Gospel Story Finder

During general conference in 1906, David took his wife and two young sons to visit cousins in Salt Lake City. Between sessions they sat down to lunch.
Cousin: David, there’s an urgent phone call for you.
David: I’ve been summoned to the Office of the First Presidency.
David met Elder George Albert Smith, an Apostle, on Temple Square. Elder Smith escorted him to the office of the President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. As they walked David thought about how he had performed his stake calling in the Sunday School.
David: I wonder if I’ll be called to the Church Board of Education.
President Francis M. Lyman invited David to sit down. What he said next left David speechless.
President Lyman: So you’re David O. McKay. Well, the Lord wants you to be an Apostle … What’s the matter? Haven’t you anything to say?
David: I’m not worthy of such a call!
President Lyman: Not worthy? Not worthy?! What have you been doing?
David: Nothing of which I’m ashamed.
President Lyman:Then do you have faith that the Lord will make you able to fulfill this calling?
On the way back to his relatives’ apartment, David saw his father.
Father: So, Son, were you called to the Church Board of Education?
David: I’ve been asked not to say anything about my new calling yet.
David and his wife, Emma Ray, attended the afternoon session of conference together. Right before the session ended, a special announcement was made. Emma Ray burst into tears from surprise and joy when David’s name was read. At only 32 years old, David O. McKay was sustained a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles.

One day the ward clerk telephoned me and asked, “Could you come see the bishop on Tuesday night?” I had heard from a neighbor that the local ward had a new bishop, but the news didn’t mean much to me because I had been disfellowshipped years before and had not returned to church. Now I assumed the new bishop wanted to extend a calling to me, and I imagined how awkward we would both feel when I explained my membership status. Still, I didn’t feel right saying no to a bishop, so I agreed to the appointment.
That is how I ended up sitting across the desk from the man who helped change my life forever. The bishop had a wonderful way of letting me know I was truly welcome. We chatted sociably for a little while, and then he asked me how I felt about the Church. I explained that although I didn’t have any hard feelings, I had been disfellowshipped several years before and had been told that if I repeated my transgressions, I would likely be excommunicated. Because I had been unsuccessful in repenting, I had made up my own mind that I was already excommunicated.
The bishop asked me if I felt any desire to discuss with him my present life in relationship to the commandments. At that point, I realized I did want to tell him everything—and it all tumbled out, accompanied by a lot of tears.
When I finished, he asked one simple question: “Will you just come back to church?” I said yes.
The bishop said he would talk to the stake president about whether another disciplinary council needed to take place, and then he would get back to me. It is hard to describe the hope I felt when I left his office. Months later, a Book of Mormon scripture helped me understand what had changed in my life that night: “And if ye have no hope ye must needs be in despair; and despair cometh because of iniquity” (Moro. 10:22). I left the bishop’s office filled with hope that I could repent, hope that I could become a worthy daughter of my Heavenly Father, hope that I could return to live with him one day.

I would like to share an experience of faith. Being the only child, Elder Hermelindo Coy said good-bye to his mother and left for the first time in his life his small village in the mountains of Senahú, Guatemala. He entered the Missionary Training Center the fourteenth of March, 1991. Although he had been a member of the Church for only two years and also very timid about talking to people, his determination to serve was great. His formal education was less than five years of elementary school in his native language of Kekchi. Spanish, the official language of Guatemala, was foreign to him.

During his mission he learned to live with pain in his leg. He rarely complained. In August 1992 he noticed that in addition to the increase in the pain, something was abnormal about his knee. He had a medical exam—the diagnosis: bone cancer. A more careful exam revealed cancer in the liver, lungs, and lymphatic system; in other words, his illness was terminal. He did not understand the nature of the illness nor its seriousness. With the help of a translator and using examples from the farm life with which he was familiar, he understood that he had little time to live.

He never asked, Why is this happening to me? He did not lament or express negative feelings. He was obedient to all that was required of him. He was asked if he would like to return home, but he asked to remain in the mission and serve as long as possible, even until his death. By October of the same year, he walked with difficulty, requiring the use of a cane. He could work only a few hours each day. By December he was unable to walk. For the first time he was discouraged because he could not proselyte. His worry was always who would take care of his mother after he died.

In one of his visits, the mission president asked him to teach more of the basic doctrine to his mother, who, along with mission nurses, was providing twenty-four-hour care. When he taught the plan of salvation to his mother in his native tongue, his face radiated assurance and light. Elder Coy was understanding with power and conviction what he was teaching.

As his strength declined, he placed his complete trust in the Lord. On one occasion when the pain was very strong, he expressed in prayer, “Heavenly Father, I do not know the day or the hour that I will die, but I want to know soon from thee about my new assignment.” He died in February 1993. His death blessed all the missionaries, leaders, members, and even nonmembers who learned of his courage to serve and endure to the end. His faith was so simple that it was contagious. He never feared death. He strengthened all who knew him.

Other elders going into the field will have the happier experience my son Matthew had. He and his companion found a widow with 11 children living in humble circumstances. He wanted for them what you want—to have an eternal family. To my son, it looked impossible or at least unlikely at that moment.
I visited that little city years after my son had baptized the widow, and she invited me to meet her family at church. I had to wait a while because most of her children, with her many grandchildren, came from several different chapels in the area. One son was faithfully serving in a bishopric, many of her children have been blessed by temple covenants, and she is sealed in an eternal family. As I parted from this dear sister, she put her arms around my waist (she was very short, so she could just barely get to my waist) and said, “Please, tell Mateo to come back to Chile before I die.” She had been given, because of those faithful elders, the happy anticipation of the greatest of all the gifts of God.

Tommy’s mother also taught him how to love and serve others. Every Sunday before the Monson family ate dinner, Tommy’s mother prepared a plate of roast beef, potatoes, and gravy for Old Bob. Sometimes it also included Tommy’s mother’s famous ribbon cake with layers of pink, green, and white cake and chocolate frosting. Tommy’s job was to deliver the dinner to Old Bob.

At first Tommy did not understand why he couldn’t eat first and then take the plate over. But he never complained. He would run quickly down to Old Bob’s house, balancing the full plate. Then he would wait anxiously as Old Bob came slowly to the door.

The two would then trade plates—Bob’s clean plate from the previous Sunday and Tommy’s plate mounded with food. Then Bob would offer a dime as payment for the kindness.

Tommy’s answer was always the same: “I can’t accept the money. My mother would tan my hide.”

The old gentleman would pat Tommy’s blond hair and say, “My boy, you have a wonderful mother. Tell her thank you.” When Tommy reported the compliment from Old Bob back to his mother, her eyes glistened with tears.

Coleman does a good job of reminding his parents when it is time for family home evening. At one recent family home evening, Coleman, his brother, and his mom and dad each took turns sharing things they liked about one another.
Coleman liked saying nice words about his family. When nice things were being said about him, he couldn’t hide his big smile. It made him feel good to hear his family say kind words about him.

My father had a horse and buggy when I was a boy. Then one summer day in 1916, he came home in a shining black Model T Ford. It was a wonderful machine, but by today’s standards it was crude and temperamental. For instance, it did not have a self-starter. It had to be cranked. You had to crank it correctly or you could break your hand. But you could prepare it for safe cranking by retarding the spark. The car was also hard to start if the motor got wet. But a little canvas properly placed would keep it dry.
I learned that making preparations can save trouble.

In 1959 when I received my call to preside over the Northwestern States Mission, it came at a most inconvenient time. But both Sister Richards and I felt that if the Lord wanted us to go, then we should go.
Many of our friends, Church members and nonmembers, indicated that they felt we were making a real sacrifice. We felt otherwise, and as President McKay set me apart, he promised me that it would be the happiest time of our lives. And it was, because our entire time was spent in serving our fellowmen. And we remembered the words of King Benjamin, “… when ye are in the service of your fellow beings ye are only in the service of your God.” (Mosiah 2:17.)

One not so blessed with the gift of sight was the blind man who, in an effort to sustain himself, sat day in and day out at his usual place on the edge of a busy sidewalk in one of our large cities. In one hand he held an old felt hat filled with pencils. With his other hand he held out a tin cup. His simple appeal to the passerby was brief and to the point. It had a certain finality to it, almost a tone of despair. The message was contained on the small placard held about his neck by a string. It read, “I am blind.”
Most did not stop to buy his pencils or to place a coin in the tin cup. They were too busy, too occupied by their own problems. That tin cup had never been filled or even half-filled. Then one beautiful spring day a man paused and, with a marking pen, added several new words to the shabby sign. No longer did it read, “I am blind.” Now the message read, “It is springtime and I am blind.” The cup was soon filled to overflowing. Perhaps the busy people were touched by Charles L. O’Donnell’s exclamation, “I have never been able to school my eyes against young April’s blue surprise.” To each, however, the coins were a poor substitute for the desired ability to actually restore sight.

Those friends included the son of a minister who was opposing him and the editor of The Cape Breton Island News who interviewed him and wrote favorably of him and the Latter-day Saint history and teachings in his paper. But despite an occasional good meeting in such places as the Temperance Hall, opposition increased, and finally a Reverend McLeod came directly to the home of Mr. Archibald McArthy, where Elder Millett was staying, and confronted him:

“Are you that imposter that has come to lead the people astray?” “No sir, I am a servant of the Living God and I am preaching His Gospel.” Says he, “Brother McArthy, what does the scriptures say? Though we or an angel from Heaven preach any other gospel than that we have preached, let him be accursed.” Says Brother McArthy, “This young man has preached the same gospel that Paul did. But you are preaching another gospel.” (10)

The dinner was just ready. … As he went to sit down he said, “There is a sick woman in the other room and you people profess to do miracles. Heal that woman; then I will believe in your doctrine.” Just then the door opened and the woman came out and said, “I am healed.” He said, “Yes, the devil can do miracles.”

As you might imagine, after that the minister “tried to eat but shook so bad he could not” and left, telling Mr. McArthy he should drive the missionary from his home.

“Elder Confer, teach me,” said the voice on the other end of the line, “but don’t teach me about the Book of Mormon.” Christine Yong, our new investigator, was wanting to know more about our religion.
As missionaries in the Singapore Mission, my companion and I were excited to have an investigator like Christine. She and her sister Sara seemed to be sincerely interested in the gospel. But during the weeks we had shared the gospel with them, they had some doubts about Joseph Smith and the Book of Mormon. We weren’t about to give up on them, though, so we set up another appointment.
I went with our branch mission leader, Patrick Lim, while my companion went with another member to other appointments. Brother Lim and I planned to teach Christine about repentance, baptism, and the gift of the Holy Ghost. We usually invited people to be baptized when we talked about baptism. But both of us wondered, given all the challenges she was facing, whether Christine would be ready for baptism. We prayed for the Spirit before meeting with her.
During the discussion, Christine seemed to understand repentance and baptism. But as Brother Lim taught about receiving the gift of the Holy Ghost, Christine voiced her concerns.
“Elders, I’m not sure if God is there and if He would really answer my prayer,” she hesitantly admitted.
We described to her the calm, peaceful feelings the Spirit brings, but she wasn’t familiar with the influence of the Holy Ghost. She had tried to pray and read the scriptures, but things just didn’t seem to be coming together.
For a moment, we were at a loss for answers. Then a scripture came to my mind, and I felt impressed to share it, even though it was in the Book of Mormon—the book she had requested us not to teach from. I asked Christine to read Ether 12:6: “I would show unto the world that faith is things which are hoped for and not seen; wherefore, dispute not because ye see not, for ye receive no witness until after the trial of your faith.”
As I explained that our faith in the Lord is tested before we receive an answer from Heavenly Father, I felt the Spirit strongly in my heart. I prayed Christine would feel it too. And she did.
“I’m so touched. I’m really very touched,” Christine said, as tears flowed down her cheeks.
“This is the Spirit, Christine. This is what the Spirit feels like,” Brother Lim and I said as tears started to flow down our cheeks too.
After we had shared that verse with her and taught her further, Christine accepted our invitation and was soon baptized.

Several Church leaders from Tahiti who recently visited Taenga were impressed by the strong feeling of security on the island and the overwhelming spirituality that exists among the entire population. “This is what paradise is all about,” commented Georges Bonnet, the Church’s regional manager for temporal affairs.
One morning Brother Bonnet was awakened by an unusual sound. When he got up and looked out, he discovered the sisters of the Relief Society sweeping away the leaves that had fallen onto the village road during the night. “I’ve never seen such cleanliness,” he observed. “The entire village is spotless, and it is obvious that the people take great pride in their island.”

We turned down a road that led to a group of cottages on the shore of a slow-moving river. It was a clear, warm day in late fall. The leaves on the trees had turned bright yellow and gold colors. It was my first day of door contacting as a missionary.
“Your door,” Elder Higgins said, smiling.
It was a small cottage near the edge of the water. Water sports equipment leaned against the side of the house. I cleared my throat and knocked firmly.
“I’m Elder Roberts and this is Elder Higgins. We have a message about the Savior we’d like to share with you,” I rehearsed.
The inside door opened, and behind the screen door stood a very pretty girl, somewhere between 17 and 20 years old, with blue eyes, long golden hair, wearing a swimsuit. The words, the carefully practiced lines I’d repeated a thousand times on the plane, at the mission home, in our apartment, and on the three-mile walk to this cottage, completely left my mind.
“Awk,” was all that came out when I opened my mouth.
Elder Higgins looked at me grinning and then turned to the girl.
“We’re ministers in the area, and we have a message about Jesus Christ we’d like to share with you and your family.” He gave her a Christ in America pamphlet and made an appointment to meet her family.
Elder Higgins had studied musical theater in college before his mission. My first day in the area had been a preparation day and while we were washing our clothes, Elder Higgins sang popular songs to the ladies in the laundromat. They loved it. He made five appointments while our clothes were drying. He sometimes sang to people at doors. I was just a little more reserved with people—shy and scared describe my feelings more closely.
“I’ll take the next couple of doors,” Elder Higgins said dryly. He made two more appointments and serenaded another woman.
“Want to try again?” he asked as we approached a group of houses next to a church.
I knocked on the door and stood back waiting. A tall man wearing a clerical collar opened the door and smiled at us.
“What can I do for you boys?” he said with a very proper British accent. He obviously knew who we were.
I glanced at the postbox as I swallowed and stepped back. “The Reverend Richard Cutts, Ph. D.,” it said.
What could I say to this man? How could I challenge what he believed? I whispered a quick prayer. I could see Elder Higgins getting ready to jump in.
It’s funny how much can go through your mind in a few seconds. I thought of my first Primary teacher, Oma Santos, telling the story of Moses and the burning bush; my Sunday School teacher, Cloe Davis, explaining the importance of Joseph Smith’s first vision; Velda Dalton teaching about the Sermon on the Mount; and my Uncle Elton talking about the restoration of the priesthood in deacons class. I grew up in a small town in southern Utah. None of my teachers had Ph.D. behind their name. None of them read Greek or Latin as Reverend Cutts most likely did. But it didn’t matter. What they knew was much more important.
“I’m Elder Roberts,” I said feeling, for the first time, the strength and importance of what I’d been taught, what I was here to teach. “This is Elder Higgins, and we’d like to tell you about the gospel of Jesus Christ.”
The expression on Reverend Cutts’s face changed. He looked a little surprised. “Come in,” he said, smiling.

“Why do I still remember my sins?” asked the woman who sat in my office. She was distraught, yet she had an earnest desire to understand.
At the time, I was serving as a mission president, and this sister had come to seek my counsel on a matter that had troubled her for some time.
She told me that years earlier, she had committed a serious sin. She had confessed to her appropriate priesthood leader and had followed counsel in seeking forgiveness from the Lord, the Church, and the individuals involved. She had changed her life and was now obeying the commandments. Still, the things she had done returned to her mind from time to time.
“The Lord has said that when we repent, we are forgiven,” she said, “and he remembers our sins no more. [See D&C 58:42.] But if I still remember my sins, that must mean I have not fully repented and that the Lord has not forgiven me. What more can I do? How will I ever know that the Lord has forgiven me?”
I asked her a few questions and became convinced that her attitude was one of repentance, obedience, and sincerity. Then I invited her to open the scriptures. Together, we read the Lord’s commands to forgive one another and to forgive all mankind. I told her that if we must forgive one another, we must also forgive ourselves.
She accepted the principle of forgiving others, but the idea of forgiving herself was still very difficult for her. Other scriptures brought similar responses. She was not comforted.
Next, we began to read about the principle of faith in Jesus Christ. Although I prayed silently that the Lord would direct our conversation, I was unaware that the Spirit would soon teach us with great impact. I felt prompted to turn to the Book of Mormon, to Alma chapter 36, which I was currently reading in my own personal scripture study.
I asked her to read aloud the words of Alma the Younger to his son Helaman: “And it came to pass that as I was thus racked with torment, while I was harrowed up by the memory of my many sins, behold, I remembered also to have heard my father prophesy unto the people concerning the coming of one Jesus Christ, a Son of God, to atone for the sins of the world” (verse 17). The scripture sounded as if it were directed specifically to her! It was interesting to note that as Alma remembered his sins, he also remembered the Atonement.
She continued to read: “Now, as my mind caught hold upon this thought, I cried within my heart: O Jesus, thou Son of God, have mercy on me, who am in the gall of bitterness, and am encircled about by the everlasting chains of death” (verse 18). This sister’s cries were the same as Alma’s!
Then she read verse 19: “And now, behold, when I thought this, I could remember my [sins] no more.”
The words jumped off the page at me. She had read it wrong! The word was not sins.
I asked her to read the verse again. The Spirit whispered to me that she was about to receive an answer to the question that had caused her such anguish.
Without removing her eyes from the page, she silently reread the verse. Her eyes began to fill with tears as she came to a realization. Softly, with her voice difficult to control, she now read aloud: “And now, behold, when I thought this, I could remember my pains no more; yea, I was harrowed up by the memory of my sins no more.” (Italics added.)
Her eyes were filled not with tears of anguish, but rather of joy, understanding, and acceptance.

My name is Alan Matthews.* I’m nine years old and have listened to many lessons in church and family home evening. None ever taught me so much about Heavenly Father’s love for me as the lesson I learned through our ducks.
I’m an animal lover. I have a huge collection of small plastic animals from all over the world, and I’ve read nearly every book on animals that our school library has to offer. The fact that I love animals so much is what makes what happened to me so amazing.
My parents, my brothers, and I live in the state of Washington. We have a huge yard with trees, a pond my dad made, and our own little hill. Last spring, my parents surprised us by coming home with two baby ducklings, Samson and Delilah. We raised them in the house until their adult feathers grew in and it warmed up a bit outside. They were cute and cuddly, and we loved to sit and hold them. But once they were old enough to set loose in the backyard, it was pretty hard to catch them when we wanted to hold one.
One day I found myself sitting by the edge of the pond, watching them dive for bugs and bathe themselves. The longer I watched, the more bored I became and the more I wanted to catch one of them to hold. I circled the pond several times, trying to get them to come out of the water. But they knew exactly what I intended and swam away from me. Finally, tired of going in circles, I sat down to try to come up with another idea.
That’s when I came up with what I thought was a foolproof plan. I began to toss small stones into the water beyond the ducks. The splash startled them and made them instinctively swim closer to me. With each stone, I became more confident that I’d soon have a duck to hold. Then the unexpected happened: I looked down to pick up a stone, and there were none left.
Fearful that the ducks would retreat to the other side of the pond, I quickly searched behind me for another rock. I spied one a little way off. Without taking my eyes off the ducks, I grabbed the rock. My fingertips barely had time to feel its smooth edges before I hurled it into the water.
In my hurry, my aim was a little off. Everything would have been fine except that Samson, spooked by my sudden movement, jerked around and headed right into the stone’s path. With a small thud, the rock hit him squarely in the head. For a moment, I sat frozen, shocked at what I’d done and afraid that he’d been badly hurt.
Delilah started beating the water with her wings and screeching at me. Samson jumped out of the water and ran straight across the yard to a little hut we’d built for them. I was relieved that he seemed to be OK, but my heart was beating so hard that I went to lie on my bed for a while.
Two days later the scene came back to haunt me. Mom was out feeding the birds and found Samson nearly drowned at the edge of the pond. Scooping him up and hollering for one of us to get Dad, she rushed Samson into the house. Delilah, who normally set up quite a wail when separated from her mate, followed and stood patiently on the back porch next to the door.
Samson was very cold and could not stand or control his wings very well. Dad wrapped him in towels and put him in a tub under a heat lamp. He showed no sign of improvement after an hour, so Dad brought in Delilah. She nestled right up to Samson.
The next few days, I spent a lot of time by the side of the tub, cleaning up after the ducks and feeding them. I found little comfort in helping them. Everyone tried to guess what had caused Samson’s illness. I felt terrible, knowing what was wrong and that it was my fault.
A week passed. We had seen little change in Samson. It was a warm spring day, and we were all outside enjoying the sunshine. I walked around aimlessly, hitting the ground with a stick that I’d picked up somewhere. I didn’t hear my mother walk up behind me. I jumped as she gently placed her hand on my shoulder.
“Alan, your father felt that I should ask you about Samson.” When I didn’t respond, she continued. “Sometimes we do something we’re not proud of, and it can make us very unhappy inside. It can make us so unhappy that it is like carrying a huge boulder around with us everywhere we go.”
I turned to face her. Tears began to well up in my eyes. I wanted to cry out, “Yes, that’s just how I feel!” but I remained silent.
“When that happens, we need to confide in our Heavenly Father and ask for His forgiveness and for the burden to be removed,” she said.
Finally I mustered up the courage to speak. I asked, “Is that all I have to do?”
“No,” Mother said. “We need to confess our sins, do whatever we can to make the wrong right, and promise that we will never do it again.”
I thought about what she had said. I knew that she was right, and I knew what I had to do. I looked up at her, unable to hold back the tears any longer. “Mom, I hit Samson in the head with a rock. I didn’t mean to hurt him, and I don’t want him to die.”
She pulled me close to her and hugged me tightly. “That surely has been a heavy burden to carry around all this time.”
I nodded. Then, pulling out of her comforting arms, I said, “I need to go to my room for a few minutes.”
She nodded in understanding, and I ran inside.
As I knelt beside my bed, I told Heavenly Father that I’d done something very wrong and that I was very sorry. I explained that despite our efforts, Samson was not getting any better, and I asked Him if He would help make things right. I asked for His forgiveness and promised that I would try to never again do something so careless. Closing in the name of Jesus Christ, I arose, amazed at how much better I felt inside already.
For the first time all week, I joined in the dinner conversation and played with my brothers. I now understood what my mother was saying about the weight, because I felt as light as a feather.
When I awoke the next morning, I hurried to check on the ducks and to get their food and water. As I went around the corner, the first sight that met my eyes was Samson, standing up and preening his feathers! He looked his old self again, and he started quacking for his breakfast. He had been healed! Excitedly I ran to tell my parents the good news. I had been forgiven, and I knew that Heavenly Father had helped make Samson better.
That evening I sat on my bed, writing in my journal:
“I know that I am a child of God, that He hears and answers my prayers, and that even a nine-year-old is important enough for a miracle.”

My locker slammed shut as I turned and hurried up the stairs so I wouldn’t be late for my seventh-grade science class. I was supposed to have something in mind for a science project. I thought a papier-mache volcano would be great, but I knew that instead Mom would probably help me figure out something on capillary action with a stalk of celery and some red food coloring.
Just as the bell rang, I sat down in my assigned seat at the back of the classroom. I was beginning to hate being assigned seats alphabetically because I always ended up in the rear of the room.
I hardly had time to say anything to Julie Westergaard, one of the few students who sat further back than I did, when my science teacher started talking. He was obviously upset by something, and we were going to hear about it. He started the day’s lesson, not on science, but about the fact that the United States was facing a major military crisis. The Soviet Union was sending ships loaded with missiles to Cuba. Our president had set up a blockade to stop them.
“It could mean war,” my teacher said, pounding the desk for emphasis. “The world as it is right now could end in half an hour. Do you all realize what a nuclear war would be like? It would be the end of the world.”
I was riveted to my chair. The sound of my teacher’s voice seemed very far away, and the loudest noise was my blood pounding in my ears. I was terrified but old enough now that the terror and panic I felt was kept bottled up. The rest of the day was a blur.
I walked home from school that day with my science teacher’s words replaying in my mind. “The world could end in half an hour. The world could end in half an hour.”
I didn’t mention my concerns to my parents. I was a grown-up 12-year-old and was showing my independence by not confiding every fear to my mother.
After dinner, I sat down at my desk in my bedroom to do my homework. I wasn’t usually so prompt about getting to my homework first thing in the evening, but nothing else seemed to distract my mind from the worry over the threat of world war. After a while, I was tired of homework and I began to fiddle with other things I found lying around. As I was sorting through a stack of paper, I picked up a bookmark that had been given to me as I had entered Beehives earlier that year. On the back was a suggested reading list for the year. I had never noticed the list before, but since I was trying to postpone getting back to my school books, I decided I would start reading a little of the first thing on the list—the book of Matthew as translated by Joseph Smith, located in the last few pages of the Pearl of Great Price.
Soon tears blurred my vision and a feeling of warm calm enveloped me as I read the 23rd verse: “And you also shall hear of wars, and rumors of wars; see that ye be not troubled, for all I have told you must come to pass; but the end is not yet” (JS—M 1:23).
I read on about the last days and the signs of the times before Christ would come again. But the fear and panic I had felt that day in science class were gone. I knew that our Heavenly Father was aware of us and that world events were proceeding as had been prophesied. I had no need to fear.
Since that night, alone in my bedroom with the Pearl of Great Price open on the desk, I have kept that calm feeling as events that seem so world threatening unfold. I do not accept the violence of the world and I yearn with most of mankind for peace, but I am well aware of the prophecies in the scriptures and have a promise that I should not be troubled.

Members from all over the Church contributed to the rescue of the German Saints. President Stover was part of an event which he would call “the most beautiful and inspiring thing that has ever been my privilege to witness during my entire membership in the Church.” It began on a visit to Holland when he graphically described the suffering of the German members. Cornelius Zappey, president of the Netherlands Mission, was so moved that he asked the Dutch members if they would plant seed potatoes in their flower gardens for their former enemies. They responded enthusiastically, and in November of 1947, they sent 60 tons of potatoes to Germany, along with 96 barrels of herring. They sent another 60 tons of potatoes in 1949.

Otavalo, a beautiful city in northeastern Ecuador, is even more beautiful in my memory because of an experience I had there while serving in the Ecuador Quito Mission. One afternoon in September 1996 my companion and I were walking to a teaching appointment. Suddenly, some children ran out of a small, humble house, crying, “A blessing! A blessing! Give us a blessing!”
We were astonished and didn’t know what to think. We considered ignoring them and continuing on, but something prompted us to find out what was happening. We feared something terrible had taken place.
The children quickly ran back inside the house. We followed them and found a lady who was as surprised to see us as we were surprised to see her. We explained what had happened, and smiling, she told us, “The children were just playing.” We talked for a few minutes, took her name as a referral, then left.
Two days later we returned and discovered she was a member of the Church. She hadn’t gone to church for a long time, she said, mostly because she hadn’t felt anyone had encouraged her. Her children were not members of the Church. We sensed that she wanted the gospel of Jesus Christ to be part of her and her children’s lives.
We shared the message of the gospel with her children, and they were baptized two weeks later. At the baptismal service, one of the children began to cry with joy. He said his mother had changed, and he was very happy the Lord had sent the missionaries to their house.
Little did those children know that when they so playfully asked for a blessing, the Lord would answer them—in abundance. Today, the family continues to be strong and faithful in the Church.

In English class, our teacher handed everyone an article that criticized The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and said we’d be discussing it the next day. As I read it, feelings of fear and anger welled up inside me. That night, I wrote a rather unkind “comeback list” in response to the article.
My mom listened to me rant about my plans for the discussion. I was a bit shocked when she said, “You need to pray about it.”
That night, I prayed for help and forgiveness. Then a verse popped into my head: “The spirit of contention is not of [God], but is of the devil, … and he stirreth up the hearts of men to contend with anger, one with another” (3 Nephi 11:29).
The next morning, I felt at peace. I knew that Heavenly Father wanted me to be kind. But when I got to class, I started to feel nervous.
Classmates spoke in favor of the article. I felt I should speak up, but I worried about failing or ruining my social life. Then I remembered a quote I saw on social media that morning from Elder Jeffrey R. Holland of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles: “Defend your beliefs with courtesy and with compassion, but defend them” (Apr. 2014 general conference [Ensign or Liahona, May 2014, 9]).
So I raised my hand and told them I was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and clarified points in the article that were unclear or untrue. My hands trembled, but my words didn’t. The class stared at me, but I knew I did the right thing.
I learned that compassionately defending the gospel is a blessing, not a burden. The Spirit was with me, and I had an overwhelming feeling of love from Heavenly Father. I knew He was proud of me, and I was proud of myself too.
The author lives in Arizona, USA.

In a prominent place in my office, where I can always see it, is a small, very old lantern which once lighted the binnacle on the H.M.S. Clarion, an old sailing ship registered out of Bournemouth, England. Not many people these days know what a binnacle is. Yet it is the forerunner for very important equipment on any ship.
A binnacle is a stand for a ship’s compass, usually placed before the steering wheel. The binnacle holds the compass by which the mariner steers his ship. And because ships travel at night, there must be a light over the compass.
The lamp that lighted the binnacle of the H.M.S. Clarion is important to me because it was given to me by a friend who retrieved it from the old ship, now far from home and long out of service, and because that friend had inscribed on the front of it, to me, these words: “Your light in my life made the difference.”
This tribute may be undeserved in my case, but I think everyone recognizes what a great privilege it would be to truly be a light in the life of another. Like the lantern over the binnacle, such a light may help point the way.