Gospel Story Finder

The stars hung in the icy night like frozen teardrops above the Arizona desert mesa. Old mother moon rode high, clustering her starry children about her as if to warm their chilly faces. On the snow-crusted earth below, Danny Yazzi shivered in his worn jacket as he chanted a Navajo lullaby to the small band of sheep milling around him.
As Danny stamped his feet to keep warm, he thought of the mud hogan where his mother would be preparing mutton stew. His brothers and sisters would be playing about the black pot-bellied stove, turned a cherry red by the crackling fire, while his father pounded thin slices of silver into delicate bracelets and rings.
Danny whistled softly, and the white animals, shaggy with thick wool, began to move down the sloping side of the mesa, brushing against one another. Grazing time had ended for another wintry day, and now they turned homeward toward a corral.
As Danny began to move behind them, the sheep bells fastened about his waist jingled merrily. The sounds of the bells rang through the still night. Tonight the bells seemed to ring with a different tone. Even the animals seemed to listen to the new sweet sound of joy.
Danny’s thoughts went back to the day of his last Primary class. He and seven other Navajo children had sat before a tall slender missionary who told them the story of the birth of Jesus in a far-off land called Judea. Danny remembered Elder Johnson’s words and the way the young man’s eyes sparkled as he spoke. Danny also remembered how his heart had pounded with delight when the missionary told of the shepherds in the fields on that star-bright night long ago. Danny had thought about the story many times as he watched his own flock during the winter days of Christmas vacation.
Christmas! That word seemed so special to Danny now that he knew about Baby Jesus and that first Christmas night. The story of the Baby and the gentle shepherds who visited Him thrilled Danny as though he himself had stood guard that wondrous night. Danny shut his dark eyes, and the picture filled his mind—a manger, one bright star, the shaggy head of a donkey, a small newborn Child, and the white woolly curious sheep.
Suddenly the frantic bleating of a lamb brought Danny back to reality. He saw the small white animal struggling in the grip of a thorny cactus. The needles had thrust deep into the lamb’s wool and the animal was caught. Danny knelt beside the frightened lamb and gently began to remove the needles. It was slow work, but when the tiny lamb was finally freed, it rubbed its soft head against Danny’s knee in thanks. Then the lamb scampered off to join the flock already nearing the corral.
Danny’s moccasined feet moved quickly over the thin crust of snow as he saw the thick smoke rising from the small mud chimney. Soon he would be sitting in the warmth and light, and the chill of the night air would be forgotten as he snuggled beneath the heavy sheepskins on his bed.
The sheep bells jangled in time to Danny’s steady steps. Their Christmas magic took Danny back to the small classroom again, and he seemed to hear once more how Elder Johnson had finished the wonderful story. Danny could remember the tender words and the question that followed as the elder looked into the eager faces about him and smiled, saying, “Jesus loves you. How will you love Him?”
Danny sighed as he pondered those words for the hundredth time. What could he do to show the love and happiness that filled him when he thought of that first Christmas. He knew that money could purchase many gifts, but Danny had no money. “No,” he sighed to himself, “I have no money, and so I can give no gifts.”
Soon the sheep found their way into the protection of the corral and quickly began to bed themselves down. Danny closed the wooden gate and then paused for a moment. He looked carefully at the sheep, counting them to be sure they were all there. He knew that one lost sheep meant a return to the grazing grounds and a long search until the stray was found and returned.
The door of the hogan swung open, and Danny’s mother, dressed in her warm velvet blouse and long skirt, was watching for him. Her smile was gentle as she gazed out at her eldest child and waited for him as he entered the warm dwelling. With hands outstretched to the fire, Danny smiled at his younger brothers and sisters as they looked up from their play.
Danny’s father knelt in one corner of the small round room. His delicate hammers and chisels lay about him as he worked his skill on the silver and turquoise. Danny felt a thrill of pride as he watched the slender fingers molding and shaping the metal into beautiful jewelry.
But a pang of sorrow shot through Danny as he looked upon these faces that were so dear to him. What gift of love did he have to give?
“Danny,” his mother’s soft voice called. “It’s Christmas Eve. Your father and I met with some missionaries while you were away to school. What they have told us is good and feels right in our hearts.” She paused and glanced at Danny’s father.
The man stopped his work and looked up at his oldest son. The words he spoke were low and steady. “The elders have told us that you learned the story of the first Christmas while at school.”
The children stopped their play and gazed in admiration at their brother, who was learning many new things at the far-off school.
Danny felt a glow in his heart. He seemed to hear the joyous ringing of the sheep bells, and the picture of the manger and the gentle shepherds returned to him as he thought about the first Christmas. A voice seemed to whisper, “This is the gift of love you can give.” At last Danny knew what gift he could give to his beloved family!
Danny turned to his father, who gently smiled and then said, “We have been waiting for you. Come, my son, and tell us the story of Jesus.”

When I was 17 my mother found out she had breast cancer. The shock overwhelmed my family and brought me to my knees in deep prayer. I cried for almost an hour, asking God why He would let this happen and if He would heal my mom. Relief began to come a few days later when our ward members, extended family, friends, and neighbors learned of the news. They rushed to our aid. Meals were brought in, kind words and deeds were exchanged, concern and sympathy given. The love we felt from them was deep.
But even though we received so much help, I fell into a deep depression. I didn’t care what happened to me. I stopped doing things I loved. I became lazy and careless with chores, schoolwork, and my Church calling. I saw my situation and the extra responsibility placed upon me as a great burden. I felt I could do everything myself and did not need anyone’s help.
Satan worked especially hard on me, telling me that I should feel burdened, that God wanted me to be unhappy, and that I wasn’t anything special. Sadly, for a while I believed it. I couldn’t see the bright side of anything. I did not see myself as a daughter of God. Confusion blinded me, and I couldn’t see my many blessings. I couldn’t even look in the mirror. I felt pain and heartache.
Thankfully, a close friend spent a lot of time helping me, and my siblings supported me as well. I became more open with my parents, who in turn became more open with me. But still I struggled.
My mom would often comfort me when I felt down. When I felt like all hope was gone, it was nice to have someone to talk to and help me out. She would come home in between treatments and iron our clothing, prepare meals, and offer us comfort and counsel. It amazed me how she could endure such trials and yet be so selfless.
When I discussed my depression with her one day, she told me that just because I cried and admitted I needed help, it did not make me weak. She was taking care of me when I should have taken care of her.
After one of her many surgeries, my mom was in the recovery room. At the time, I couldn’t help but think I needed my own recovery room. I had no idea where to start the healing process, but I had to do something.
So I started renewing my talents and abilities as well as developing new ones. I cooked and did the laundry. I took more walks to think. I sang solos. I played the clarinet and piano more and began playing better. I read more books. I started to listen to more uplifting music. I surrounded myself with advice from Church leaders and other valuable sources. I became closer to God and my Savior through personal prayer, fasting, and scripture study.
Still I felt like my peace was fleeting. It was hard when I wanted to be at peace on some days, and instead I would feel the sadness. The mood swings became even more difficult. It seemed my journey for peace had only begun.
Then I went to the temple to do baptisms for the dead with my Young Women class. I thought about my problems while in the temple and while flipping through the pages of my scriptures. I found myself reading about the Savior in Isaiah 53:4, “Surely he hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows.”
A few minutes later, the confusion that had blinded me and caused me so much pain completely vanished. The Lord broke through the darkness and the despair of my heart and left the peace of the Spirit instead. I had a sense of clarity and happiness that I hadn’t felt for a long time. I saw how many blessings I had received and how much everyone had done for me and my family. I saw how close my family, friends, and I had become. I saw myself as a truly beautiful daughter of God.
There in the temple I found my recovery room.
Looking back on this experience, I realize that I now have more empathy and compassion for those less fortunate than I am. I know where to recover. The hardest year of my life became the best year of my life.

I had a wonderful time laboring as a full-time missionary in the Hawaii Honolulu Mission. It was filled with experiences I will remember for the rest of my life. One in particular showed me how our Heavenly Father knows each of His children and their needs.
One night I was working with my district leader. We had returned to my apartment after a hard but satisfying day of proselyting and were having my monthly interview.
Following the interview, he asked me, “Would you give me a blessing?”
I was shocked, and my heart began to pound. I wasn’t used to being asked to give a blessing. I asked him why he wanted one. He confided that he was having a bit of difficulty and needed some help.
Still not knowing exactly what his concerns were, I agreed to give him a blessing. Before I laid my hands on his head, I said a silent prayer that I would be inspired to know what to say to help my missionary friend.
As I placed my hands on his head, the most amazing feeling flowed from the top of my head to the soles of my feet. I cannot remember the words I spoke, but I was the instrument through which Heavenly Father spoke to one of His sons who needed wisdom.
When I took my hands from his head, he turned to me with tears rolling down his cheeks and expressed his gratitude. What he told me next was as much a surprise as when he asked me to give him a blessing: I had spoken words that had also been pronounced in his patriarchal blessing. They provided him with the comfort he needed.
The Lord truly does know each of His children, and through the power of the priesthood, we can be instruments in blessing the lives of our brothers and sisters as we all strive to return to His presence in the celestial kingdom.

Other young people who participated in the experiment didn’t fight with their brothers and sisters but felt their relationships weren’t as strong as they could be. Curtis Morley missed the close relationship he and his younger brother had as young boys. He decided to get up early with his brother and join him in his bike ride to volleyball practice during the summer.
“At first we just talked of common things, but as the days progressed he spoke more from the heart. I anticipated a noticeable change in him. It didn’t happen. Instead the change came over me. I had regained a friend, someone who would always be there when I needed him—and an awesome volleyball partner.”

Sometimes, being a good person feels like a lot of work.
I used to think of being Christlike as a hefty list of things I had to do and be. When I tried to set goals, I’d get overwhelmed thinking about how far I was from where I should be. I felt like I was failing in so many ways I didn’t know where to start—like when your room is so messy that you don’t know what to clean up first.
During a time when I felt extra inadequate, a scripture kept coming to my mind:
“Jesus said unto him, Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind. This is the first and great commandment. And the second is like unto it, Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself” (Matthew 22:37–39).
I realized that I’d been more focused on “doing” the gospel than becoming like the Savior. Somehow, with so many distractions, the love got lost along the way. But wasn’t love supposed to be the point? During His ministry, Jesus Christ taught the people a higher and holier law to love God with their whole hearts and to love others as they love themselves. Whenever I felt discouraged, I’d remember Jesus’s words and think, “As long as I make choices out of love for God and others, I’ll be on the right path.”
I decided to set a simple goal: “Do one thing each day to love God, others, and myself.”
I wrote it on the first page of a new journal. I’ve never been a great journal-keeper, but I thought it would be important to record what I was doing.
The first day was a fast Sunday. Before I went to bed, I wrote down what I’d done to work on my goal.
I wrote that I showed love for God by going to church and staying for both hours, even though I didn’t feel like it. I bore my testimony in sacrament meeting. And when I read my scriptures, I wrote down my thoughts for a more meaningful and focused study.
I wrote that I loved others by joining a family call with my parents even though I was tired. I fasted for a friend who I knew was struggling and sent her an encouraging message. I spent some time with my brother.
I loved myself by taking a nap and allowing myself to relax. And I went to bed earlier than usual so I could be more rested for work the next day.
None of these things were big, but when I looked over what I’d written, I felt peaceful. My day had been full of love, and that’s what Heavenly Father wanted for me.
All week I remembered my goal and wrote how I showed love. I went to the temple. I listened to people vent about their problems. I said kind things to others. I did things that made me happy. I took better care of myself. I made more space for the people in my life. I took time to reflect and connect with God.
After just a few days, I was amazed by the difference. With showing Christlike love as my goal, things that usually felt like a chore became expressions of love for God, others, and myself. I started looking for new opportunities to express love, whether it was getting a glass of water for my sister, making my bed, or pausing to say a prayer of gratitude.
I felt like I was seeing the world with new eyes, and as I looked for ways to love, I also noticed the love that was all around me every day. I added a new section to my journal entries: “How I’ve seen God’s love today.” I wrote down the thoughtful things people did for me and the kind words they offered. I wrote down nice things I saw people doing for others. I wrote down the small, tender mercies from God I noticed each day. I wrote down all the ways I felt uplifted, all the things that gave me hope.
Sister Susan H. Porter, Primary General President, taught: “When you know and understand how completely you are loved as a child of God, it changes everything. It changes the way you feel about yourself when you make mistakes. It changes how you feel when difficult things happen. It changes your view of God’s commandments. It changes your view of others and of your capacity to make a difference.”1
As I continued with my goal, I discovered how true this was. I could feel my whole heart changing, and I understood the power of God’s love better than I ever had.
After a month, I wrote this in my journal:
“I feel hopeful instead of stressed. I’m aware of my weaknesses, but I feel that as long as I keep inclining my heart to God, things will be OK, even if I’m never able to fix the weak and broken parts of myself. My heart is the thing that matters most, and a heart that loves God and others and tries to serve and uplift is a good heart.”
I wish I could say I’ve never missed a day in my journal. The truth is, I fall out of the habit sometimes, even for months at a time. But whenever I start again, I can feel the difference. I open my eyes once more to see the Savior’s love all around me—and all the ways I can add to it.
I’ve come to better understand the truth that “charity never faileth” (Moroni 7:46) because when I felt like I was failing, Jesus Christ’s love is what lifted me back up. When I feel the Savior’s love, I want to reflect it back into the world, and I know that as I strive to do this, He will bless me with a better, stronger heart—one that can love as He does.

Those unexpected telephone calls continued to influence his life. Three years later, shortly before he was to be released as president of the France-Switzerland Mission, there was another telephone call, this time from President Marion G. Romney. Elder Didier was called as a regional representative and at the same time appointed area manager in translation and distribution of Church materials for all of Europe.
Then, in October 1975 while he was attending conference in Salt Lake City, Elder Didier received a telephone call that President Spencer W. Kimball wanted to see him. He was called to be a member of the First Quorum of the Seventy that was to be organized.
“There are some things you plan for the future, certain things you imagine will happen to you. But when that calling of General Authority comes, you close the door and say, ‘Now I am in the hands of the Lord 100 percent. I’ll do what he asks me to do.’”

A few minutes later, Tyler heard his father come home and ran out to tell him about the name tag.
“You know,” his father said, “not all missionaries wear name tags. When I was a missionary, we didn’t have name tags.”
Tyler was surprised. “How did people know you believed in Jesus Christ?”
“We told them,” Dad said. “And we tried to show them by the way we acted.”
That evening Tyler and his parents went to the stake center because one of his friends was getting baptized. During the meeting, a speaker talked about Jesus Christ. “If we try to live as He did,” the man said, “then people will know that we believe in Him.”
Tyler thought about that as they went home. Remembering what Dad had said, too, he suddenly knew what he could do.
“Mom! Dad!” he said excitedly. “There is a name tag I can wear that won’t get ruined or lost—an invisible one! If I try my hardest to live like Jesus Christ did, it’s like telling people I believe in Him. It’s like wearing an invisible name tag!”
Dad smiled. “You’re right, son.”
Mom hugged Tyler. “I’ve already seen your invisible name tag.”
“You have?” Tyler asked, looking down at his shirt.
“Yes, it’s been there,” replied his mother. “Each time you’ve been helpful and kind—like when you washed the dishes for your sister, and when you helped little Jimmy—your name tag was there.”
Tyler looked down again. He didn’t see the invisible name tag, but his mother had seen it. He hoped other people would see it, too, because he wanted everyone to know that he believed in Jesus Christ.

Joseph was almost to the edge of the park when he noticed something in the grass. “Maybe a bag of trash got scattered by the wind,” he thought.
As he got closer, a glint of light caught his attention. This wasn’t trash. Joseph saw a checkbook, keys, and a calculator lying near a purse. What cool stuff to find! Finders keepers, right?
Joseph was about to put the stuff in his pockets when he thought, “This isn’t mine. If I lost something, I’d want it back. Whoever this belongs to probably wants it back too.”
So instead he gathered up the scattered things, stuffed them in the purse, and carried it all back to Mom.
“Oh, dear,” Mom said, “It looks like someone’s been robbed.”
Together she and Joseph looked through the things until they found a phone number. Mom called the number while Joseph watched. When she hung up Joseph asked, “Who was it? What did they say?”
“The lady who answered was very excited when I told her what you found,” Mom said. “Her purse was stolen yesterday at the mall. We’re going to go there now to take everything back to her.”
When they walked into the mall, a woman hurried up to them. “Thank you, thank you!” she said. “Young man, you’ve answered my prayers!”
Joseph smiled and handed her the purse. “I’m sorry you got robbed,” he said.
The lady handed Joseph a 20-dollar bill. “This is a reward for your honesty,” she said.
Joseph shook his head. “I don’t need to be paid to be honest. I’m honest because I try to follow Jesus.”
“Then use this money for Jesus,” the woman whispered. Joseph could see tears in her eyes.
As Joseph took the money he looked at Mom. “Do we have a pass-along card?” he asked.
“We sure do,” Mom said, and she pulled one out of her purse.
Joseph gave the card to the lady. “If you call the phone number on this card, you can get a movie about Jesus,” he said.
“Thank you,” the lady said as she shook Joseph’s hand. “I’m very glad to have met you.”
As Joseph got back in the car, Mom asked, “What will you do with the money?”
“The lady told me to use it for Jesus. I guess that means using it for His Church,” Joseph said. “I’ll give two dollars for tithing, some for the Perpetual Education Fund, some for the Humanitarian Aid Fund, and the rest for my mission fund.”
As he told mom his plans, Joseph had a warm feeling in his chest. It felt good to be honest and to use his reward money for a worthy cause.

When the Livingston Branch of the Kingwood Texas Stake put on a dance, it was a new page in their history.
The branch, with a total membership of 59, had never sponsored a stake activity, so the Mutual decided to remedy the situation and sponsor the next stake dance. They decorated the multipurpose room, planned refreshments, and sent out invitations. When the night came, more than double the expected number attended. It was a good night for dancing in Livingston.

“We have some great nonmember neighbors, and we decided to invite them to dinner on a Monday night, and then we casually asked them if they would like to participate in our family home evening. We had a great time getting to know one another, and they were impressed by the spiritual quality of our evening and the closeness that such a night can bring to a family. Inviting nonmembers to share a family home evening with you can be great fun and can work as a great missionary tool.”

Let me share with you one of my favorite and true love stories. I happened into the story very late in its development. One night I went with my husband to a company dinner party. I sat next to an older man who was there with his wife. She had suffered a stroke, so consequently he would lean over to cut her meat and help her with her food. His manner was tender and very solicitous. As he finished the meal he turned toward me with a sigh. I said to him, “You are so good to your wife.”

His reply, “Why shouldn’t I be? I love her.”

Then he told me about how they met and about their courtship and their life together. “The first time I saw her,” he said, “was at a party in Canada. She was giving a reading. She had long golden curls and wore a beautiful white eyelet dress with a pretty blue satin sash. I was so taken by her that I told my mother that that was the woman I was going to marry. Mother laughingly indulged me. I went on my mission, and when I came home she was engaged to another. I was asked to take a special assignment by the bishop, and when I protested he told me that if I would always put the work of the Lord first I would find that the Lord would always take care of me. I made the long trek to Salt Lake City. When I came home, she had broken her engagement. We started to date, and then we married.”

His wife rarely accompanied him in public after that dinner. It wasn’t long until her condition worsened, and she was completely bedridden and virtually unable to speak. He was a General Authority and went out on his regular conference assignments to visit and counsel the Saints. It was his practice to come home and tell her all about the conference. One day as he finished, he teased, “If you are not going to speak back to me, then I am not going to tell about my experiences. You must not love me anymore.” Tears welled up in her eyes, and with great effort she rallied enough strength to form the words, “I do love you.” It was laborious and extremely slow, but with great effort she got the words out. He determined he would never again treat their love lightly, for the love they knew transcended even the crippling hindrance of her physical impairment.

At the funeral of this special woman, Zina Card Brown, every speaker commented on her love both for her sweetheart, President Hugh B. Brown, and for others. Elder Marvin J. Ashton declared, “Some of us are where we are because of her.” President Marion G. Romney said, “Wherever she was she was a loving lady.” President N. Eldon Tanner declared that President Brown was so successful because of her love. President Kimball said that the love of President and Sister Brown was such that they would soon be together again everlastingly. Her love pulled them toward immortality—a beginning of eternity.

I wish to bear you my witness of Jesus Christ, the Son of God, and the power of His infinite, atoning sacrifice. In doing so, I will call upon an experience from my years in Tennessee. One evening there I received a call at home from a gentleman I did not know. He introduced himself as a recently retired minister of another faith and asked to meet with me privately the following Sunday. When we met, my guest stated frankly he had come out of concern for the welfare of my soul. He pulled out of his portfolio a fairly long list of scripture citations from the New Testament and said he wanted to review these verses with me and see if he could help me be saved. I was a bit surprised at his directness, but I could tell that he was sincere, and I was touched by his genuine interest in me.
We conversed for more than an hour, and he was open to hear me explain something of my faith as well as to read with me some teachings from the Book of Mormon with which he was not familiar. We found there was much we believed in common and some things we did not. We felt a bond of friendship and prayed together before he left. What remains with me is our discussion about being born again. It is spiritual rebirth through Jesus Christ that is the context of my witness of Him.

“You have to start out by just being friends with them,” says Karen Freiley, 16. Karen should know. She was instrumental in helping her good friend Krissy O’Shea join the Church. Krissy, in turn, has brought a number of her friends to church, and many of them have taken the missionary discussions.

“I’d asked Karen a few questions about her church before,” Krissy says. “But what got me really interested was going to a youth conference. Karen’s invitation was no big deal—I wasn’t getting along with my mom, and Karen knew I needed to get out of the house for a while, so she asked me if I wanted to come to this thing they were having at her church. To me it sounded like a great way to get away for the weekend.

“The thing I noticed first was the closeness I felt. You don’t really go into the doctrine the second you put a foot in the door, but you can feel the Spirit. As the classes got into the doctrine part, I began to feel that it just made so much sense.”

That’s where Krissy’s conversion began, and along the way, Karen’s testimony was strengthened. “It felt so good to share the gospel with Krissy,” she says. “Especially when the missionaries would come to our house, and we’d sit together and hear the discussions. There were things that I learned from them, even though I’d been raised in the Church.”

On August 7, 2001, my life changed forever when my daughter was diagnosed with an acute leukemia. Over the next three years, her suffering led me to have several precious insights about the pure love of Jesus Christ and the power and purpose of His Atonement. Watching her suffer beyond belief also taught me how to develop Christlike attributes.
Sarah was nine months old when she became ill. After four months of intense chemotherapy, she entered the bone marrow transplant unit at Primary Children’s Hospital, where she underwent even harsher treatments. Together, she and I spent months in the hospital isolated from our family.
Finally, Sarah was healed, and we were reunited as a family. Months went by without any complications. But shortly before the two-year mark, when she would be considered officially cured, we received difficult news. It was the weekend of the October 2003 general conference, and every speaker seemed to know that I was embarking on a trial in which I needed to know that my Heavenly Father knew and loved me. The very next day, we took Sarah to see the doctor, and our fears were realized: she had relapsed. Over the course of the next six months, her struggles and challenges taught me the significance of the Savior’s Atonement for me personally.
The wee hours of the morning became my solace as I pondered the scriptures and learned about the Savior while administering Sarah’s IV medication. I studied Romans 5:8–9, which says:
“But God commendeth his love toward us, in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.
“Much more then, being now justified by his blood, we shall be saved from wrath through him.”
And then I thought of Luke 22:44: “And being in an agony he prayed more earnestly: and his sweat was as it were great drops of blood falling down to the ground.”
Prayer at Gethsemane, by Del Parson
As I read those verses, the thought struck me that blood represents life and living and that Christ bled from every pore to give us life—eternal life.
A few days later, Sarah and I were in the bone marrow transplant clinic, where she would receive a red blood cell transfusion. She had been premedicated for the procedure and was peacefully sleeping in my arms. I began to think intently about Sarah and how her situation was so dire: she was getting sicker and sicker by the day. Parts of her body had quit functioning altogether. Her red blood count had fallen drastically; she had no white blood count to speak of and would also be receiving a platelet transfusion before the day was finished. She was lethargic and weaker than normal, and her appearance was paler. Without new red blood cells to revive her body, life would eventually slip away.
But gratefully, I watched as precious red blood cells slowly dripped from a tiny bag and flowed through the IV tubing directly into Sarah’s body through her central line, literally offering her new life. I observed a physical transformation as Sarah’s cheeks and hands became a beautiful pink hue again. She even seemed to be breathing a little easier. Peace filled my mind as I knew that, once again, her body would be receiving its vital nourishment through the circulation of the new red blood cells. Life would continue.
Watching this physical transformation showed me in a powerful way how vital blood is to the body. Blood brings nourishment and oxygen to all the cells in the body, making them healthy and strong and helping them perform their proper functions. Blood also cleanses the body of the impurities that build up through daily wear and tear. The white blood cells fight off dangerous infections, and the platelets heal our inner workings automatically so we don’t bleed to death.
As I observed how precious this blood was to my daughter, I was suddenly struck by how much more important the Savior’s blood is to our souls. Through His suffering in the Garden of Gethsemane, the Savior offered each of us the chance for a transfusion—a spiritual transfusion. Sarah needed physical blood for her life to continue, but everyone who comes to this earth needs the spiritual blood transfusion that can only be received through our personal acceptance of the Atonement of Jesus Christ. Only then can we be cleansed of all our impurities and of the sins we have committed and become completely whole, ready to live in the presence of our Father in Heaven.
Because our Savior loves us, He “washed us from our sins in his own blood” (Revelation 1:5), and with His blood He cleanses us from sin. But this transfusion will not be forced upon us. With our agency, each of us can choose to accept His transfusion and become clean and whole so that our spiritual life can continue, or we can reject the transfusion, giving up our life with our Heavenly Father. Repenting and turning to Christ are the only ways we can receive this transfusion. Repentance is our “central line” between us and our Savior; without it, there is no possible way for His blood to free us from our sins.
Once we have repented and truly called upon Christ for mercy (see Alma 36:18), our sins, though they “be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool” (Isaiah 1:18). How ironic that blood, which stains garments, is also offered to us as a purifier. Just as our physical bodies are purified and cleansed through our blood, our spirits are purified and cleansed through our Savior’s atoning blood. And with our garments made white, we can stand spotless before God (see Alma 13:12).
Christ’s sacrifice also answers the ends of the law for all who have a broken heart and a contrite spirit (see 2 Nephi 2:7). Think for a minute about the workings of the heart: it pumps oxygen-rich blood throughout our bodies, keeping them functioning properly and making it so all the cells can be nourished and cleansed. If a heart breaks, it cannot function properly, and life ceases to exist. But if we “come unto [our Savior] with a broken heart,” we will be saved (see 3 Nephi 12:19–20). Jesus Christ can take our broken hearts and, through the power of His Atonement, make them work perfectly. Without Christ, our broken hearts cannot function and eternal life cannot be ours, but with Him a humble and repentant heart can properly function.
After Sarah had relapsed, we were faced with the challenge of deciding whether or not we should continue on with chemotherapy treatment. As we spoke with the doctors, they urged us to use the treatment because her white blood count had escalated to the point where she could begin bleeding out if we did not. Bleeding out is when the blood vessels begin spontaneously bursting throughout the body, becoming most obvious in the eyes, mouth, and nose. We were told it can be an excruciatingly painful process
When I heard this, my mind again turned to the Savior. He experienced a similar process as He suffered for all the sins that would ever be committed. King Benjamin taught of Jesus Christ’s suffering: “Blood cometh from every pore, so great shall be his anguish for the wickedness and the abominations of his people” (Mosiah 3:7). How excruciating His pain must have been as He bled from every pore.
Christ’s pain was again on my mind as I held my daughter in her final hours. I thought of Christ’s plea: “Father, if thou be willing, remove this cup from me: nevertheless not my will, but thine, be done” (Luke 22:42). But it was not the will of the Father to remove the cup, and Christ accepted this and continued forward with the Atonement. The Father, being merciful, sent an “angel unto him from heaven, strengthening him” (Luke 22:43). In that moment and others, I too was given a strength to endure that was not my own. Our Father in Heaven is merciful. He knows us individually and loves us personally. He sent His Son, even Jesus Christ, to earth to atone for our sins and offer us a spiritual transfusion because He knew it was the only way for us to enter into His presence and live with Him again.
Author’s note: Although Sarah passed away in 2004, we did have about a year and a half following her bone marrow transplant to enjoy her happy and spunky disposition.

At the family history library near his home, Josh Taylor was looking at microfilm of a census for Stephenson County in Illinois. He was looking for information about his great-great-great-great grandfather, George A. Stiles. It was seemingly needle-in-the-haystack time.
“It’s a fairly big county, and I wasn’t looking forward to looking through the entire thing,” admits 12-year-old Josh. “But I had prayed about it, and immediately page 261 came to my mind.” And there it was: information about his relative.
“Whenever a page number pops into my mind, I can tell if it’s going to have something in it or not because I feel this excitement. It’s hard to explain,” he says.

As a teenager, Sister Kalombo Rosette Kamwanya from the D.R. Congo, now serving in the Côte d’Ivoire Abidjan West Mission, fasted and prayed for three days to find the direction God wanted her to take. In a remarkable night vision, she was shown two buildings, a chapel and what she now realizes was a temple. She began to search and soon found the chapel she had seen in her dream. The sign said, “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.” Sister Kamwanya was baptized and then her mother and her six brothers. Sister Kamwanya said, “When I received the gospel, I felt like a captured bird that had been liberated. My heart was filled with joy. … I had the assurance that God loves me.”9

Sometimes we turn from the Lord because other people have made or are making mistakes. I don’t want to forget the story of the farmer who felt he had been wronged in the distribution of irrigation water and that the watermaster was at fault.
Having angered himself into distraction over the seeming unfairness, he sought out the watermaster, grasped him by the shirt bitterly, and said, “Tom, as long as you are watermaster, I won’t take another drop out of that ditch.”
What happened to that farmer? Well, he was a stubborn man. He kept his foolish vow. And he and his property dried up and blew away.

Like many people who pursue unusual careers, Shawn was concerned at one time with the question of whether or not his career would conflict with his feelings about the Church.
“After I had been in college three years, I wanted to rodeo for a while, and I was worried about the apparent contrast of ideals in my two worlds—the Church and the rodeo. I worried and prayed about it and spent time thinking it over. Then I realized the right answer for me was very simple. I knew the Church was true, and as long as I did the right thing and lived my religion, I couldn’t be doing wrong. I was then at peace with myself, and the Church has turned out to be one of my biggest assets on the rodeo circuit. I have been the subject of a lot of publicity because I am different. Writers casually mention that I am a Mormon cowboy and then go on to explain some of our beliefs. There are a lot of good Catholics and Methodists and other religions represented on the circuit, but their religions never seem to be mentioned.”

Hip: I had a roommate who was engaged. One day we were talking about his upcoming marriage, and someone asked, “What are the commitments you two think will help you stay strong?” His answer was, “Not keeping the law of chastity could destroy our relationship. So we decided that we wouldn’t do anything we would not feel comfortable doing in front of the bishop or our parents.” That still has an influence on me.

Laura sat down next to him. “I have an idea—have you ever been in the country, like to a lake in the summer?”
Thomas felt about for a tissue, then blew his nose. “I don’t … know what the country’s like here. I’ve seen little ponds in the parks, though. Why?”
“Well, do you think you’d like to go for a pretend walk with me. I know a super little path at the lake we go to in the summer, and since your eyes are already closed, it might be pretty easy for you to see in your mind the things I’ll describe. What do you say?”
Thomas sniffed again and leaned back. “I guess I could give it a go. Do you really want to bother?”
“Sure. I’ll close my eyes too. I’d love to take a summer walk myself right about now.” She leaned back against the sofa and tightly shut her eyes. “Ready?”
“Go for it!”
“This part may be a bit hard, but I think we’ll just make you the main character, even though I was the real one,” Laura began. “It’s real early. You’re on a small cot inside a one-room log cabin. You open your eyes and see your mom pushing sticks of wood into the stove top, then plunking the heavy metal cover over the hole. ‘Breakfast in ten minutes,’ she says. You jump out of bed onto the wooden floor, splash a bit of cold water on your face, and jump into shorts and a T-shirt.
“After a quick breakfast of cereal and cold juice, you run out onto the front porch and look down to the lake. It’s a wonderful, sunny, clear morning. The air is humming with insects, and the blue water has just a slight ripple from the breeze. The grass feels pleasantly damp under your feet as you run down to the lake and dip your fingers into the water. A very small frog jumps away and hides in the reeds growing close to the shore.
“A young boy in blue swim trunks runs up to you. He’s crying. You ask him what the matter is, and he says he’s been playing with a cat all week. It’s come around every day and spent all day with him, but it hasn’t come for two days now, and he’s afraid something has happened to it.”
“I do say I’ll help, don’t I?” Thomas broke in.
Laura smiled to herself. “Of course you do. You put your arm around his shoulders and ask where the cat usually can be found. He tells you that it likes to wander in the woods and around the boathouse. You take his hand and start down the trail along the water’s edge toward the creaky old dock, where the rowboats are tied. The sun is very hot now, and you grab a long tassel of grass, slip it from its stalk, and put it between your teeth.
“The boy takes you to the boathouse entrance, and you both go in. It’s dark and cool. Old boats with their white paint peeling are leaning against the walls. You notice a small stain on the floor in the corner. The boy sees it too. ‘It’s blood, isn’t it?’ he says. You say it might be—it’s the right color and is fairly fresh.”
“I bet the poor chappy is even more worried now,” said Thomas. “Actually I guess I am, too, aren’t I?”
“Yes. Before you’d thought there wasn’t really a problem, but now you’re not so sure. You take his hand again and start down the path into the woods. The path gets narrow, and the ferns brush against your legs. In some places you have to push the brambles away, and one snags your arm, leaving a nasty scratch.”
“But I don’t let it bother me, do I, Laura?”
“Of course not; you’re much too concerned with the boy and the lost cat. When you see an old building off the trail and up on a hill, you push through the underbrush to get to it. It looks like it had been some kind of storage place. There’s no door on the rusted hinges, so you can see inside.
“Because of the woods, it’s really dark inside. The boy calls out, ‘Here Muffin,’ and a low mew is heard from a corner. He rushes over. ‘Look,’ he cries, ‘she’s not hurt at all!’ And sure enough, there lies a cat with four tiny kittens snuggled against her. Off to the side you see a dead mouse she must have caught at the boathouse and brought here to eat before the births. ‘That mouse explains the stain,’ you say.”
“I’ll be bound the lad is really happy,” Thomas prodded.
Laura opened her eyes and saw him leaning back on the pillows, a smile on his face. “You bet,” she said, “for it turns out that the guy who runs the boathouse owns the cat. He promises the boy one of the kittens when it’s big enough, and asks you if you want one.”
“What do I say?” Thomas asked, turning eagerly toward Laura.
“Actually,” Laura answered with a little laugh, “you, or rather I, said, ‘sure,’ and Mom said it was OK, so now I have a super little gray kitten named Smoky. I could bring him over if you’d like me to.”