building.
Soon, in addition to parents and extended family attending the auction, we had many other people seeking shelter inside the metal livestock pavilion. They were quite surprised to find an auction taking place. Most were from the big city of Las Vegas and had never experienced a real animal auction before. They apparently found the auction entertaining, and a few even bid on animals. Of course, after the auctioneer explained that the price was per pound, the bidding slowed considerably.
Our boys’ pig came up for auction, and I remember feeling quite relieved when it was sold. All I could think of was getting home, away from the people, the noise, and the smell. It was still raining outside, so while I waited for my brother-in-law to get the car, I listened involuntarily to the auctioneer as he started the bidding on lambs.
A young girl brought out her lamb, and the bidding commenced. I don’t remember the exact amount, but I do remember thinking, “That’s a lot of money for a lamb.” Then a most amazing thing happened. The auctioneer explained that the person who had purchased the lamb was donating it back to the little girl to be resold. He went on to explain that this little girl’s father, who normally would have been there with her, was in the hospital. He had cancer, and the prognosis was not good. The family had no medical insurance, and the father was their sole support.
What happened next will burn in my mind and heart forever.
The bidding resumed, and again the little lamb was sold for an unheard-of amount of money. Again the lamb was donated back to be resold. About that time my brother-in-law returned, wet and windblown, but I couldn’t move. I told him something remarkable was happening, and though I tried, I could not stop my tears.
That lamb was sold again and again, and all those people, many of them from the city, were bidding and giving donations for that local family.
As I stood there in amazement, I couldn’t help but think of another lamb—not one that was sold again and again to benefit just one family, but One who allowed Himself to be sacrificed for all of God’s children. It seemed fitting that Easter was just around the corner. The Spirit bore witness to me that day of the significance of sacrifice in behalf of others and the importance of community.
Regrettably, this little girl’s father did not survive. The family has since moved into our ward, and the wife of that good man bore her testimony in Relief Society one Sunday. She told us how she had been at the hospital with her dying husband when she heard of the auction. She didn’t know who or how many people had donated money, but she was moved to tears when expressing her gratitude for all who cared enough to help. She was amazed at the outpouring of love and support shown to her family that stormy day at the Clark County Fair—the day the lamb was sold.

Anita said she felt fine, but I moved away from her bedside, knelt, and prayed.
Illustration by Katie Payne
I was single and self-employed when I was new in the Church, so I had days when I had extra time. On one of those days I called the Relief Society president and asked if anyone needed help that afternoon. She mentioned an elderly sister named Anita (name has been changed) who had recently come home from the hospital and was lonely. I had met Anita before and was happy to visit her.
I called and then went to her apartment. She asked me to make lunch for her, and afterward we had a great visit. She had a good sense of humor and loved to laugh and tell stories about her life.
After lunch she said she was tired and asked me to help her from her wheelchair to bed. Soon I had her tucked in. Suddenly, the still, small voice I had heard so much about spoke to me: “Get her to the hospital now!”
Anita hated hospitals and had just returned home. I asked her if she felt OK. She said she was fine but felt tired.
I moved away from her bedside and knelt. As soon as I started to pray, the voice repeated, “Get her to the hospital, and get her there now!”
I hesitated, asking myself, “What am I going to tell the doctor at the hospital?”
I called a friend, who also prayed and then told me to follow my prompting.
Anita was angry that I would even mention taking her to the hospital, but I called an ambulance anyway. When it arrived, two paramedics entered and took her vital signs. Without asking questions, they put her on a gurney and sped off in the ambulance.
I followed in my van. After arriving at the hospital, I sat and waited. Soon a doctor came out. He asked me, “She didn’t tell you that she had fallen before you came to her apartment, did she?”
“No,” I responded.
He told me that Anita had injured her spleen and was bleeding internally. Without immediate medical attention, he said, she might have died.
I felt a mixture of remorse and exultation—remorse that I had hesitated and exultation that ultimately I had listened to the Holy Ghost. Most of all, I felt grateful to know that the Lord had trusted me to help this injured sister and had inspired my Relief Society president to send me to her.
My own health has deteriorated since this experience, but the Lord still prompts me. I pray always for the strength to follow those promptings.

I was channeling my inner superspy. The problem was, I’d been doing that all week and it hadn’t worked out very well so far.
I stood with my friends on a grassy hillside far removed from civilization. Stretched between this hill and the next was a thick steel cable that ran 40 yards (37 meters). The cable hung 6 feet (2 meters) above the ground, spanned a small valley between the hills, and had a downward slant.
In other words, it was the perfect cable to slide down in spy-like glory. My friends and I had no idea why the cable was there in the first place. We only knew that a most manly destiny was calling loudly. We were there to heed the call.
And yet, that stubborn cable wasn’t cooperating. Turns out we needed more than blindingly awesome courage and determination to accomplish our goal. We needed something to help us slide down. Our first two attempts that week hadn’t resulted in our sliding more than a few feet before friction stopped us cold.
But that didn’t discourage us. My friend had an old 10-speed bike that he donated to the cause for our third attempt. His theory was that if we removed the front handlebars, spokes, and wheel from the rest of the frame, we could place the rim (tube and tire removed) on top of the cable. Then, wrench in hand, we could attach the handlebar and front spokes to the wheel by aiming them up around the underside of the cable. It was a giant pulley.
I was to be the guinea pig lucky person to try out our complex mechanism first. So there I stood, channeling my inner spy and poised and ready to earn some manly bragging points. I gripped the handlebars, took a deep breath, and howled in excitement while lifting my feet.
In milliseconds the other hillside started rushing toward me. Wind whipped through my hair as I flew across the gap between hills. I slammed into the far side with enough impact to steal the air from my lungs. I jumped to my feet, dusted myself off, and yelled to my friends, “You guys gotta try this thing!”
Only … most of my friends didn’t want to try the spy cable after seeing how my flight ended. Truth be told, nor did I after that excellent-but-wild ride. As exciting as the trip down had been, the jolting stop at the end was anything but fun.

Several years ago one of our older boys, who was five or six years old at the time, was sitting on the sofa in our front room. It was summer—midday—and the sun was shining through our large front windows. He was taking a few moments out from his play to read and rest. As I looked at him with the open book resting on his lap, he seemed to be sleeping. Thinking that it would be more comfortable for him to lie down, I went over to him and began putting my arms under his legs and around his back. As I touched him, he suddenly moved and said, “What ya doin’, Dad?”

In response I said that I was simply trying to make him more comfortable. In his most direct way he said that he wasn’t tired and didn’t want to nap.

“What do you mean, Son? Your eyes were closed, and you seemed to be sleeping.”

“I wasn’t sleeping, Dad,” he said. “I was just watching it rain.”

“Watching it rain.” The book was about rain. This young boy had taken his life experiences with rain and combined them with that which he had been reading. Inside his mind, despite the fact that the sun was shining brightly through the windows, he was “watching it rain.” He had internalized the message. It had become a part of him, so much so that when he wanted he could recall and visualize in his mind the experience of rain.

When I was just a young girl, I became seriously ill. Each day the illness became increasingly severe. Nothing the doctor recommended helped. At that time the dreaded disease of polio was raging in almost epidemic proportions in the land. It was taking the lives of many, and those who didn’t die were often left crippled.
One night my illness became critical, and my father and grandfather administered to me using consecrated oil, and through the power of the holy Melchizedek Priesthood, which they held worthily, they called upon God for healing, help, guidance, and comfort. And then my parents took me to a doctor in another town who immediately sent us to the hospital—two and one-half hours away—with the admonition to hurry. I overheard the doctor whisper that he was certain it was polio.
When we finally arrived at the hospital in Salt Lake, there were medical personnel waiting for us. They grabbed me from my parents’ arms and whisked me away. Without a word of good-bye or explanation, we were separated. I was all alone, and I thought I was going to die.
Following the painful diagnostic procedures, including a spinal tap, they took me to a hospital isolation room, where I would stay by myself with the hope that I would not infect anyone else, for indeed I did have polio.
I remember how very frightened I was. It was dark, and I was so sick and so alone. But my parents had taught me to pray. I got on my knees, and I knelt beside the railing in the criblike bed and asked Heavenly Father to bless me. I was crying, I remember. Heavenly Father heard my prayer and sent His comforting power, which enveloped me in quiet love. I felt the power of the Holy Ghost, and I was not alone.
You too are loved by the Lord. You are loved more than you will ever know. He wants you to be successful in your life’s mission! You don’t have to face the experiences of this life alone, nor have you been sent here to fail.

But the Kirtland story doesn’t end with these marvelous manifestations. A year after the temple’s dedication, the community was fraying. An international economic crisis led to massive unemployment in the United States. Banks failed across the country, including a small bank established by Church leaders in Kirtland to spur development of the community. Joseph Smith and other Church leaders desperately tried to save the economy of the community. But the tide of the global economic crisis was too much. People began to lose jobs and homes. Many began to murmur against God and the Church. Why had the Lord allowed His people to fail economically? Some began to whisper and then proclaim that Joseph was a fallen prophet.
At one meeting in the summer of 1837 in the Kirtland Temple, Joseph Smith Sr., the Church patriarch, spoke in his son’s absence. As he spoke, a dissenter tried to pull him from the pulpit. When William Smith defended his father, a fellow Apostle threatened to kill William with a sword. Other men with knives and pistols surrounded William. The temple, which had been a place of sacredness and spirituality a year earlier, was now a place of violence, dissension, and chaos.
When Joseph Smith returned to Kirtland, most Church members sustained him as the prophet, but three Apostles were removed from the Quorum of the Twelve. Economic problems had turned into spiritual problems. Within a few more months, the Lord told Joseph to leave Kirtland for the safety of his family and for the sake of his own life.

I would like to tell you of another who lived the Golden Rule. Many already know part of this story. It occurred a few years ago in the winter at O’Hare International Airport, that great and busy place that serves the city of Chicago. On this occasion a severe storm had caused delays and cancellations of flights. The thousands of people stranded or delayed there were impatient and cross and irritable. Among those in trouble was a woman, a young mother standing in a long line at the check-in counter. She had a two-year-old child who was on the dirty floor at her feet. She was pregnant with another child. She was sick and weary to the bone. Her doctor had warned her against bending and picking up anything heavy, so as she moved slowly with the line she pushed her crying and hungry child with her foot. People who saw her made critical remarks, but none offered to help.
Then a man came toward her and with a smile of kindness on his face said, “You need help. Let me help you.” He lifted the dirty, crying child from the floor and held her warmly in his arms. Taking a stick of gum from his pocket, he gave it to the child. Its sweet taste calmed her. He explained to those in the line the woman’s need of help, then took her to the head of the line, spoke with the ticket agent, and soon had her checked in. He then found seats where she and her child could be comfortable, chatted for a moment, and disappeared into the crowd without giving his name. She went on her way to her home in Michigan.
Years later there came to the office of the President of the Church a letter which reads as follows:
“Dear President Kimball:
“I am a student at Brigham Young University. I have just returned from my mission in Munich, West Germany. I had a lovely mission and learned much. …
“I was sitting in priesthood meeting last week, when a story was told of a loving service which you performed some twenty-one years ago in the Chicago airport. The story told of how you met a young pregnant mother with a … screaming child, in … distress, waiting in a long line for her tickets. She was threatening miscarriage and therefore couldn’t lift her child to comfort her. She had experienced four previous miscarriages, which gave added reason for the doctor’s orders not to bend or lift.
“You comforted the crying child and explained the dilemma to the other passengers in line. This act of love took the strain and tension off my mother. I was born a few months later in Flint, Michigan.
“I just want to thank you for your love. Thank you for your example!”
The world truly would be a different place if each of us frequently and seriously considered our Lord’s request: “Whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them” (Matt. 7:12).

As a young man just nineteen years old, Joseph F. Smith was traveling from California to Utah with a small group of Latter-day Saints. As they set up camp one evening, a group of drunken men rode into their camp on horseback. The men had guns, and they threatened to kill any Mormons who came across their path. Some of the Saints hid in the bushes by the creek. Joseph F. Smith, who had been gathering wood, boldly approached the fire. One of the drunken men, pointing his pistol at Joseph, said that it was his duty to kill every Mormon he met. He then demanded, “Are you a ‘Mormon’?”

Without a pause, Joseph F. Smith looked the ruffian in the eye and answered, “Yes, siree; dyed in the wool; true blue, through and through.” The angry man was so surprised by Joseph’s honest answer that he grabbed Joseph’s hand and said, “Well, you are the … pleasantest man I ever met! Shake, young fellow. I am glad to see a man that stands up for his convictions.” The drunken men then rode off and did not bother the Saints again. (Life of Joseph F. Smith, Joseph Fielding Smith, pages 188–189.)

For Anabel R., 18, the toughest challenges have come from teachers and peers at school. She says, “I was the only member of the Church in my class. I had a teacher who would teach something about religion, and then say, ‘Let’s ask Anabel what she thinks about this,’ trying to make me look bad in front of my friends. And whenever I would say something, she would say, ‘You’re just getting confused.’ Once when the teacher tried to make me look bad in front of the other kids, they laughed at me.

“Later, when my classmates saw me out with the missionaries in the street, dressed like them, they said, ‘Here comes the Saint. She believes in Mormon; she’s the Mormon.’ Many times they would do things to offend me.”

Anabel found it hard to be so mistreated by her classmates. But she also found that as she responded with forgiveness—the way the Lord taught—she found peace.

“The Lord commanded us, ‘of you it is required to forgive all men’” (Doctrine and Covenants 64:10.) “He wants us to love others. He taught me not to be angry at them for treating me that way.

“The truth is, many times we hold onto resentment in our hearts. But I’ve realized that when we decide not to forgive someone, we are not happy. The Savior Jesus Christ suffered many things and even as the Son of God said to forgive them because they don’t know what they do. Truthfully, I don’t resent them because they really don’t know what they are doing, just like the Savior said. And as I’ve turned to Heavenly Father in prayer, He answers. He is listening.”

I am grateful for the 2025 Area Priorities introduced by the Philippines Area Presidency. The emphasis on ministering under the first priority “Come Unto Christ” reminds me of a letter I received from a bishop a while back.
“One Sunday, a poor mother of eight children came to see me at my office. She was nine months pregnant with her ninth child. She was worried that her husband did not have the money to pay for the delivery of her baby. He worked as a security guard with a meager salary. So, she came to me, her bishop, to ask help.
“I brought the matter to my stake president to ask for his counsel. To my surprise, the stake president told me not to help her because pregnancy takes nine months so the couple should have prepared for it. Perhaps you remember how this policy was effective back then. But the pregnant DATELINE PHILIPPINES The True Essence of Ministering wife obviously did not have the mentality and training to prepare so she came to me to ask for help.
“Again, I asked the stake president if we could extend food assistance. He said no because “the church has extended food to that family multiple times already and yet the father remained less active because of an offense he could not forgive.” I then responded, “what about the pregnant wife and the children who are actively participating in church? We shouldn’t let them suffer, should we?” He responded back, “Let the sufferings of the family be a curse to the father who is unfaithful.” This counsel left me deeply troubled. I could not understand then why I left that conversation feeling so hurt and bothered.
“The poor mother delivered the baby, but my hands were tied. I could not help with the hospital bill. I did not have the authority, and the stake president told me he will not support any request for financial assistance. The father took out two months’ salary in advance from his company to pay for the bill. This left the family without food to eat.
“I decided to convene the ward council to discuss the matter. I decided to provide the family with food. Using up the amount I could disburse in my capacity as a bishop, I asked the Elders Quorum President to buy 50 kilos of rice and asked the Relief Society President to buy groceries including the needs of the baby and the mother. I then asked the council what time the husband usually gets home from work. They said, 8:30 pm. So, I went to visit the family at 9:00 pm.
“The house was small, dark, and in the middle of a field. There was no electricity. But, to my surprise, the Elders Quorum and Relief Society Presidents with their counselors were there ahead of me. They introduced me to the father. He could not believe that a young bishop like me could be called and that I came that night to his house.
“I peeked through the window and saw the children lying side by side on the floor, sleeping and cramped. In one corner was the mother with the newborn baby lying on the floor.
“The father told me he is so embarrassed to receive food from the Church because he’s been less active for a long time. But his family needed it, and he was grateful. I told him we did not come to buy his church activity. I did not know him, so why should I even care. But I said to him, “someone knows you. He knows your family’s needs. He is your Father in Heaven. He sent us here to let you know He cares and loves you.
“The father cried. He sobbed like a little child in front of us. We were all touched by his emotion.
“I then told him that on Sunday, he should not come to church. Not even next week or next month. I warned him that I cannot control people’s remarks and perceptions. Perhaps he may hear someone say he showed up only because he received help from the Church, and it may hurt his feelings. But if he’s interested in coming regardless of what people might say, especially if he recognizes the spirit inviting him, he’s welcome to come to church anytime.
“I looked for him on Sunday, but he didn’t show up. Neither did he show up in the few weeks that followed. Two months later, as I was conducting the sacrament meeting, I saw someone walking up to the sacrament hall. It was the father, sneakily entering and sitting down in the last row. But he was surprised and later became very emotional to hear the stake president announce my release as a bishop. He said he dreamed several times of serving with me in any capacity in the ward. But he agreed to do it with his new bishop.
“Six months later my previous counselor informed me that the brother is the most diligent home teacher the ward has ever had. “This experience taught me a great deal about ministering. I thought I’d share this with you. But I wonder how many bishops today have received the same counsel from their leaders, followed it, and had the charity in their hearts extinguished in the process. I hope there is none. If there is one, I hope he repents and recovers.”