Gospel Story Finder

Some years ago I was asked to talk in the state penitentiary. We had a pretty good crowd there; there was nowhere else for them to go. And because of that meeting there was quite a group that came up to visit with me. One was a grandson of one of the Presidents of the Church, one was the grandson of one of the Presiding bishops (not related to me), one had been a ward clerk, one had been a district president in the mission field, and they were there because they had sowed to the flesh. I tell you, my heart went out to them under those conditions. When I was there, I was invited to return again to talk to the Alcoholics Anonymous group. (I made sure I got a round-trip ticket so I could get out once I got in there.) When I came I said, “I’d like to hear from you men. How do you feel? What can you tell me?”

And the man in charge of that group stood up and he said, “I thank God for the privilege of being in this institution.” Can you imagine? That’s what you get when you sow to the flesh. He thanked God for the privilege of being in that state penitentiary. He said, “Before I came here, I was no good to my family, I was no good to my country, I was no good to my church. I was just no good, period. Now, I have hopes that when I get out of here I’ll be worth something to somebody.” That’s what it means to sow to the Spirit.

Brother Arnaldo Teles Grilo became one of my best friends when I was in my mid-20s. At the age of 62, Brother Grilo, then a retired engineer, was called as one of my counselors in the presidency of what was then the Oeiras Portugal District, where we served together for several years.
His wisdom and experience provided me, a young priesthood leader, much valuable counsel and insight. He was an optimist by nature; he always saw the bright side of every situation and had a good sense of humor. His attitude was a source of great inspiration to many around him and in particular to me because I knew about the arduous challenges he had faced.
After his graduation as an engineer, Brother Grilo joined the National Agronomic Agency as a researcher in Portugal and later traveled to one of the Portuguese colonies in Africa to lead a cotton research project. The project led him to a successful career as a senior executive in a large international bank in that country. During almost 30 years in Africa, he raised a beautiful family and enjoyed a good life until his family was abruptly forced to return to Portugal because of the tragedy of conflict and war.
Brother Grilo and his family left behind everything they had worked for—all their property and personal belongings—after witnessing firsthand the devastating effects of war on a country they loved.
Despite the confusion and turmoil generated by a war that gradually consumed all peace and stability during his last months in Africa, Brother Grilo rescued one of his friends by giving him an expensive car he had purchased in Germany. The car allowed his friend and his friend’s mother to escape the war.
The abundant material possessions that a life of hard work had provided Brother Grilo did not blur his priorities. He remained anchored in solid principles and love for his family.
Back in Portugal at age 52, he faced the reality of beginning everything from zero. With all of this adversity and tragedy, what made the difference in his life? Why was he so positive about the present and the future? Why was he so confident?
Brother Grilo was converted in the early days of the Church in Portugal and became a solid pillar and pioneer in that country. Several times he led his family to the temple in Switzerland, traveling 2,800 miles (4,500 km) round-trip in an expression of faith and devotion. Over his years of service, Brother Grilo and his wife brought joy to their children and many others.
Brother Grilo’s faith was centered in Jesus Christ and in the knowledge that in the end, Jesus Christ would reign. This gave him hope in the present and in the future.

Long years ago, when I served as a bishop, I learned that Mary Watson, a member of my ward, was a patient in the county hospital. When I went to visit her, I discovered her in a large room with so many beds that it was difficult to single her out. As I identified her bed and approached her, I said, “Hello, Mary.”
She replied, “Hello, Bishop.”
I noticed that a patient in the bed next to Mary Watson covered her face with the bedsheet.
I gave Mary a blessing, shook her hand, and said good-bye, but I could not leave her side. It was as though an unseen hand were resting on my shoulder, and I felt within my soul that I was hearing these words: “Go over to the next bed, where the little lady covered her face when you came in.” I did so. I have learned in my life never to postpone responding to a prompting.
I gently tapped the other patient on her shoulder and carefully pulled back the sheet that had covered her face. Lo and behold, she, too, was a member of my ward. I had not known she was a patient there. Her name was Kathleen McKee. When her eyes met mine, she exclaimed through her tears, “Oh, Bishop, when you entered that door, I felt you had come to see me and bless me in response to my prayers. I was rejoicing inside to think that you knew I was here. When you stopped at the other bed, my heart sank, and I knew that you had not come to see me.”
I said to Kathleen McKee: “It does not matter that I didn’t know that you were here. It is important, however, that our Heavenly Father knew and that you had prayed for a priesthood blessing. It was He who prompted me to come to you now.”
A blessing was given, a prayer was answered. I bestowed a kiss on her forehead and left the hospital with gratitude in my heart for the promptings of the Spirit. It was the last time I saw Kathleen McKee alive.

Elder Monte J. Brough of the First Quorum of the Seventy tells of a summer at his childhood home in Randolph, Utah, when he and his younger brother, Max, decided to build a tree house in a large tree in the backyard. They made plans for the most wonderful creation of their lives. They gathered building materials from all over the neighborhood and carried them up to a part of the tree where two branches provided an ideal location for the house. It was difficult, and they were anxious to complete their work. The vision of the finished tree house provided tremendous motivation for them to complete the project.

They worked all summer, and finally in the fall just before school began for the new year, their house was completed. Elder Brough said he will never forget the feelings of joy and satisfaction which were theirs when they finally were able to enjoy the fruit of their work. They sat in the tree house, looked around for a few minutes, climbed down from the tree—and never returned. The completed project, as wonderful as it was, could not hold their interest for even one day. In other words, the process of planning, gathering, building, and working—not the completed project—provided the enduring satisfaction and pleasure they had experienced.

Let us relish life as we live it and, as did Elder Brough and his brother, Max, find joy in the journey.

Although it was the middle of Guatemala’s rainy season, the sun was out in full force at noon when they arrived in Cahabón, about halfway home.
“We’ll stop for soft drinks here,” President Andersen said as he pulled over next to the town square. “This town is tradition-oriented and wouldn’t let the protestant missionaries construct a chapel. I want you to meet the lady who owns the cafe; she has a special spirit. She will join the Church someday.”
The elders wanted to look around awhile before going into the cafe. The rest went inside and talked with the owner while they enjoyed their soft drinks. Several minutes passed, but the missionaries did not come in. “I wonder where they are,” President Andersen said.
They finished their drinks, paid the owner, and walked outside. There the mystery of the missing missionaries was solved.
Seated on a step, Elder Bringhurst was addressing about 50 Indians in their tongue, telling them about their ancestors. He held a copy of the Book of Mormon as he spoke.
In the following 20 minutes the missionaries explained the origin of the book, and bore their testimonies. The Indians seemed impressed, and several invited the missionaries to return another time to tell them more. Elder Bringhurst assured them that someone would return with the book and tell them many important things about themselves and about God.
Later, as they drove homeward, President Andersen said, “The Indians want to know about the book of their ancestors. We have something no one else can give them, the gospel. We have the religion of their forefathers and we tell them so.”

Another young woman had great plans for her life. It’s the story written by Ardeth G. Kapp about her sister Shirley. Shirley said:

“I want to help the world turn, and I want to help it turn sharply. I want to make a mark in life.”

With enough successes already to give her considerable confidence, her goals could be lofty. As she spoke of far-away places and exotic endeavors, her father posed a simple question with a not so simple answer. “Shirley,” he said, “why don’t you become great like your grandmother?”

. . . She excitedly asked, “What did she do?”

. . . He replied, “She kept a beautiful home and raised a fine family.”

Often during the following years her father’s counsel would come to mind for Shirley at the most unexpected times, such as during a psychology class at college, or when she was organizing the election campaign for a student body candidate. It would come during a piano recital or when she was camping or learning first aid. It would seem logical when she was preparing for a Spiritual Living lesson, but why right in the middle of an economics class dealing with the gross national product? Why in the middle of a heated discussion with a roommate about the budget and the laundry? And especially why during general household responsibilities? [In Ardeth Greene Kapp, Miracles in Pinafores and Bluejeans [Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Company, 1977], pp. 2–4]

The time came when Shirley married and had 11 children. Her husband was serving as stake president in Canada when a General Authority came to stay in their home while he was on a conference assignment. Upon his return home from the assignment, he called Shirley’s sister and reported on a grand experience. He said these words: “Your sister keeps a beautiful home and is raising a fine family.” This was a direct quote from Shirley’s father’s advice to her as a girl. All the preparation she had made to make a mark on the world truly paid off. With her skills and talents, she has blessed a family, and the ripple effect of that will go on forever.

And then there is Maddy. When her family stopped attending church, Maddy was confused and not certain what to do. She realized something significant was missing. So at age 13, Maddy began attending church alone. Even though being alone was sometimes hard and uncomfortable, she knew she could find the Savior at church and she wanted to be where He was. She said, “In church my soul felt like it was at home.”

Maddy held onto the fact that her family had been sealed together for eternity. She started bringing her younger brothers with her to church and studying scriptures with them at home. Eventually her mom began joining them. Maddy told her mom of her desire to serve a mission and asked if her mom could be ready to attend the temple with her.

Today Maddy is in the MTC. She is serving. She is witnessing of Christ. Her example helped lead both of her parents back to the temple and back to Christ.

While serving as Secretary of Agriculture of the United States in the Cabinet of President Dwight D. Eisenhower, I was invited to give the keynote address at the annual convention of the World Food and Agriculture Organization at Rome, Italy. Between sixty and seventy nations were represented at the great international conference.
Following the morning session, which included the address, an impressive luncheon was given in my honor in the International Banquet Hall, which was decorated with flags of many nations.
The customary cocktail hour preceded the luncheon. I noticed as the men held glasses in their hands that there was apparently no liquor being served but only soft drinks and fruit juices. I mentioned this to my host, Dr. Sen of India, and said, “Surely many of these men are used to their liquor, which is customary during the cocktail hour.” He said, “No, Mr. Secretary, today we honor you and respect your standards.”
Following the period of fellowship, we took our places at the banquet table. Here I was even more surprised to find that there was no coffee being served but again only soft drinks and fruit juices. I said to Dr. Sen, “Surely the men attending the luncheon expect to have their usual coffee.” He smiled very graciously and said, “No. Mr. Secretary, I am the host. You are the honored guest, and at this luncheon we honor you and respect your standards.”
And so it was at a luncheon attended by distinguished leaders from many nations. No member of the Church will ever have cause to be embarrassed by real men or women because of his or her standards. Again, it is rewarding to maintain the standards of the Church.

When I was a deacon, my family moved to a new home in a different ward. I was beginning junior high school, so I also attended a new school. There was a marvelous group of young men in the deacons quorum. Most of their parents were active members. My mother was completely active; my father was exceptional in every way but was not an active member.
The second counselor in the bishopric, Brother Dean Eyre, was a devoted leader. When I was still adjusting to the new ward, a father-son event was announced for Bear Lake—about 40 miles (65 km) away. I did not think I would attend without my father. But Brother Eyre issued a special invitation for me to go with him. He spoke highly and respectfully of my father and stressed the significance of my opportunity to be with the other members of the deacons quorum. So I decided to go with Brother Eyre, and I had a wonderful experience.
Brother Eyre was a marvelous example of Christlike love in fulfilling the bishopric’s responsibility to support parents in watching over and nurturing the youth. He gave me an excellent start in this new ward and was a mentor to me.

Just two weeks into the new school year, my best friend, Scott, and I were driving home discussing our plans for later that evening. As we pulled into the driveway, I saw my dad working on the barbecue. As I stepped out of the car, I told Scott I would be ready for him to pick me up later. My dad, overhearing the conversation, told me that he was having students from his college ward over that evening for a ward social. “I could use your help getting things ready,” he said. I turned to Scott and told him that our plans would have to be postponed.
As Scott left, my dad asked me to take the grill’s propane tank to the store and fill it. After quickly changing my clothes, I loaded the tank into our truck and drove toward the store.
Between my home and the store there is an elementary school. I was well aware of the school as I had gone in that direction many times. But this time I was in a hurry and did not pay attention to the school zone speed limit. I knew school had been out for about an hour, so I ignored it.
After filling the tank, I headed home. As I approached the school, I had the feeling I should slow down. I didn’t heed the prompting and continued on. As I came closer to the school, I saw Bobby Logan,* a young boy from my ward, run onto the road.
He was on his way to the school to play with his sister and some of his friends. As Bobby came to the road, he stopped and looked at me. I started to slow down, again feeling the prompting. As I approached Bobby, he looked directly at me. We had eye contact for a second, and I had the thought that he was going to run in front of me. At that very moment, he did.
I was too close to miss him, and although I hit the brakes, it was too late. Realizing what had just happened, I quickly got out of the truck and ran to Bobby, who was lying on the ground. I ran to his house and told his mother to call an ambulance. Then I went back to Bobby’s side. I offered a silent prayer and pleaded for his life as I knelt beside him.
Bobby’s mother arrived and immediately checked for a pulse. I was crying hysterically and repeatedly said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hit him.” Sister Logan looked at me and told me that she forgave me.
The ambulance arrived and took Bobby to the hospital, but he died about 30 minutes later. My bishop came to our home with the tragic news of his death. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I didn’t know what to do or say. I was devastated.
A few days later I saw the Logans. As we visited, Sister Logan told me that the family felt strongly that Bobby was happy. She told me they held no harsh feelings toward me. As I heard these things, I felt the Spirit testifying to me that what she said was true, and their sincerity was very real.
During the next few days I struggled with the realization that I had taken another person’s life. As I battled with my emotions, I withdrew more and more. I didn’t want to go anywhere or do anything.
One day my mom and sister persuaded me to go with them. They were conversing in the front seat of our car, and I was lying on the back seat, pondering the question why and wondering how I could ever move on from that point in my life. Again I offered a silent prayer to Heavenly Father for the strength to overcome this obstacle. In the midst of my crying and praying, I suddenly felt the most overwhelming feeling of joy and peace. It was at that moment that I knew Bobby was fine and that he was happy. I also realized how much love my Heavenly Father has for me. I could truly feel His arms of love and understanding around me.
Since that day I began healing from my emotional pain. It took a long time for me to get to the point where I could accept myself again, but I knew I was on the right track. Because of this experience, I have become even more grateful for the gospel of Jesus Christ. I can’t imagine trying to endure this without the love of my family, the Logans, and countless friends who rallied around me. I saw the gospel in action. I saw my Savior’s healing hands work through those I love. I also know the Spirit is one of the most precious gifts we have.
The Logans are my heroes because they epitomized Jesus Christ from the very beginning of this ordeal. They forgave. For that I am eternally grateful. I know that I will see Bobby again and that hopefully then his family and mine will rest together in the heavens.

As I approached my 18th birthday and prepared to enter military service in World War II, I was recommended to receive the Melchizedek Priesthood. Mine was the task to telephone President Paul C. Child, my stake president, for an interview. He was one who loved and understood the holy scriptures. It was his intent that all others should similarly love and understand them. Since I knew from others of his rather detailed and searching interviews, our telephone conversation went something like this:
“Hello, President Child. This is Brother Monson. I have been asked by the bishop to visit with you relative to being ordained an elder.”
“Fine, Brother Monson. When can you see me?”
Knowing that his sacrament meeting was at six o’clock, and desiring minimum exposure of my scriptural knowledge to his review, I suggested, “How would five o’clock be?”
His response: “Oh, Brother Monson, that would not provide us sufficient time to peruse the scriptures. Could you please come at two o’clock, and bring with you your personally marked and referenced set of scriptures.”
Sunday finally arrived, and I visited President Child’s home on Indiana Avenue. I was greeted warmly, and then the interview began. He said, “Brother Monson, you hold the Aaronic Priesthood. Have you ever had angels minister to you?”
My reply was, “No, President Child.”
“Do you know,” said he, “that you are entitled to such?”
Again came my response, “No.”
Then he instructed, “Brother Monson, repeat from memory the 13th section of the Doctrine and Covenants.”
I began, “Upon you my fellow servants, in the name of Messiah I confer the Priesthood of Aaron, which holds the keys of the ministering of angels …
“Stop,” President Child directed. Then in a calm, kindly tone he counseled, “Brother Monson, never forget that as a holder of the Aaronic Priesthood you are entitled to the ministering of angels.”
It was almost as though an angel were in the room that day. I have never forgotten the interview. I yet feel the spirit of that solemn occasion. I revere the priesthood of Almighty God. I have witnessed its power. I have seen its strength. I have marveled at the miracles it has wrought.

Finally Wilford arrived in Memphis. Tired and dirty, he went to an inn.
“I am a minister, traveling without purse or scrip,” he told the innkeeper. “I would be happy to preach in exchange for food and a bed.”
“You don’t look like a minister,” the innkeeper said. “This man says he’s a preacher!” he called out to the men nearby. The men laughed and gathered around. Wilford looked at them. He had never preached to so many people. They looked more frightening than a bear or a pack of wolves.
Wilford said a silent prayer. The Lord had protected and provided for him and healed his knee. Surely he could teach these men. “Do you want to hear what the Lord has to tell you?” he asked.
“Bring it on, preacher!” they jeered. Wilford knelt and prayed aloud. He asked the Lord to tell him what those men needed to hear. Then he gave a talk and told the men to repent. When he finished speaking, the room was quiet.
“You’ve earned a bath, a meal, and a bed, preacher,” the innkeeper said. “Anytime you’re in Memphis, you can stay here, but that’s enough preaching.”
Wilford knew he had taught with the Spirit. He had arrived in his mission field prepared.

It doesn’t take expensive gifts to make Christmas meaningful. I am reminded of a story told by Elder Glen L. Rudd, who served as a member of the Seventy from 1987 to 1992. One day before Christmas a number of years ago, while he was managing a bishops’ storehouse, he learned from an ecclesiastical leader about a needy family that had recently moved to the city. When he went to visit their small apartment, he discovered a young single mother with four children under age 10.
The family’s needs were so great that the mother could not buy treats or presents for her children that Christmas—she couldn’t even afford a tree. Brother Rudd talked with the family and learned that the three little girls would love a doll or a stuffed animal. When he asked the six-year-old son what he wanted, the hungry little boy replied, “I would like a bowl of oatmeal.”
Brother Rudd promised the little boy oatmeal and maybe something else. Then he went to the bishops’ storehouse and gathered food and other supplies to meet the immediate needs of the family.
That very morning a generous Latter-day Saint had given him 50 dollars “for someone in need.” Using that donation, Brother Rudd bundled up three of his own children and went Christmas shopping—his children selecting toys for the needy children.
After loading up the car with food, clothing, gifts, a Christmas tree, and some ornaments, the Rudds drove to the family’s apartment. There they helped the mother and her children set up the tree. Then they placed presents under it and presented the little boy with a large package of oatmeal.
The mother wept, the children rejoiced, and they all sang a Christmas song. That night as the Rudd family gathered for dinner, they gave thanks that they could bring some Christmas cheer to another family and help a little boy receive a bowl of oatmeal.1

“Becky, could you please ask your brothers to come to the family room?” Mom said. “Dad and I have something to tell everyone.”
I went and got Chip and Keith, and we gathered in the family room.
“I received some great news today,” Dad said. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out an envelope. “Grandpa Greer sent us a letter saying that Great-Grandma Meikle is going to be baptized.”
“Who is Great-Grandma Meikle?” Chip asked.
“She is Grandma Greer’s mother,” Dad said. “Do you remember when we visited Grandma and Grandpa last year? We also visited Great-Grandma Meikle in the nursing home where she lives.”
“But Great-Grandma must be 100 years old!” Keith said. “She can hardly walk. How can she be baptized? When I was baptized, I was eight years old. Grandmas can’t be baptized.”
“Great-Grandma’s birthday is next week,” Mom said. “She will be 88 years old. She wants to be baptized on her birthday. To be baptized, a person needs to be eight or older. Remember when Brother Garcia was baptized? He wasn’t eight years old.”
Brother Garcia’s daughter Maria was in my class at school. We ate lunch together. She told me the missionaries had been visiting her dad. She loved to have the missionaries in her home. “Did Great-Grandma Meikle have the missionaries visit her?” I asked.
“Yes,” Dad replied. “They visited her every week and answered her questions. Grandpa Greer has also been helping her learn the gospel. And Great-Grandma attends church meetings in the nursing home. She has made many friends in the Church.”
“Who is going to baptize her?” Keith asked. “Dad baptized me. Great-Grandma doesn’t have a dad.”
“The missionaries could do it,” Mom said, “but Great-Grandma has asked Grandpa Greer to do it.”
“Can we go?” Chip pleaded.
“I’m afraid not,” Dad said. “It’s too far away.”
“Can I write a letter?” I asked.
“What a great idea!” Mom said, smiling. “Let’s all write her letters telling her how happy we are for her.”
“I’ll tell her about my baptism so she won’t be nervous,” Keith said on his way to get a pencil and paper.
After everyone finished their letters, we put them in a big envelope and addressed it to Great-Grandma Meikle in the nursing home. Maybe she would write back and tell us all about her special day. It was great news knowing that even great-grandmas can be baptized.

Then Christine thought of another day, just last October. It was overcast, gray, cool. The heavy air smelled of rain. Papa and Clément were up early, as usual on a Monday. The big diesel engine was already throbbing, mildly vibrating the entire house.
Clément stuffed the compartment behind the cab with blankets, canned pudding, instant soup, snack food. He ran inside to get some tapes, his earphones, and a tape player.
Then he thought again, and laid them aside. This was his last trip to Mechanicsburg for two years. He and father would be talking all the way there, talking about his mission.
The stairs were steep at the south end of the terrasse, but Christine took them easily. Hours of volleyball practice had conditioned her to run, and her lungs pulled in air that was crisp and pure. She reached a narrower boardwalk, the Promenade des Gouverneurs, which stretches along the cliffs to reach the Plains of Abraham.
The French love to tell of a great struggle here, when the Chevalier de Lévis, battling to reclaim Quebec, lured the British far from the city and beat them. But those assigned to cut off the retreat failed, and the rest of the army, too tired to pursue, let the enemy escape. British reinforcements arrived soon, and what should have been a French victory turned to defeat.
Christine breathed deeply and let the air out slowly. It surprised her when she thought of a scripture: “Look unto me, and endure to the end, and ye shall live” (3 Ne. 15:9).
“Endure,” she said aloud. “Sometimes you just have to endure.” And then she was remembering again.
It was a routine, the same routine Marie Claude had followed every morning for years. Get up early and care for the animals. Feed Daisy, Belle, and Lady, the horses. Feed Fido, the bull in the barn. Feed three pigs, three sheep, two dogs, four ducks, and any other animals calling the farm home at the moment.
From upstairs, Christine heard Marie Claude come in the house and bolt the back door against the wind. She could imagine her hanging her flannel coat on the peg in the kitchen. Then she heard her pull a chair across the floor and put breakfast dishes on the table.
For as long as Christine could remember, Marie Claude got up early to take care of the animals. But today the routine was different—the movements slower, the pauses longer, the sighs heavy and audible.
And Christine knew why. Last night, Marie Claude had finally told her boyfriend good-bye. He was a decent fellow, a nice man. But he didn’t understand. He’d had the missionary discussions, even been to church a time or two. But all this religion, meetings every Sunday, marriage in a temple—for him it just wouldn’t do.
And now Marie Claude, who loved him and had dated him for a couple of years, who had argued with him before, had sent him away. She sat at the breakfast table, numb, almost crying, wrenching solace from the everyday routine.
At the end of the promenade, there’s a gazebo. To get there, Christine had to mount steps again. Quickly she bounded up them, the end of her run in sight. And as she ran, her mind flashed ahead, like a video on fast forward.
Here was Marie Claude again, but this time she was smiling. Dressed in embroidered chiffon, she sat by a cheery window in a friend’s house, holding hands with an amiable young man in a blue sweater.
It was amazing. When they laughed, it was the same laugh. The smile was the same smile. They looked like each other, they talked like each other. They both had kind eyes. You’d think they were brother and sister, not fiances.
Yet there on the table was their wedding announcement, and it really did seem like a dream come true—“C’est avec joie que nous vous annonçons notre mariage qui aura lieu au Temple de Washington, D.C., mercredi le six mai.” (It is with joy that we announce our marriage in the Washington, D.C. Temple on May 6, 1987.)
André and Marie Claude. They met at church, and fell in love quickly. But after years of struggling to feel right about something that was wrong, it was easy for Marie Claude to do something that felt so true.
At the gazebo, Christine stopped.
She thought about the family. She pictured her mother, joking with the visiting teachers, happily discussing her hobby of decorating cakes. She saw Father, smiling broadly, the proudest sacrament meeting usher the Branche de Québec has as ever had. She imagined Clément, Elder Ferland, teaching missionary lessons in broken English. And she pictured Marie Claude, in her own home as a newlywed, so happy she was almost dancing.
Then she thought of spires of white, rising from a green woodland, and she cherished the promises of eternity.
Christine looked across the ancient battlefields. The rolling hills seemed to be resting, calm now as she was calm. In the distance, a calèche, a carriage, bobbed along the folds of green. From so far away, it seemed to be in slow motion. But in the evening air, she could hear the clip-clop, clip-clop of the horse’s hooves.
She turned and looked again at the river. It was shining still, but it was no longer silver. The setting sun had turned it to gold. And the sailboat, still a silhouette, pulled up to its moorings.
Dusk was past. The time for returning was here.

It was a warm summer morning as Josh followed his dad into the hardware store. Outside, bees hummed and sprinklers hissed, but inside everything was cool and quiet. Josh stood at the window and watched a bee bump against the glass.
Then something on a shelf caught his eye—a pocketknife gleaming in the sunlight near the window. Josh was sure he could use a knife like that for all sorts of things. But he didn’t ask Dad if he could buy it. He already knew what Dad would say: “You should wait until you’re a Boy Scout to get a pocketknife.” Josh didn’t want to wait until then. He wanted a pocketknife right now.
Josh looked over his shoulder. Dad was busy paying the cashier for some work gloves. Josh snatched the knife and put it in his pocket.
“Ready to go?” Dad asked.
Josh followed Dad to the car, his heart thumping like the bee against the window. As they drove away, Josh smiled. No one had noticed! The knife was his.
So why did it feel like a heavy rock in his pocket?
By the time Josh got home, he felt like he had a rock in his stomach too. Josh went to his room and took out the knife. It didn’t seem to gleam anymore. Josh tried to imagine what kinds of things he’d use it for, but he couldn’t think of any. Besides, if he took the knife out of his room, Dad might see it.
Josh felt anxious all day. The knife’s weight in his pocket kept reminding him of the wrong choice he had made. He had to get rid of it.
“Can I ride my bike?” he asked Mom.
“Yes, just be home in time for dinner,” Mom said.
Josh hurried to get his bicycle from the garage and pedaled onto the sidewalk.
“Hey, Josh! Where are you going?” Josh’s brother Tanner called from his friend Chris’s yard.
Josh didn’t slow down. He raced to the end of the street, where a brick wall was built into a hillside. Josh found a crack between the bricks and stuffed the pocketknife into the dark hole. No one would know what he’d done. Now he could forget about it too.
A few hours later, Tanner and Chris burst into the house. “Look what we found!” Tanner held up the pocketknife.
Josh tried not to look guilty. “Where did you get that?” he asked.
“We followed a bee,” Tanner said.
“You followed a bee?” Mom repeated.
“We were bored,” Tanner said. “We chased the bee to the end of the street. It crawled into a hole in the brick wall, and that’s where the pocketknife was.”
Josh felt sick. Even though he’d hidden the knife, Heavenly Father knew where it was. He went to his room and counted the dollar bills in his wallet. Then he prayed for the courage to tell the truth. When he got up from his knees, the anxiousness in his mind quieted. He felt a little nervous about telling his parents and the cashier at the hardware store what he had done, but he felt lighter than he had all day—like a bee zipping over the rooftops toward home.

A few months ago I had an opportunity to take a morning walk on a mountain trail with four of my grandchildren. We each brought a bag so we could collect treasures from nature. As we looked for pieces to put in our collections, we found many different colors, designs, and textures in the leaves and rocks. It was hard to choose. I soon noticed that the children’s bags were filling up. Each leaf the children selected was unique, but because it was late fall, most of the leaves had dark weathered spots, irregular shapes, or faded and discolored parts. Because of this, I was reluctant to add things to my bag. I was looking for a leaf that showed the brightest colors and had no flaws. If it wasn’t perfect, I wasn’t going to treasure it. But this meant that my bag had very little in it.

Later, as I thought about this experience, I realized that I had cheated myself of much delight and happiness that could have been mine. I didn’t appreciate the uniqueness of the objects because I was looking for what I had deemed perfection. My grandchildren had been wiser than I had been. They had savored the odd shapes and spots on the leaves. They giggled at and enjoyed the brittle crispness of the dying leaves, and they delighted in the soft, faded colors. They filled their bags with happy treasures to take home. We can fail to see and enjoy the unique happiness and beauty in each day if we are so focused on our desire for what we want instead of what the Lord has designed for us.

The final awareness activity of the conference was a bit of a shock to most of the youth. As they were seated for a beautiful, all-you-can-eat brunch, blindfolds and ropes were distributed. The teens were divided into partners to help each other: one was blindfolded, the other had his “good” arm tied to his side. They were then invited to go to the buffet and help themselves.
This experience and the discussion on blindness helped Laura Lemke of the White Oak Ward a few days later when she encountered a blind man who appeared lost at the subway station. Without hesitation, she went up to him and offered assistance. Rather than grab him, she offered her elbow to him, and led him to the fare card machine.

I was in a leadership meeting with one of our Apostles when a sincere question was asked by someone in the congregation. He wanted to know how to distinguish between counsel from our prophet and contrary information he thought might be more correct given scientific or scholarly findings. On this particular issue, he earnestly wanted to reconcile his feelings of confusion.
The answer from the attending Apostle was simple and tender. I will not quote what he said, but I will share the message my heart received. We each have our agency, which will never be taken from us or minimized. The world is laden with noise and alternate messages. It is precisely during these times of doubt or confusion that we should most carefully align ourselves with the prophet. There we will find needed peace and safety.
I will always remember how I felt during that meeting. I knew what was spoken was truth. Prophets see around corners. We can, brothers and sisters, step out of the muddle and uncertainty of the world into a place of safety and assurance as we follow prophetic counsel.

I would not say that I had no goals before I was baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. But I can say that my life had no clear direction. I sometimes felt as if I were walking in darkness, not really knowing which way to go.
Like most other 19-year-olds in Saint Petersburg, Russia, I hoped to someday get married, have children, and live happily ever after. Still, I wouldn’t say that I exactly knew how to achieve this goal—especially the part about living happily ever after.
But Heavenly Father knew. He knew that before I could attain real happiness, I needed to place Him and His Son at the center of my life. I started to learn how to do this not long before my 20th birthday when the missionaries began to teach my family about how to find happiness through living the commandments.
After we met the missionaries, it didn’t take long for me to know what to do. I prayed and knew that if I wanted to meet my life’s goals, I needed to be baptized a member of Jesus Christ’s Church.
Following my baptism, I was ostracized by some friends and family members who couldn’t understand why making this choice to follow Heavenly Father’s plan was so important to me. Despite this, I was happy. I knew He was comforting me by allowing me to go through these trials with peace.
By the time I turned 21, I had a strong desire to testify of the truthfulness of the gospel and share with others how resolving to live the commandments had changed my life, so I became a missionary. It felt wonderful to share with people what had happened to my life from the time I decided to put the gospel first.
My life has been full of blessings since that time. Eight years ago I was able to enter the temple and reach my goal of getting married. However, instead of only being married, I was sealed to my husband for eternity.
Over the last several years, my goal of becoming a mother has also been fulfilled. I have been blessed with three wonderful sons.
Not long ago my family and I had the opportunity to visit a temple open house. As we walked through the temple, our four-year-old son looked at me and said, “Mom, because you and Dad got married in the temple, our family is going to be together forever.”
I feel blessed and humbled to think of the last decade of my life. I am on my way to achieving my goal for a “happily ever after,” thanks to the fact that I turned my life to my Heavenly Father and to Jesus Christ. As long as I place Them at the center of my life, I know I can achieve my goals. I know that Heavenly Father and the Savior love us and want to help.
Would you like to share how Jesus Christ has touched your life? We welcome accounts of your gospel experiences and insights relating to the Savior’s ministry and mission. Possible topics might include the Atonement, grace, healing, hope, or repentance. Please limit submissions to 500 words, label them “We Talk of Christ,” and send them to liahona@ldschurch.org.