Gospel Story Finder

A friend of ours was hospitalized following an accident. A neighbor remarked, “I’ve got to bake something for Sally’s family,” but she didn’t. Then she said, “I’ve got to visit Sally while she is still in bed.” But she didn’t. On another occasion she told us, “I’ve just got to get a card off to Sally,” but she never did. These are examples of wanting to be a good neighbor but kind of faking it, though there probably were extenuating circumstances and good excuses.

Vanessa—Bless these walls, so firm, and stout. Keeping want and trouble out. That’s what my Great Grandmother Gillman would pray for as a young mother living in the Midwest. They were right in the middle of “tornado alley” and she was absolutely terrified of any storm that would blow through. To the point where she would gather her girls under her bed and hide and cry. It’s probably no surprise that my grandmother, her daughter, grew up to be afraid of storms too. But when she had children of her own, she didn’t want to burden her kids with that same fear, and so as storms came in, she would bravely take her kids to the window to ooh and awe at the wonder of nature and sometimes even run outside with them to play in the rain. I’m so grateful for her wisdom and courage because as a result my mother grew up loving thunderstorms and so did I. I’m especially grateful for the lesson learned, that our outlook and actions can completely change how we experience storms in our lives.

“God is good” was the phrase that came to my mind when my husband and I first learned we were expecting triplets. I had previously lost twins shortly after childbirth when they were born prematurely at 21 weeks. I’d also had two miscarriages. So the news that we were expecting three more babies was a surprise that my husband and I were still processing after struggling with polycystic ovary syndrome (PCOS).
Fearing the worst, I wondered, “What if these babies don’t live? Does that mean God is not good?” I tried to calm my fears with the mantra, “God is always good.” I further reasoned that my love for Heavenly Father isn’t dependent upon getting what I want. I love Him, and I know He loves me. He knows when I weep and what I am feeling. Though I don’t understand why He allows certain things to happen, I know without a doubt that He desires my happiness.
Because of my complications during previous pregnancies, I was referred to a specialist who carefully monitored my prenatal care during this pregnancy. I was comforted when a visiting General Authority gave me a priesthood blessing after a stake conference and reminded me that God was very aware of my situation and that He loves me. I knew I was in good hands.
A statement made by Elder John H. Groberg when he was serving in the Seventy brought me peace during the long days of this high-risk pregnancy: “When filled with God’s love, we can do and see and understand things that we could not otherwise do or see or understand. Filled with His love, we can endure pain, quell fear, forgive freely, avoid contention, renew strength, and bless and help others in ways surprising even to us.”1
Even with priesthood blessings, the best medical care, and taking precautions to prevent the results from my earlier pregnancies, our triplets were born at 20 weeks for the same reason the twins had previously come early. One of the triplets was stillborn, and the other two died shortly after birth.
During this time, I found great comfort in the talk “Grateful in Any Circumstances” from Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. His teachings spoke peace to my broken heart, including these words:
“Some are facing the end of a cherished relationship, such as the death of a loved one or estrangement from a family member. Others feel they are facing the end of hope—the hope of being married or bearing children or overcoming an illness. Others may be facing the end of their faith, as confusing and conflicting voices in the world tempt them to question, even abandon, what they once knew to be true.
“Sooner or later, I believe that all of us experience times when the very fabric of our world tears at the seams, leaving us feeling alone, frustrated, and adrift.
“It can happen to anyone. No one is immune.
“Everyone’s situation is different, and the details of each life are unique. Nevertheless, I have learned that there is something that would take away the bitterness that may come into our lives. There is one thing we can do to make life sweeter, more joyful, even glorious.
“We can be grateful!”2
Based on Elder Uchtdorf’s talk, I started keeping a gratitude journal. In the wake of our twins’ deaths, I’d started experiencing uncontrollable anxiety and despair; the simple act of writing down the good things that had happened each day gave me the courage to let go of the bitterness and blame that had consumed me. I learned to be grateful for every day that I am alive and for the experiences that God gives me. I am a much happier person, despite our losses; I’ve learned to be “thankful in [my] circumstances—whatever they may be.”3
My seven departed little ones are teaching me about gratitude from the other side of the veil. Even though I can’t see them, I feel them influencing my life and helping me to be happy, which is one of the greatest gifts anyone could give me. They have taught me about the important things in life, about what really matters.
There are great blessings awaiting us if we stay faithful to Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ, obey Their commandments, and keep our covenants. I look forward to the great blessing of being reunited with my children someday and raising them during the Millennium.4 We will have our hands full, but that thought brings me so much joy and reassures me that God is always good.

And that brings me to my wife, Elisa. I remember the first time I met her. As a favor to a friend, I had gone to her home to pick up her sister, Frances. Elisa opened the door, and at least for me, it was love at first sight.
I think she must have felt something too, for the first words I ever remember her saying were, “I knew who you was.”
Elisa was an English major.
To this day I still cherish those five words as some of the most beautiful in human language.
She loved to play tennis and had a lightning serve. I tried to play tennis with her, but I finally quit after coming to the realization that I couldn’t hit what I couldn’t see.
She was my strength and my joy. Because of her, I am a better man, husband, and father. We married, had eight children, and walked together through 65 years of life.
I owe more to my wife than I can possibly express. I don’t know if there ever was a perfect marriage, but, from my perspective, I think ours was.

Kim wanted to write that she and her father went to the library and discussed the books that they chose. She wanted to write that no matter how busy he was, her father always stopped to answer her questions, that he always kissed her good night and gave her a big hug.
Instead, Kim wrote the truth. She put down sentence after sentence about how lovingly her father cared for his crops, how his tenderness brought calves into the world, how often he had saved kittens from starvation. She told how he had grieved when disease killed half the chickens and a hailstorm destroyed most of the oats. She didn’t write about how she hoped that someday she would know that he loved her too.
Kim and her father made a lovely couple the night of the Daddy-Daughter dinner. Kim wore her favorite blue dress with the white lace trim, and her father looked ruggedly handsome.
During the dinner Kim’s father leaned toward her and said, “Pretty good supper. Not nearly as good as Mother makes, but pretty good.”
As they finished their dessert, the Primary president stood to announce that Kim would now give a talk about her father. Kim’s heart fluttered as she spoke.
When she had finished, the Primary president introduced Kim’s father and invited him to speak.
“I’m not used to talking much,” Kim’s father began, “except to my cows. But I would like to say that I’m proud of my daughter. I don’t tell her that often, though. You see, I was raised in a very strict home. My mother died when I was younger than Kim, and though my father was a wonderful man, he believed that showing affection made you weak. I don’t remember that he ever hugged me in his life. I guess that’s why I feel awkward about showing affection to Kim. But I’d like to tell a little story that I hope will show that I do love her.
“Kim was born in the winter months, and she caught pneumonia when she was only two months old. I tried to do the household chores because her mother had to care for her constantly. One night it was particularly hard for her to breathe. I took my little girl in my arms and blessed her and prayed for her … as hard as I’ve ever prayed for anything. Then, because her mother was totally exhausted, I sat in the rocker next to the stove and put my baby on her stomach across my lap and rocked her all that night. The doctor came the next morning and said that my rocking her in that position had given Kim’s little lungs a good night’s rest and that he thought that she was going to get well. So you see, that little girl is very special to me—she always has been, and she always will be.”
Kim’s eyes were full of tears. She wondered why she had never heard about that night before. Running to her father, she hugged him long and hard. When he put his arms around her and hugged her back, Kim felt that her heart was about to burst with joy.

One Sunday morning when I was only five years old, I was playing with a neighbor’s cat. Eventually the cat got tired of playing with me and ran into a nearby cornfield. I wasn’t tired of playing with the cat, however, so I followed him into the field.
The corn was very high, and when I couldn’t find the animal, I decided to go home. It didn’t take long to discover I didn’t know where I was, and I had no idea where home was. I was lost in the large cornfield.
As I wandered around, the corn seemed to get taller and taller until it reached the sky. I was disoriented and felt more and more frightened. I began to run, yelling for help, but the wind drowned out my cries. I got very hot and sweaty, and the corn plants scratched my skin. I didn’t know what to do.
As I was rushing through the cornfield, I remembered a lesson my Primary teacher had taught only a few weeks earlier. “If you’re ever frightened,” she had said, “or if you’re ever lost, get down on your knees and pray.”
Then I remembered my parents telling me the same thing as we knelt in daily family prayer. “Heavenly Father cares about you,” my mother and father had taught me. “He will always hear your prayers. He will take care of you.”
As soon as I remembered the words my parents and my Primary teacher had spoken, I dropped down on my knees. I don’t remember exactly what I said, but I know I shared my thoughts and fears with the Lord.
After my prayer, I felt very peaceful. My parents and my Primary teacher had told me Heavenly Father would hear my prayers, so I knew help was on the way. I was tired from running around so much, so I decided to rest until someone came. I promptly lay down and fell asleep.
It wasn’t long before my mother realized I was no longer in our yard. She had seen me playing with the cat, so she guessed I had followed it somewhere. She began searching for me. A block from our home, she saw the cat near a large irrigation canal and feared the worst. She thought I had fallen in and drowned.
She ran home and sent my older sister to the nearby Church building, where my father and other priesthood holders were gathered for a meeting. Mother then fell to her knees and immediately began praying to Heavenly Father, asking Him to protect me. She promised that if I was found safe, she would do all she could to make sure I was raised in righteousness.
After pouring her heart out to the Lord, Mother stood up. As she did, she thought of the neighboring cornfield. She ran outside to begin searching there. Some of the men from the meetinghouse met her, and she told them she thought I might be lost somewhere inside the field of corn.
Some men searched along the irrigation canal while others began searching through the tall stalks of corn. One of them, Bud Phillips, found me quietly sleeping. He picked me up and carried me to Mother, who was weeping. I remember wondering why everyone was making such a fuss. After all, I had prayed and I knew everything would be fine.
My prayers and my mother’s were answered, and she always did all she could to see that I was raised in righteousness.

Early during my freshman year of high school, I accepted my seminary teacher’s challenge to read the Book of Mormon cover to cover. Now, a month before my 15th birthday, I knelt by my bed and took Moroni’s challenge to heart:
“I would exhort you that when ye shall read these things, if it be wisdom in God that ye should read them, that ye would remember how merciful the Lord hath been unto the children of men, from the creation of Adam even down until the time that ye shall receive these things, and ponder it in your hearts” (Moroni 10:3).
I began to ponder how the Lord had been merciful to me that school year and counted the many ways my life had been blessed. I had earned better grades than ever. I had developed skills in both football and track, and next year’s seasons looked promising. I had made some exceptional friends who showed me through their example the way I should try to live my life.
I pondered on all I had read about that year in the Book of Mormon—the courage of Nephi, the conversion of Alma, the faith of Helaman’s 2,000 warriors, the sorrow of Mormon as his people destroyed themselves through sin. I asked myself if I believed what I had read and concluded that I did believe and that applying what I read had helped me to have a successful freshman year.
Then I put the final part of Moroni’s promise to the test:
“And when ye shall receive these things, I would exhort you that ye would ask God, the Eternal Father, in the name of Christ, if these things are not true” (Moroni 10:4).
I prayed. In my prayer I told Heavenly Father that I had finished the Book of Mormon and that I believed it was true. I hesitated a moment and then asked the question that had weighed on my mind for weeks, “Is this book true?”
Barely after I finished expressing those words, I felt a surge of warmth and love spread through my body, beginning at my head and washing through to my toes. It was the same feeling I felt when I decided I wanted to become a missionary, when I received the gift of the Holy Ghost, and when I heard prophets testify of Christ in general conference.
Not every year of high school went as smoothly for me, but my testimony of the Book of Mormon and the experience of getting a direct answer to my prayer helped me to overcome challenges and provided a foundation of faith for the rest of my life.
The Book of Mormon is true. God answers our prayers. I pray that that testimony will always be mine.

Priscila prepared for her temple trip by studying general conference talks about the temple with her mother, reading Church magazines, and studying the scriptures. She also gathered the names of four generations on her father’s side of the family so she could perform vicarious baptisms for them. Priscila’s mom compiled the family history information for four generations of her side of the family.
Once the 185 members departed Manaus by boat, Priscila and the five other young women in the caravan helped tend the Primary-age children and fixed meals. At night they slept in hammocks on the boat deck to try to stay cool in the hot jungle temperatures.
“Being on the caravan was so spiritual because everyone was so excited and anxious to go to the temple,” Priscila comments. “Most people had never been to the temple, so almost no one knew exactly what to expect. Everyone sang songs and read scriptures together. We were so united.”
The bus ride was the most difficult part of the journey because the buses traveled both day and night for three days, and the members were unable to move around much. As a result, many of the members had severe pain and swelling in their legs.
When they arrived at the temple, Priscila immediately went to the baptistry to do baptisms for the dead, while her mother went to a different part of the temple to receive her endowment. Priscila spent every day in São Paulo in the temple, even though it was the first time she had been to the large metropolis.
“I spent my 15th birthday in the temple. When the baptismal font coordinator discovered it was my birthday, he told me he had a present for me,” Priscila explains. “So many people come to the temple that most patrons can do the baptisms for only five people. He gave me a large stack of names of people who needed their baptismal work done for them. He couldn’t have given me a better present.”
Priscila’s mother comments about other changes that happened in Priscila’s life: “The caravan spiritually influenced her. She was a light for all of the other members. Everyone came back different. On the bus ride home, we felt that our appearances and faces had changed; we were all so happy.”

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

When our prophet, Spencer W. Kimball, and I walked through the admittance door of the Utah State Prison a few days ago, the sound of sliding, electronically controlled cell doors could be heard clanging in the background. The grating sounds of the steel bars against the concrete floor and walls let me know where I was again. The total situation was familiar to me. I had been in prison many times before (as a visitor).
It was President Kimball’s first visit. Once past the heavily guarded door, we were escorted to Warden Lawrence Morris’s office, located near the front of the medium security area. Even after we were safely seated in his office, I was still filled with real anxieties. I hoped conditions would be completely under control with no disturbances possible. There must not be any interference or interruption during the visit of the prophet. I was responsible for this trip, and as we sat there together, this total situation weighed heavily upon me. Past experience had taught me that the behavior of some inmates is unpredictable. Fortunately the able warden had prepared well, and conditions in and around his office were ideally calm and quiet. To my great relief it appeared that the “grapevine” means of communication inside the prison had not learned of the President’s coming.
What had attracted President Kimball to the prison? Why was he there? What was his special interest? What was on his mind? Was there a certain inmate he wanted to see? Why should he expose himself to this dangerous environment, when he had mountains of responsibilities needing his attention in his own office?
With this latest prison visit over and having had a few days to reflect on and ponder the situation, I now know that President Spencer W. Kimball went there for many reasons and people. Being at his side and seeing him share himself with these special people will always be one of the choicest experiences of my life. I learned much. I was with a prophet in an unstable environment. My senior companion, if you please, taught me well. As we traveled together to the prison, visited there, and returned in the car, the warmth and wisdom of this mighty man renewed in me a thrilling appreciation for his greatness.
After a short visit in his office, the warden invited two inmates to come in and meet President Kimball. As they hesitatingly came in, President Kimball stood up, shook their hands, and gave them a warm welcome. Here was a prophet with two prisoners. I watched with keen interest. What would President Kimball say following the greeting? “What are your special jobs out here? Where is your home? Tell me about your family. Are you working on the construction of the new chapel?” These were some of his questions—all of which were free of criticism and embarrassment. Perhaps others would have been inclined to say under these circumstances, “How long is your prison sentence? What was your crime? How long have you been here? Your family can’t be very proud of you. You ought to be ashamed wasting your life in jail. Why don’t you shape up?”
President Kimball set the example for me and for all of us as he conducted this personal interview, if you please, with skill and sincerity. In a very few minutes, with few, but appropriate, words, he let the two prisoners know he was with them because he cares.
When this short visit with the two prisoners was over, we were to make our way to the prison chapel. When we were outside again, it was about 10:30 a.m., with the temperature near 40 degrees Fahrenheit. “Would you like to ride or walk the two-block distance?” President Kimball was asked. He responded with, “I would like to walk.” Since President Kimball was without a top coat, his personal secretary, D. Arthur Haycock, started to take his off to share with the President. President Kimball said, “No, thank you. You keep it on. If I walk, I won’t need it.” Just a routine appreciation gesture? Perhaps, some would say. But to me it was evidence of President Kimball’s courteous way of life.
As President Kimball walked the distance to the new chapel site with the wardens, prisoners, and a few others of us, I was close enough at hand to hear his constant questions and concerns. He listened intently as answers were given and situations of interest pointed out. I was impressed again with his concern for people, their confinement and treatment.
Once within the walls of the chapel under construction, he took time to shake hands with workers, some of whom were prisoners, and with other visitors who were now aware of his presence. He seemed to take time for everyone. People never seemed to be a bother. I saw a number of workers jump down from scaffolds to shake his hand. In some cases I saw his arm go out to them before they could clean mortar and dirt from their fingers. They and leaders from other churches heard him say, “This interdenominational worship facility will help prisoners find their way back.” He also added, “The Church and our people are happy to be participants in any and all community projects that are worthy.” Once again I was impressed with his wholesome relationship with all people.
The highlight of the chapel inspection tour and the prison visit in general, it seemed to me, came when two inmates were invited to stand at the side of the prophet in the minimum security reception area for picture taking. As the President welcomed them forward and later put his arms around them, he said, “It is an honor for me to have my picture taken with you.” The two prisoners were obviously touched by his comment. Others of us again saw the greatness and stature of the one we love so much. Respect and human dignity were witnessed. Again he taught well that all people are entitled to be treated as human beings, wherever they are found and regardless of where they have been. President Kimball, it was obvious, is a foe of sin but a friend of the sinner. The scripture found in D&C 50:26 came forcefully to my mind: “He that is ordained of God and sent forth, the same is appointed to be the greatest, notwithstanding he is the least and the servant of all.”
As we were finishing our visit, one inmate rushed up to me and said, “I didn’t get a chance to shake President Kimball’s hand. Would you please tell him I love him?” Another prisoner responded with, “I’m not a Mormon, but he’s got to be a special guy.” Some day I hope that prisoner finds out what a special guy President Kimball really is.
As we walked back to the car to return to Salt Lake City, this choice experience with the prophet brought to mind the story of Parley P. Pratt when he and the Prophet Joseph Smith were together in a prison in Richmond, Missouri. The situation was much different, but the same witness of true dignity and majesty was enjoyed. (See Parley P. Pratt, Jr., ed., The Autobiography of Parley P. Pratt, Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Company, 1938, pp. 193–200, 210–215, 230–240.) I, too, saw true majesty when a prison visitor performed and spoke under God’s authority and shared himself fearlessly.
Before we drove away from the prison compound, President Kimball viewed the maximum security area. When he looked at the extra fences, towers, guards, and isolated location, he commented on how unfortunate it is when men can’t be given freedom, responsibilities, and the joys of work. “All men are basically good. Some just lose their way and need to be led back into proper paths and habits,” he said.
President Kimball asked the warden how the Church’s family home evening program was doing at the prison. (President Kimball had been instrumental in its implementation years ago.) When told it was most successful, he was very pleased. The warden informed him that each week dozens of families continue to go to the prison on Monday evenings to provide family experiences for those qualified to be involved. These good people serve as families for inmates who don’t have them. Their relationship, which very often goes on after prisoners are released, provides an excellent anchor in rehabilitation. The strength of the family is available on a regular basis. President Kimball has long been a believer that every person is entitled to family relationships, and when told that some inmates have their first real family experiences through this program, he was delighted.
During the tour of the new chapel and the walk between the buildings, there were always a number of young and old nearby to assist and respond to President Kimball’s questions. After hearing President Kimball refer to me a number of times as “Marv” as we walked together, one of the younger set was impressed to say, “Isn’t it kind of neat to have President Kimball call you ‘Marv’?” I responded with, “Yes, it is, and it is especially neat to know that President Spencer W. Kimball is a prophet of God.” I had again seen him in action.
In the car returning to Salt Lake City, President Kimball thanked us time and again for taking him to the prison. He felt good about the response of those with whom he had associated. “I hope you will make it possible for me to go back again,” he suggested. “Those people need our love and constant encouragement.”
He exhibited a dignity and poise that was most impressive. Governor Scott M. Matheson of the State of Utah was on hand during President Kimball’s tour. As I walked, talked, and visited with both men, I was greatly impressed with the fact that the governor received the same treatment from President Kimball as did the inmates. Do you have the capacity to love the nonattender as much as you do the 100-percent attender?
I am glad the time and conditions were right for President Kimball to visit his friends in prison and that I could be with him. One prisoner who stood by his side for the picture is serving time for theft and burglary; the other is there for manslaughter. One was a member, one a nonmember. His greetings to them, “It is an honor for me to have my picture taken with you,” continues to ring in my ears. “I was in prison, and ye came unto me” (Matt. 25:36). Once again we have the heartwarming example of seeing how widely our President can spread his arms in love. He makes room for all of us. He will not give up on anyone.

As for General Authorities, let me digress for one moment.

You know, I have been to four funerals since April. I have seen the wives of General Authorities go, and I have seen a great General Authority leave us and leave his wife alone. It would be very easy for someone to say, “Why me?” It is the same thing that Job could have said. But I want to let you know that within two or three days after Elder Cullimore lost his wife, when I climbed on an airplane with Elder Ashton to go up to Ricks, there sitting in the first row, first seat, was Elder Cullimore going to his assignment. There is a message there for a young man or a young woman. It may be ten years, it may be twenty, it may be thirty, but the time will come when that lesson must be learned either by you or by your wife. None of us wants to face it, but we have leaders who show us how.

One Sunday a small child handed the bishop his family’s donation envelope as he entered the chapel before the sacrament meeting. The family had just learned of someone in the ward in need. The boy’s father had said something like this to the child as he placed a generous fast offering in the envelope: “We fasted today and prayed for those in need. Please give this envelope to the bishop for us. I know that he will give it to help those with greater needs than ours.”

I could tell from the boy’s smile and the way he held the envelope so tightly that he felt the great trust of his father to carry the family offering for the poor.

When I was a boy, I used to go with my father to the stockyards. We lived on a small farm and occasionally sold a few animals there.
The holding pens for the cattle, hogs, and sheep were on the river bank. A fenced bridge spanned the river and connected with a ramp that angled up to the top story of a processing plant on the other bank. Since the animals to be butchered had to be herded across the bridge and up the ramp, the men who managed this operation developed a clever solution. They trained a black goat to enter the sheep pens, mingle with the sheep, and then lead the way across the bridge and up the ramp through the door of the processing plant. Once inside the doorway, the goat stepped aside, and the sheep pressed on to their ultimate fate.
I remember watching this scene as my dad explained the operation. He paused, then added, “Let that be a lesson to you; be careful who you follow. Make sure you know where you are being led.”
I’ve never forgotten that experience. When I think of fathers leading, teaching, spiritually feeding their families, I remember how my father did it—in simple but lasting ways. The opportunities to teach important lessons are not always planned. They often arise out of our day-to-day experiences—here a little and there a little, taking advantage of a teaching moment.
It encourages me to read Enos’ experience, showing that his father’s effort to provide spiritual nourishment did not have their greatest impact immediately. (Enos 1:3.) Sometimes it may seem that our efforts are of little avail, that they are being ignored or at best grudgingly endured. But experiences such as the one I had as a young boy, watching a black goat named Judas, are witnesses to me that the return is worth the investment, even when it takes a while to gather interest.

When Carol first searched for her ancestors 50 years ago—it was difficult and expensive, especially when looking for English relatives while she was living in Australia. FamilySearch has been such a blessing to her; no need now to sit and read microfilms to search out her family.
“I can remember the thrill I felt when I saw a copy of the original marriage certificate of my grandfather on a microfilm and saw his signature and that of my grandmother. I’m sure that my grandad would never have thought that one day his granddaughter would be sitting at a microfilm reader looking at that same certificate image from faraway Australia.”

Now I would like to tell you of a little experience I had in the mission field that illustrates what I think the Lord meant when he indicated that not only would the Prophet bring forth His word, but he would bring men to a conviction of His word that had already gone forth among them.

When I was in Holland, I was invited to talk to a Bible class of businessmen. We met in the home of a prominent furniture dealer. There were about twenty men; each had his Bible. The only woman there was the daughter of the man of the house. They gave me an hour and a half to discuss universal salvation, which includes our work for the dead, preaching in the spirit world, and baptism of the living for the dead. I just gave them chapter and verse and let them read the passages in their own Bibles. Then when I was through, I closed my Bible and waited for comments.

The first comment came from the daughter of the man of the house. She said: “Father, I just can’t understand it. I have never attended one of these Bible classes in my life that you haven’t had the last word to say on everything. And tonight you haven’t said a word.”

The man shook his head and said: “My daughter, there isn’t anything to say. This man has been teaching us things we have never heard of, and he has been teaching them to us out of our own Bibles.”

I could tell you many more stories like that!

Because of physical health problems, when I was about a year into my mission, I had to go home for a little bit. But before I left, one of the other sisters told me, “Be home for Christmas. This is your home.”

I made that a goal. I knew the mission field was where God wanted me to be, and I really wanted to do what He asked, feel the joy I’d felt before, and spend my Christmas experiencing miracles as a missionary.

I returned to my original assignment in the first week of December. God helped me jump back into the work, and it was such a good Christmas season. It was service-oriented and Christ-centered, just how it’s supposed to be. Sometimes we get caught up in the material aspects of Christmas, but that’s not the point. The point is that Jesus Christ was born for us, lived for us, and died for us because He loves us.

I loved having Him be the center of my life during my mission because it helped me feel closer to Him, and I got to share that gift with other people too. We were teaching a woman who really wanted her family to come over for Christmas because she hadn’t seen them in a while. We cleaned up her house, set up her Christmas tree, and watched the Church video “The Christ Child” with her.

Later she told us, “I got to have Christmas because of you sisters. I wouldn’t have had my family over if you hadn’t helped me.” It really touched my heart. I was so grateful that God let me experience that.

In the future, I want to make my Christmases more about Christ and be more involved in Light the World. That’s how we can be more like Him: by serving more and being outward-focused.

Mary M., from Colorado, USA; served in the Arizona Mesa Mission

It all started when my friend Brett said, “Last night when I talked to my friend, I found out that her parents have been telling her stuff about our religion, making us sound really bad. She told me that I was wrong for being Mormon, and she seemed to have plenty of evidence. Lots of stuff that I didn’t know about. I figured I can’t defend this if I don’t know what we believe.”
Then he asked me, “Do you want to come over and study scriptures tonight? You know, we could do a little reading, look some stuff up.”
“Seriously?” I hesitated. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to. It was just that I was taken off guard. I mean, how many teenagers hang out on weeknights to study the scriptures for fun?
“Sure, I guess,” I accepted slowly. “If you really want to.”
Brett was the only other Church member in my grade, and he’d never seemed very religious. I still remember being surprised my sophomore year when I first met him. He asked me why I chose not to date until I was 16. I was astounded by his question because Brett had been an active member his entire life but he somehow still didn’t know some of the basic teachings of the Church. To him, church was a Sunday thing. I remembered answering Brett’s question about my decision not to date until 16 and then enlightening him on many other standards we had as Church members.
Now, as seniors, we’d grown to be close friends. And once again I found myself surprised by Brett.
I arrived at his house not sure what to expect. As I walked into his family’s study, I noticed the Bible was open and several LDS reference materials were stacked on the desk. He’d already begun. “Look at this,” he said excitedly, pointing to James 2:21–26.
“I thought we could find some answers.” Then he asked, “Do you have any questions?”
“I don’t know. I guess so.”
“After listening to my friend, I know I need to study more,” Brett continued.
“So, are you looking up things about the points she made?” I asked.
“Yeah. I can see where she’s coming from, but you know, the more I find out about what we believe,” he continued, “the more I see and feel just how right our beliefs are. It’s exciting. I want you to help me.”
I’d never considered the scriptures exciting before. I felt humbled by his enthusiasm. He wanted my help because I’d read the Book of Mormon, prayed, felt the Spirit, and from then on hadn’t had doubts.
But at that moment, I realized I too needed to search the scriptures more.
Brett and I really studied the scriptures that night and found the answers to his questions. Time and time again, Brett searched the scriptures in response to criticisms of the Church. As he learned to trust the scriptures, his testimony grew. Not only did that study help him talk with his friend, but his example of asking questions and finding the answers in the scriptures made a difference for me too.

President Hinckley himself is not intimidated by a difficult task. As newlyweds, the Hinckleys moved into the Hinckley farmhouse—a summer home with no furnace. Kathy says, “Dad approached this problem the way we would see him solve many others—head-on. He ordered a furnace and began reading the installation instructions. The furnace worked perfectly. He’s wanted us to take on challenges using the same approach—decide on what you want, follow the instructions carefully, and work at it.”

I thought about the early members of the Church who sacrificed so much to do what the Lord asked them to do. Joseph Beecroft was among a group of 700 Saints who traveled by train from Boston to Iowa City. They began the
journey in cattle cars, using their luggage for seats.
.
.
. Joseph Beecroft reflected on how the gospel bonded people from different economic classes. For part of the way he rode next to a wealthy convert named Thomas Tennant. Joseph wrote about him with admiration and awe:

“We had among others Squire Tennant for a carriage passenger. . . . He had his wife, her mother, and his child. What has Mormonism done? Such a spectacle was scarcely ever witnessed as to see one who has been so rich [and] so high in life come [to] be huddled together with the poorest of the poor. [To] see how patiently he endures all things is truly wonderful.”

Before leaving England, Thomas Tennant paid $25,000 to buy a home that Brigham Young offered for sale to help replenish the Perpetual Emigration Fund. This purchase provided the greatest single contribution to financing the 1856 emigration. Thomas Tennant would never see the home, however, as he would die in October near Scotts Bluff, Nebraska.

May I begin by sharing with you a personal experience from a time many years ago when I received an unwelcome but valuable message from my devoted father. After World War II was over, I was married and wanted to get on with my life. My memorable mission was finished before my military service. I was not anxious to become a student again and go back to the university where I had started some eight years before. My intended course would require another three years of intensive study, discipline, and poverty. With all of this in mind I said to my father, “I don’t think I will go back to school. I’ll just get a job or start a business and go forward in my life.” Now, my father had completed law school after World War I as an older student with a wife and three children. His response was typically direct. He said bluntly, “What can you do?” His answer was so brutally honest that it hurt, but I could not ignore it. I went back to the university and completed the course. This frank but well-intentioned message changed my life.