Gospel Story Finder

In 1994, a year before the proclamation was presented, the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles discussed how society and governments were pulling away from God’s laws for family, marriage, and gender. “But that was not the end of what we saw,” President Russell M. Nelson later explained. “We could see the efforts of various communities to do away with all standards and limitations on sexual activity. We saw the confusion of genders. We could see it all coming.”
The Twelve determined to prepare a document, an official proclamation, summarizing the Church’s position on family. During that year, these Apostles, seers called of God, prepared a declaration about the family. President Dallin H. Oaks recalled they prayerfully turned to the Lord for “what [they] should say and how [they] should say it.” They presented it to the First Presidency—Presidents Howard W. Hunter, Gordon B. Hinckley, and Thomas S. Monson—for their consideration.
Just months later, in March 1995, President Hunter passed away, and President Hinckley became the 15th President of the Church. The proclamation was now in his hands. When would be the right time to make this declaration to the Church? That time came six months later.
Days before the September 23 general Relief Society meeting that preceded general conference, President Hinckley and his counselors met in counsel with the Relief Society General Presidency. The sisters, like the Apostles, had been weighing concerns about women and families. They had focused the upcoming meeting on families.
President Hinckley was scheduled to address the women at the gathering. He had been pondering the direction of his remarks. As the discussion progressed, he referred by name to the newly created but not yet public “The Family: A Proclamation to the World.” Was this women’s meeting the right setting to make the decisive declaration about family?
Relief Society General President Elaine Jack later explained: “We didn’t know what the proclamation on the family was at that time. … [W]e could tell by the title, but we felt anything on the family … would be a positive thing. … I felt very positive that we had members of the Quorum of the Twelve that were receiving revelation.”
The Relief Society meeting that Saturday was historic. President Hinckley introduced the family proclamation with these important words: “With so much of sophistry that is passed off as truth, with so much of deception concerning standards and values, with so much of allurement and enticement to take on the slow stain of the world, we have felt to warn and forewarn … of standards, doctrines, and practices relative to the family which the prophets, seers, and revelators of this church have repeatedly stated throughout its history.”
He then read the proclamation in its entirety. As the Lord has said, “Whether by mine own voice or by the voice of my servants, it is the same.”

Priscilla Sampson-Davis first met the missionaries in 1964 while living in Holland. Her husband rejected them, but Sister Sampson-Davis was interested and read the Book of Mormon. When the family returned to Ghana, she found Brother Johnson’s group studying the doctrines of the Church and became an active participant. Fourteen years later, she and her children were among the first to be baptized when the missionaries arrived in Ghana.

One Sunday after joining the Church, Sister Sampson-Davis saw a vision. It was as if she were at sacrament meeting. A person in white apparel stood in front of the stand, beckoning to her. “I came and stood by him. He asked me to turn around and look at the faces of the people to see if they were all enjoying the service. I saw that some of them had bowed their heads. He asked me why some of those people were not joining in the singing. I said, ‘Because they didn’t go to school and they can’t read English. They can’t sing, and that is the reason they bow their heads.’

“Then he said, ‘Wouldn’t you like to help your sisters and brothers who can’t read and who can’t join you in singing praises to Heavenly Father?’”

Even though she couldn’t write the language well, she replied, “I will try.”

The vision ended, and she immediately translated “Redeemer of Israel” into her native language. Sister Sampson-Davis went on to translate the Book of Mormon, the Doctrine and Covenants, the Pearl of Great Price, Gospel Principles, and various other Church materials. (These items are still in preparation.) In seeking approval to translate the Book of Mormon, Priscilla says:

“I discussed the translation with the mission president, and he asked me to continue. …

“I felt good as I translated the Book of Mormon. I knew the Lord wanted me to do it, because at times when I would use a certain word or a phrase, suddenly, as if somebody was standing behind me, I would hear, ‘No, use this word,’ or ‘No, not that word.’ I always had an eraser with me, because the Spirit was always teaching me.”

Hung Hseng Chr sat on the grass by the edge of the river and watched the water lapping on the rocks. The sun felt hot against his skin, and the air was thick and humid. A tear ran down his cheek, and he brushed it quickly away with the back of his hand.
Hseng Chr’s ancestors had lived in Taiwan for many years. He was proud of his people, for they had once been great warriors, and he wanted to be strong and brave, as they had been.
But it was hard to be brave when his sister, Hung Mei Lin, was so sick. She was in the hospital in Tai Tung, and the doctors didn’t know what was wrong with her except that she had a terrible fever. They had said that there was nothing more that they could do. The last time Hseng Chr had seen her, she had looked as still and frail as a bundle of old rice straw.
“Hello,” said a voice.
Hseng Chr looked up and saw the dark eyes and smiling face of Aunt Hung. She was his father’s sister, and she had recently joined a new church. Hseng Chr remembered that she had been taught by two young men who were called Mormon missionaries. Since that time, his aunt hadn’t visited them so often; every time she did, she and his father got into an argument about religion.
“Hello,” Hseng Chr answered her now in a listless voice.
His aunt sat on the grass beside him and gave him a big hug. He suddenly felt better, as he always did when she came to visit. “I was thinking about Mei Lin,” he said.
“Yes,” she said. “So was I.”
“I don’t want her to die.”
His aunt gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “I’m going to ask your father to let my friends give Mei Lin a blessing.”
Hseng Chr stared at his aunt in surprise. “A blessing?” he asked. “What is a blessing?”
“Well,” said his aunt slowly, as if she was trying to explain something very difficult. “A blessing is a special prayer given by men who hold the priesthood.”
Hseng Chr was even more confused. “What is the priesthood?”
“It is the power and authority to act in the name of God. These men—these friends of mine—will pray for Mei Lin, and if God wants her to live and if we believe that God can save her, she will live.”
A strange feeling came over the boy. It was as though something frightened him and exhilarated him at the same time. He knew that he wanted Mei Lin to have a priesthood blessing so that she would get well.
He waited on the grass as Aunt Hung walked toward the house. He watched as she opened the door and called Father’s name. He saw the stern face and stooped shoulders of his father as the door swung open, but he was too far away to hear the words that his aunt spoke. Father shook his head and turned away.
Aunt Hung talked some more, her hand on Father’s arm, her face turned up to his. Father shrugged his shoulders and went back inside the house. Aunt Hung came partway back and waved for Hseng Chr to follow. “He gave his permission,” she called. “Let’s hurry!”
A little while later he stood at his sister’s bedside while two young missionaries laid their hands on her head. As they spoke, a warm feeling came into his chest. When the blessing was over, he and his aunt walked home silently, the hot sun beating down upon their backs.
At suppertime Hseng Chr’s whole family went to visit Mei Lin, as they had at every suppertime for the past week. The boy had grown used to his stomach growling at him all the way to the hospital and back. He didn’t mind the hunger anymore, for lately when he ate, the food seemed to get stuck partway down.
Hseng Chr couldn’t keep from hurrying. The closer his family got to the hospital, the faster his feet moved. Finally he just couldn’t hold them back. He left Father and Mother behind with the younger children and ran the last block by himself. He dashed up the steps and into the hospital. He ran down the hallway and burst into Mei Lin’s room. He stopped. The bed was empty.
He stood for a long moment and stared, not believing his eyes: Mei Lin was sitting in a chair beside her bed, looking at pictures in a book. Her dark eyes were clear, her skin was back to its normal healthy color, and her arms no longer hung limply at her sides. Suddenly he realized that Aunt Hung had been right. There really was such a thing as power from God. He would see his aunt again soon and ask her to explain more about the priesthood.
Mei Lin looked up at him and smiled. Hseng Chr ran forward, his hands reaching for hers.

To make matters worse, in July 1866, a serious cholera epidemic reached England from the continent of Europe. London was hardest hit. Fifty-six hundred people died there in a matter of days.
The sight of hundreds of abandoned children roaming the streets, their parents having been victims of the epidemic, helped Thomas John Barnardo decide to establish homes for children who had no one to care for them and no place to live.

Two young men dressed in white shirts and ties came to our home in Honduras. “We are from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints,” they said.
Mama welcomed them in. The missionaries taught our family about the gospel of Jesus Christ. Though I was only nine, I felt the truth of their words in my heart.
“What must we do to become members of Christ’s Church?” Papa asked.
“Be baptized,” one of the elders said.
Mama, Papa, and I were baptized one month later. My brother, Tomas, who was six years old, would be baptized in two years.
While teaching us more about the gospel, the elders explained how families could be sealed together in the temple.
The closest temple was in Guatemala, many kilometers away. We would need to pay for a two-day bus ride and two nights’ lodging in the city. We had no money for such a trip, but Mama and Papa refused to let that stop us from attending the temple.
Every year our family grew corn. We used it to make tortillas to sell to travelers who passed through our village.
Mama pulled out a paper and pencil. She added up some numbers and said, “We must sell 2,500 tortillas to pay for our trip.”
My eyes widened. That was so many tortillas! “We have never sold so many tortillas,” I said.
Mama didn’t look worried. “The Lord will provide,” she said. “Raoul, you and Tomas must help your papa harvest the corn,” Mama told me.
Tomas and I helped Papa harvest the corn. Every day, Mama ground it, made the dough, and fried it. Tomas and I took the tortillas to the village.
“A bus of tourists came today,” I told Mama when we returned home the first day. “We sold many tortillas.”
“It is a miracle,” Mama said.
Every day we sold more tortillas. Within a few months we had saved the money we needed to make the journey to Guatemala. But I was still worried. I had heard stories about robbers who stopped buses passing through the jungle. They took all the passengers’ valuables.
“What about the robbers?” I asked.
“The Lord will protect us,” Mama said. Then she asked, “Raoul, do you believe in the gospel?”
“Yes.”
“Then you know that we must do all in our power to follow the Lord and His prophets.”
One year after we were baptized, my family was ready to make the trip to the temple. We rode to Guatemala City in a bus. I will never forget the spirit I felt as my family was sealed together for time and eternity.
That night, as I knelt to say my prayers, I thanked Heavenly Father for the blessings of the temple.

I witnessed a simple example of this kind of prayer when Elder Dallin H. Oaks of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles and I were assigned to conduct a videoconference interview of a couple in another country. Shortly before going into the studio, I reviewed once again the information we had collected about the couple and felt I was prepared for the interview. A few minutes before the appointed time, I saw Elder Oaks sitting alone with head bowed. In a moment he raised his head and said, “I was just finishing my prayer in preparation for this interview. We will need the gift of discernment.” He had not neglected the most important preparation, a prayer to consecrate our performance for our good and the Lord’s glory.

“Please, somebody, open the door,” Jeff called.
Mother placed a casserole in the microwave, turned on the timer, then hurried to the back door and opened it. “You’re late,” she said.
Jeff came into the kitchen and set down a big brass horn.
Father turned from rinsing salad greens in the sink. “What,” he asked, “is that?”
“It’s a sousaphone,” Jeff said proudly.
“What’s a sousaphone?” His little brother, Ben, looked up from setting the table. “Wow!” he said, staring at the enormous horn.
“It’s like a tuba, only its bell is turned so that you can carry it in the marching band.” Jeff wriggled into the center of the circular tubing and let the horn with its flaring brass bell rest on his left shoulder. “Like this, see?”
“I see,” his mother said. “But what about your trumpet? I thought that you were going to play trumpet in the school orchestra again this year.”
“What I really want to do is play in the marching band,” Jeff explained. “But they have too many trumpets already. So Mr. Gunderson said that he could teach me to play the sousaphone. He’s been looking for someone to play it.”
“And he found you,” Father said, putting the salad greens to drain. “Isn’t that a lot of horn for a boy?”
Jeff drew himself up straight and shifted the sousaphone carefully. “Mr. Gunderson says that I have good posture and the best breath control in the brass section. That’s what’s important.”
“Blow on it!” Ben shouted, dancing around Jeff and the big horn. “Blow on it!”
Jeff put the large mouthpiece to his lips and blew—baroomph! braphoom!
“I’ll need to practice,” Jeff said quickly. “Mr. Gunderson is going to give me lessons every week.”
The microwave pinged, and Mother took out the casserole. Father tossed the salad while Jeff washed up for dinner.
Afterward, while Ben and Father watched TV, Jeff helped Mother with the dishes. “Do you really want to play the sousaphone?” she asked.
“Oh yes!”
“You realize that you’ll need to practice a lot, just as you had to when you learned to play the trumpet?”
“I know. Mr. Gunderson thinks that I should be good enough to march with the band in the Thanksgiving Day parade.”
“In just three months?”
“They’ll be simple pieces, Mom. Mr. Gunderson is going to make some of the sousaphone parts simpler this year. And by next year …”
“This means a lot to you, doesn’t it, Jeff?”
“Oh yes, Mom!”
Mother put her hand on his shoulder and smiled, “Well, then, you work hard at it, Jeff.”
And Jeff did. Mr. Gunderson gave him a private lesson once a week, and he practiced at least half an hour every day. He learned to hold the big mouthpiece correctly against his lips to get a proper tone. He was careful not to puff his cheeks out too much when he blew into the instrument. It didn’t take as much breath as he had thought it would, only about as much as when he blew up a balloon.
“Why do they call it a sousaphone?” Ben asked. He was sitting cross-legged on the floor in the family room while Jeff practiced.
“It’s named after John Philip Sousa. He was a famous bandleader and composer. They call him the ‘March King.’ He’s the one who wrote ‘Stars and Stripes Forever.’”
“Oh, I love ‘Stars and Stripes Forever.’ Can you play that?”
“Not yet.” Jeff took a deep breath and went back to his practicing.
“Jeff wants to play the sousaphone in the worst way,” Father joked to Mother, coming in from the garden. “And that’s the way it sounds.”
“Now, John,” Mother said, “remember those first weeks with the trumpet?”
“I remember,” Father said. “And I’m sure that he’ll soon be as good on the sousaphone as he became on the trumpet.”
Jeff polished the sousaphone carefully with cheesecloth, making the coiled tubing and the flaring bell shine. It’s the most beautiful instrument I’ve ever seen, he thought.
By the end of October he had learned how to press the valves just right. He had learned how to move his lips and control his breathing for a steady supply of air.
“You’ve made real progress, Jeff,” Mr. Gunderson told him.
“You’re beginning to sound a lot better,” his father said.
“I’m proud of you,” Mother said and smiled.
“Will you be in the Thanksgiving Day parade?” Ben asked.
“I sure hope so!” Jeff replied.
The band began to practice for the parade the first week in November. It wasn’t hard to do the marching part, but making the square turns with the big instrument on his shoulder was a bit tricky to learn. Jeff didn’t have to play anything really difficult—just some deep, satisfying bass notes to mark the beat of the tunes.
At last it was Thanksgiving Day. Jeff’s family drove him to where the parade was to begin. His mother kissed him. Father clapped him on the shoulder, and said, “Good luck, Son.” Ben yelled, “I’ll wave to you, Jeff!”
The band marched along Main Street, sounding loud and clear. Soon they reached the reviewing stand, where the mayor and other officials watched. Jeff carried himself proudly in his red and blue uniform with its white trim and with the big sousaphone resting on his shoulder.
“Hey, Jeff! Jeff!” Ben was jumping up and down and waving. “That’s my brother!” he told everyone.
“Way to go, Son!” Father called.
Mother smiled and waved.
Jeff tilted the bell of his sousaphone toward them ever so slightly and made a little bow. Then he marched on, blowing strong, true tones: Oompah! Oompah!

A few months ago, most of the youth in Salt Lake City’s Big Cottonwood Stake had never even heard of Urubamba, Peru. Now they’ll tell you it’s home to nearly 1,000 of their closest friends.
How did this unlikely friendship start? With one returned missionary named Van Evans. Brother Evans served his mission in Peru and now serves as a volunteer in an organization called the Humanitarian Foundation of the Andes. He told some of the youth and their leaders about the kinds of items that were needed in towns throughout the Andes. These items included basics like clothing, hygiene supplies, and building materials. After careful consideration, the youth decided to make Urubamba a part of their youth conference.
The original goal was to supply good Sunday clothes for each member of the LDS branch in Urubamba. Brekke Platt, a Laurel who served on the youth council, explained, “We didn’t want people to feel they couldn’t go to church because they didn’t have Sunday clothes.”
The young men and young women asked for donations from stake members. The results were overwhelming: more than 90 men’s suits were donated, as well as countless women’s dresses and children’s Sunday clothes.
By now the youth were getting excited about how great it felt to get things together for people who they knew would be thrilled to receive it, so they extended the scope of the project. They learned that hygiene supplies were desperately needed, so they got to work.
As part of their youth conference activity, the youth used donations from their stake to put together packets containing basic supplies like soap and toothpaste. Included in each packet was a written testimony and an expression of love.
Two young men jumped at the chance to complete their Eagle Scout requirements through service. The foundation was planning a trip to the Andes so it could build a medical post in Urubamba, but lots of preparatory work needed to be done at home first.
Scout John Tateoka gathered friends and family and coordinated a project of painting window frames, siding, and doors for the medical post. His fellow Scout, Adam Watts, contacted several construction suppliers for possible donations. In a short time, the necessary donations and work were complete, and supplies were shipped to Peru.
But the service didn’t stop there. The young people’s enthusiasm for the people in Urubamba was contagious, and soon donations of eyeglasses, sewing machines, seeds, and maternity supplies were pouring in.
So why is it that the people of this stake, who started out with a fairly small goal of providing some Sunday clothes, reached out so generously to people they had never even met?
According to Gary Brimley, a teacher in the Aaronic Priesthood, the answer is simple. “We’re all members of one church,” he says. “We care for everyone and work together as one unit.”

As soon as the constable took Joseph Smith away, Joseph Knight, Sr., went out and hired two men, a Mr. James Davidson and a Mr. John S. Reid, who were “respectable farmers who were well versed in the laws of their country,” to help Joseph during his trial before Justice Joseph P. Chamberlain.
Newel wrote in his journal:
“On the following day a court was convened for the purpose of investigating the charges which had been made against Joseph Smith, Jun. On account of the many scandalous reports which had been put in circulation, a great excitement prevailed. …
“The trial commenced among a crowded multitude of spectators, who generally seemed to believe Joseph guilty of all that had been alleged against him, and, of course, were zealous to see him punished for his crimes.”
Many witnesses were called up against Joseph Smith, including Josiah Stowell, for whom he had worked, and Mr. Stowell’s daughters, whom Joseph had known socially. Despite many attempts to elicit something from them which could be held against Joseph, all of the witnesses reported that Joseph Smith had dealt with them fairly and kindly.
Joseph Smith was acquitted by the Chenango County court of all charges, and at the very moment he was released, officials from the neighboring Broome County presented another warrant for his arrest.

I’ve been a loyal reader of the New Era for some time and have always intended to write and say thanks and to send subscriptions to friends who are starved for such delicious spiritual food. However, the procrastination bug seemed to prevent me. Now I have even more to be thankful for. I finally sent a subscription to my dearest friend. I was really apprehensive about sending it to her because I didn’t know what she would think. Being almost 10,000 miles away from someone makes it a bit hard. But after waiting anxiously, I received a letter that said this: “I received the May issue of the New Era, and I read the whole thing in about two hours. I love it! It’s so down to earth, personal, and real. You’ve really shed some light on my life through that magazine. I’m eagerly looking forward to the next issues.”
Can you imagine my excitement to read that from a daughter of God who probably doesn’t even realize who she is? This magazine has helped shed light and love on my life in many ways.
Kathleen PaynterSpeers Point, New South Wales Australia

A true story from the USA.
Alex stomped down the stairs and let out a loud sigh.
Mom looked up from her book. “What’s wrong?”
“Nobody will share with me!” Alex said. “I hate being a middle kid.” Alex’s brothers always got what they wanted. It just wasn’t fair.
“I’m sure if you asked nicely, your brothers would share with you,” Mom said.
Alex frowned. “I did ask nicely!”
“How about you try setting a timer? That way each of you gets the same amount of time to play.”
“I did set a timer!” Alex said. “But maybe I’ll set two timers to be extra sure.” He grabbed the extra timer from the kitchen counter and marched up the stairs. His younger brother, David, was playing a game on the TV.
“Mom says you have to share,” Alex said. He set the timer for five minutes. “When this goes off, it’s my turn.”
The next day, when Alex and his older brother, Jake, both wanted to play a game, they set a timer for exactly 30 minutes each. When David and Jake were both playing with blocks, they counted out exactly the same number for each person. And when David and Alex both wanted the last chocolate chip cookie, they carefully split it exactly in half. Things were finally starting to feel fair.
But then came dinner …
That night, they were having spaghetti and meatballs! Jake started piling pasta on his plate before Alex could even grab the spoon.
“Hey, no fair,” Alex said. “I’m hungry too!”
Dad put a hand on his shoulder. “Alex, there’s plenty of food for everyone. Look, I’ll get you the same amount that Jake has.” Dad put some pasta on Alex’s plate.
After they blessed the food, everyone started eating. When Alex had finished his food, he was still hungry. He peeked into the pot in the middle of the table. There was one last meatball on top of the pile of pasta. He spooned it onto his plate.
“No fair!” David said. “That’s the last one.”
Jake pointed at the meatball with his fork. “I want some too. Let’s split it.”
“Split it?” Alex said. “For three of us? But it’s so small.”
Jake and David nodded. “It would be fair.”
Jake took Alex’s plate and began carefully dividing the meatball into three parts. Alex watched as the meatball got smaller and smaller.
Mom laughed. “Those are pretty small pieces!”
Dad laughed too. “It doesn’t always have to be exactly fair,” he said. “Maybe we could try to be better at sharing our things instead of splitting everything up.”
Alex looked down at the small pieces of meatball. It was a little silly. Did he actually care that much about a meatball? Maybe he did need to learn to share more.
The next day, when Jake and Alex both wanted to play with blocks, they decided to build something together. When David and Jake were outside, Alex let them take turns riding his bike. And when everyone wanted to play a game on the TV, Alex didn’t set any timers. Sharing and being kind actually felt better than being perfectly fair.
That night, when Jake and Alex both wanted the last roll at dinner, Alex told Jake he could have the whole thing.
“Thanks!” Jake winked. “Are you sure you don’t want to split it in three?”
David and Alex laughed. “Definitely not!”

Another bishop, who had been counseled that bishops need to allow other ward leaders to step up and do their duty, relates this experience: “A widow in our ward wanted to be visited by the bishop at least once a week. In her mind, only a visit from the bishop would do. I tried to see her as often as possible, but I had many responsibilities, including a young family. Finally, with one of my counselors, I went to see her again.
“As we talked, I felt prompted to say, ‘Dear sister, you know that as your bishop I love you. And because I love you so much, I have asked two of our faithful Melchizedek Priesthood holders and two of our wonderful Relief Society sisters to each check on you at least once a month, more often if needed. They will report back if you have any needs or concerns. Would that be all right?’ ‘Oh yes, bishop,’ she said. I asked if she would like to know their names, and she said yes. When I told her, she said, ‘Those are my home teachers and visiting teachers!’ And I said, ‘Now you understand the way the Lord has established for us to watch over you.’”

On April 29, 2019, my father-in-law, who was 95 years old, was baptized. It was truly a miracle for his children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. We had waited for his baptism for a long time. What a gift for our family!
What changed him? Why did he commit to be baptized?
A few months before his baptism, he had a stroke and was hospitalized. My wife, Tazuko, returned home to see him. He was very pleased to see her. He had been afraid that he wouldn’t see her before he died. He started to tell her many things that he was worried about. He was thinking about his funeral.
But Tazuko told him, “Father, if you trust in God and leave everything to Him, your mind will be at ease and you will feel peace.” She explained about Heavenly Father’s plan of happiness and what the Savior Jesus Christ has done for us. They talked about the spirit world, where my father-in-law’s wife, his oldest son, and his parents already are. “The next world will be amazing,” she said.
She also told him that it is better to be able to go there without sin. She said that thanks to the Atonement of Jesus Christ and thanks to baptism, he could be spotless before God. He thought a little and said, “I want to be baptized.”
Then he said, “It has been wonderful to see your children establish their own faith and continue to go to church, keep the commandments, and rely on God. I am so impressed with them.” And softly and with emotion, he said, “Family is really important! It is wonderful that our family can be one.”
After he joined the Church, I asked my father-in-law why he finally committed to be baptized. He replied without any hesitation, “I chose the right.”

Let’s face it, girls (and boys), it’s nice to know that someone loves you. And when you’re married, you have chances to share and receive love every day! When I was talking to my parents about the possibility of marrying Ben, my dad said, “Whomever you choose to marry, I want him to frequently and sincerely express his love for you like Elder Richard G. Scott did for his wife.”3 I listened to Dad.
I decided to marry Ben, and he has always made an effort to express his love to me in small and big ways. During my senior year of college, I worked for months to prepare, apply, and interview for a prestigious internship. And when I finally heard that I got the job, I came home and saw a vase full of flowers from my husband. He knew how hard I had worked and how much the internship meant to me. At other times, he’ll hide my favorite drink and a love note in the fridge before he heads out for a weekend Scout camp. And every day, he’ll do the dishes and make me laugh. Ben is great at expressing his love for me, and that brings both of us great joy.

The living room lights were making patterns on the front lawn when I pulled in the driveway. I gathered my books and practice uniform and staggered toward the door, hoping I would find my family about to say the closing prayer for family home evening. Instead the strains of a Primary song greeted me. Home evening was just getting started.
I dropped my armload on the kitchen table and tried to ignore the number of books I’d brought home. Of all nights to have so much homework. Of all nights for Carrie Willard to ask for a ride home and then insist we stop to look at the sweater in the window of Robertson’s Department Store. We’d probably still be there if Paula hadn’t finally said, “Hey, it’s Monday night. Don’t you guys have family home evening or something?”
I hope she caught the grateful look I threw her. Paula, the only nonmember in the group, knows the conditions of the pact I signed with my dad after getting my driver’s license. It states that I agree to drive carefully, treat the car with respect, keep it clean, keep the tank filled, and attend to my family and Church responsibilities. Specifically, that means keep my room clean, do my assigned household chores, and attend Church meetings, seminary, and family home evening.
All this for the privilege of driving the old clunker so I don’t have to beg rides wherever I need to go. I am allowed infractions, but only rarely, or I lose my driving privileges.
“Kathy,” Dad called, “we’re waiting for you.”
I dropped into the nearest chair. “Sorry,” I said. “Practice ran awfully late tonight and I’ve got a ton of homework.”
Dad just smiled and stood up to begin the lesson. “A thought came to me today. It just wouldn’t go away, so I decided it must be inspiration and that I would go with it for tonight’s lesson.”
I swallowed a groan. My sister Gayle rolled her eyes heavenward. Dad’s inspirations usually meant we were in for something unexpected.
“On the way to work this morning,” Dad continued, “I heard a radio program about first aid. It seems too few people know what to do in an emergency.” He paused for effect.
“It just so happens there’s a section on first aid in the Family Home Evening Resource Book. Now who knows what to do in the case of shock?”
For the next half hour we acted out various scenarios. Dad treated Darrell for shock as the result of a traffic accident. My little sister Linda cut her arm on a broken bottle and Mom controlled the bleeding. Then Darrell saved Dad from drowning in the ocean between the bookcase and the couch and revived him. Gayle and I went out to dinner where we each managed to save the other from choking by using the Heimlich maneuver.
It was all rather silly and fun, and as usual we learned something. When we’d finished, Dad announced he’d signed us all up for a CPR class the first Saturday of next month. Gayle and I sighed. One more thing to fit into our busy schedules.
We had strawberry shortcake for refreshments. I took mine to my room to eat while I studied. Mom came in later and found me with my nose resting in the margin of my vocabulary book. I’d finished my math problems and written an essay, and I knew most of my vocabulary words. I’d have to study biology in the morning while I curled my hair.
My hair refused to cooperate in the morning and it got more attention than my biology, but I still had the noon hour. I gathered at a corner table with the usual lunch group and tried to memorize all the bones in the body while everyone else criticized the food and exchanged lunches. I was barely listening to the conversation, so I missed whatever it was Kenny Jamison said that made everyone else shout with laughter, especially Paula. I’ve noticed lately that Paula pays particular attention to anything Kenny says.
Suddenly, through the lunch room sounds, I heard something else—a sound so soft that I shouldn’t have been able to hear it above the noise and laughter, but I did. I glanced up to see Paula with her hand at her throat. There was perspiration on her forehead and she seemed to be turning a bluish color, just as Gayle had pretended to last night. Except this was for real.
Almost without thinking I jumped up and pulled Paula to her feet. I circled my arms around her from behind and tried to find the place to fit my fist. It had all seemed so easy last night with Gayle. But Gayle had been laughing all the while, not actually choking.
I pulled my fist back with my other hand in four sharp thrusts. Nothing. All the noise and laughter at our table stopped, but around us it continued. I closed my eyes and prayed, “Please, Heavenly Father, help me.”
I pulled again, four quick movements a little harder than the last. A bite of Paula’s peanut butter sandwich flew from her mouth like the cork from a bottle, just as the resource book had said it would. I felt her lungs fill with air. Then I began to cry.
Pandemonium broke out at our table. As soon as Paula had enough air to breath she was crying too. Several students patted me on the back. Someone had called the principal and the school nurse, and they took Paula off to the nurse’s office. The bell rang, but I didn’t follow everyone back to class. I dropped my head down on the table and tried to stop crying.
“Aw c’mon now, is that any way for someone who just aced a biology test to act?”
I lifted my head to see Mr. Spencer, my biology teacher, sit down next to me. He patted my hand and smiled. “It’s standing policy in all my classes. Anyone who can successfully demonstrate the Heimlich maneuver can skip their next test. Of course finding a volunteer for the victim is usually the hard part.”
I started to cry again.
He handed me a tissue. “Hey, hey, I’m only teasing. Mr. Williams said you could go home, Kathy. You’ve had enough excitement for the day. Do you need someone to drive you?”
I dabbed at my eyes and shook my head. “I’m okay. Thanks for letting me skip the test.”
The smile slipped from his face, leaving it serious. “Thank you, Kathy. You know you may have saved Paula’s life. How is it you were so quick on the Heimlich maneuver?”
“My Dad … last night … it was inspiration …” I was crying again.
“Go home, Kathy,” Mr. Spencer said. “Tell me about it some other time.”
I stopped by my locker and got the rest of my books. I thought about Dad and home evening as I walked home. And then I thought about Paula. She had moved to our school last year, and from the beginning we’d been good friends. We liked so many of the same things—volleyball, hot Mexican food, track. Neither one of us cared about being up on the very latest styles and fashions. Paula was comfortable just being who she wanted to be.
When she first moved, several of the kids tried to get her interested in the Church, but Paula politely informed them she had her own church. She and I kind of agreed not to talk about religion. She came to an occasional activity with me, and I went places with her family. Once just after I met Paula, Mom had challenged us in a home evening lesson to write our testimony in a Book of Mormon and give it away. The testimony I wrote was for Paula, but I had never given the book to her. That copy of the Book of Mormon still lay in a drawer I rarely opened. It seemed to accuse me every time I saw it. I wanted to give it to her, but I didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize our friendship. I loved Paula as much as a sister.
“Kathy!”
I’d been so intent in my thoughts I hadn’t seen my mother’s car pull up.
“Are you all right, honey? The school called and Paula’s mother called. I’m so proud of you.” She gave me a big hug and I started to cry again.
“Mom,” I said when my voice was under control. “Can we go over to Paula’s house later this evening? I didn’t get a chance to tell her that I learned the Heimlich maneuver in home evening last night. And besides, there’s something else I need to give her.”

Many years ago, some of my younger cousins were assigned to do a service project at our Grandpa Crozier Kimball’s farm. As a reward, they were promised Grandma Clara’s1 fabulous homemade cake.
When they had completed their tasks, they headed to the kitchen for their reward. Grandpa, however, blocked the kitchen door. My cousin Kathy Galloway, who was about 14 at the time, recalls that he sat down on a piano bench and invited the cousins to sit on the floor. He thanked them for their hard work and then said he had something important to share before they ate their cake.
“There will come a time in your lives when you will need to know and act on what I am about to share with you,” he said.
He explained that his grandfather Heber C. Kimball (1801–68) and other pioneer ancestors had faced arduous physical challenges. Grandpa said the pioneers quickly learned that to survive, they had to work together and love and serve each other.
“This is one of the great legacies they left to you!” he said as tears began to roll down his cheeks.
“In my calling as a patriarch and as your grandfather, when I look down the corridors of time, … my heart aches for you,” he said. “You will face emotional and spiritual challenges that most of your pioneer ancestors could never have imagined.”
Unless the younger generation honors the pioneers’ great legacy of love and service, he added, “many of you will fail because you will not be able to survive on your own.”
Then, with a spirit-to-spirit connection, Grandpa Kimball concluded: “We need each other. In addition to sharing our testimonies of the gospel with one another, our duty is to love and serve and strengthen and nourish and support and sustain each other, … especially in our family. Please remember that in the last days, your very survival may depend on your willingness to work together and to love and serve each other. Now, let us go eat cake!”

Back in the year 2000, Christina Jenkins’s family had a grand idea for family scripture study: why not read the whole Book of Mormon in a month?! The family, from Yorktown, Virginia, started the month before the school year started, and her dad calculated they would need to read at least 17 pages a day to meet their goal. To help them feel the true spirit of the Book of Mormon, the Jenkins family also decided not to watch television for that month.

“The events that occurred and the lessons we learned became so much clearer,” Christina says. “Reading the Book of Mormon personally and with my family each year has strengthened my testimony of the Book of Mormon and of the gospel of Jesus Christ.”

Christina’s family enjoyed their month-long reading of the Book of Mormon so much they have done it every year since.

The closer I came to Jesus Christ, the more I wanted to share what I was learning about Him! The Church was very small in Angola, and I couldn’t wait to help it grow by telling people what I knew. Even though my efforts to share the gospel didn’t always get the best reception, I continued to try. And eventually my desire to share the happiness, hope, and peace of the gospel grew even stronger.
I decided to serve a mission and share what was in my heart.
I was called to the Ghana Accra Mission, speaking English instead of my native Portuguese. I was so nervous about learning English! I couldn’t believe I was going to have to speak such an impossible language.
But during our first class in the MTC, my teacher wrote the words “Believe it” on the board—meaning believe that we can do all things with Christ (see Philippians 4:13).
I believed this, but I didn’t think it extended to my ability to learn a new language in just six weeks. I had no idea how I was supposed to do something that seemed so impossible!
After that first day of class, I knelt in prayer in my room. I told Heavenly Father that I would trust Him, and even though I wasn’t positive about my ability to learn English, I would act in faith as much as I could. I told Him I would choose to believe that with the Savior’s help I could do this.
And as the weeks went by, I slowly but surely felt myself learning this impossible language.
It was a miracle.
Since learning about Jesus Christ, I have always believed in Him. But believing in what He and Heavenly Father can help us accomplish is something different and something I had to work on. Without faith, miracles can look like mere coincidences. But as I chose to have faith in Christ and combined that with my efforts to learn, I felt Him magnifying my abilities and capacity.
President Russell M. Nelson has taught: “Miracles come according to your faith in the Lord. Central to that faith is trusting His will and timetable—how and when He will bless you with the miraculous help you desire. Only your unbelief will keep God from blessing you with miracles to move the mountains in your life.”
If I could share one thing from my story, it would be this: Believe it. Not just that you can learn a new language or leave your comfort zone to serve a mission or have the courage to do what you know is right even when nobody around you agrees.
Believe that Jesus Christ is our Savior and that when we trust Him, we can accomplish what seems impossible.

On May 30 of last year, my friend Troy Russell pulled his pickup truck slowly out of his garage on his way to donate goods to the local Deseret Industries. He felt his back tire roll over a bump. Thinking some item had fallen off the truck, he got out only to find his precious nine-year-old son, Austen, lying face down on the pavement. The screams, the priesthood blessing, the paramedic crew, the hospital staff—they were, in this case, to no avail. Austen was gone.
Unable to sleep, unable to find peace, Troy was inconsolable. He said it was more than he could bear and that he simply could not go on. But into that agonizing breach came three redeeming forces.
First was the love and reassuring spirit of our Father in Heaven, a presence communicated through the Holy Ghost that comforted Troy, taught him, loved him, and whispered that God knows everything about losing a beautiful and perfect Son. Second was his wife, Deedra, who held Troy in her arms and loved him and reminded him that she too had lost that son and was determined not to lose a husband also. Third in this story is John Manning, home teacher extraordinaire.
I frankly don’t know on what schedule John and his junior companion made visits to the Russell home, or what message was given when they got there, or how they reported the experience. What I do know is that last spring Brother Manning reached down and picked Troy Russell up off the tragedy of that driveway just as if he were picking up little Austen himself. Like the home teacher or watchman or brother in the gospel he was supposed to be, John simply took over the priesthood care and keeping of Troy Russell. He started by saying, “Troy, Austen wants you back on your feet—including on the basketball court—so I will be here every morning at 5:15 a.m. Be ready because I don’t want to have to come in to get you up—and I know Deedra doesn’t want me to do that either.”
“I didn’t want to go,” Troy told me later, “because I had always taken Austen with me on those mornings and I knew the memories would be too painful. But John insisted, so I went. From that first day back, we talked—or rather I talked and John listened. I talked the entire drive to the church and then the entire drive home. Sometimes I talked while we parked in the driveway and watched the sun rising over Las Vegas. At first it was difficult, but over time I realized I had found my strength in the form of a very slow 6-foot-2-inch (1.88 m) Church ball player, with an absolutely pathetic jump shot, who loved me and listened to me until the sun finally rose again on my life.”8

Our stake includes a branch at a local assisted-living center because many of those who live in the center are members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. My husband, Cal, and I had been serving there for a few weeks when, one Sunday, I made an observation that strengthened my faith in Christ.
We were called to be a ministering couple, which means we do whatever is needed to share the love of the Lord with the residents. We set up and take down tables and chairs for sacrament meeting. And push wheelchairs. And weep and laugh. And encourage and listen. And minister. Minister. Minister. And we love it.
One of my new friends is 93-year-old Fay (names have been changed). She saves me a seat next to her in sacrament meeting. She uses a walker. She’s got a bit of dementia. But she has a hearty laugh and a tender spirit. She always comes to church dressed in her Sunday best.
Another new friend, John, is a World War II veteran. He is on oxygen. He’s in a wheelchair. But he blesses the sacrament every Sunday, and his voice is firm and strong. He always comes to church in a suit and white shirt, wearing a tie.
As I looked around the room today and saw Fay and John and six rows of other members of our branch, I observed their faith. Not one of them easily walks to the meeting. But they come.
It is not an easy, quick get-ready-for-church for any of them. But they come.
In dresses and skirts. In white shirts and ties. The priesthood holders bless the sacrament, unable to kneel but humble and exact in offering the sacrament prayers.
They sing. They pray. They bear testimony.
Life is ebbing away for them. And yet they have the gospel in their bones. They want to endure to the end in faith. It’s not easy for any of them to get up, get dressed, and come to church. But they do it. In their way, they are ministering too.
Serving in the assisted-living branch has been such a tender experience for me as I remember the Sundays I spent with my dad at his care center at the end of his life. Today, after Cal and I got home from our ministering, two scriptures came to my mind:
“He will take upon him their infirmities, that his bowels may be filled with mercy” (Alma 7:12).
“Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? shall tribulation, or distress?” (Romans 8:35).
My Sunday observation leads to my testimony that Jesus Christ knows everything. Everything. And I know that nothing—not age or location or difficulty—can separate us from His care, His love, His concern, and His Atonement.
For the closing hymn today, we sang “How Firm a Foundation.” We sang all the verses because our branch loves to sing the hymns. I was especially touched by this verse:
E’en down to old age, all my people shall prove
My sov’reign, eternal, unchangeable love;
And then, when gray hair shall their temples adorn,
Like lambs shall they still … in my bosom be borne.1
The author lives in Utah.