Gospel Story Finder

“It isn’t fair,” I moaned. “Christmas is a week away, and I don’t have anything for Caitlyn.”
“I thought you were giving her the wind chimes you made at school,” Mom said.
“I was going to give her those because I couldn’t think of anything else.” I sighed. “I’m not supposed to know, but I saw what she’s going to give me—a silver necklace with a tiny pearl in it. It’s beautiful! And what do I give her? Some wind chimes I made at school.” I shook my head. “Maybe it would be different if Caitlyn didn’t already have everything.”
“Caitlyn has everything?” Mom looked up from the Primary lesson she was preparing.
“Well, nearly everything,” I muttered. “Her parents get her anything she asks for.” I shrugged. “She doesn’t ever ask for much. She deserves more than wind chimes from me.”
Last summer I had met Caitlyn at the park. She was sitting on one of the benches all by herself. At first, I didn’t pay any attention to her, and she seemed to ignore me, too. Even when I walked right in front of her, she didn’t look my way or say anything. She just was staring and smiling. Caitlyn almost always smiles.
My little sister, Tricia, and I were tossing a Frisbee back and forth, laughing and joking. I accidentally tossed the Frisbee over Tricia’s head, and it landed in front of Caitlyn’s bench.
“Do you mind tossing that to me?” Tricia called to her.
Caitlyn stood up cautiously. “Tell me where it is,” she said, smiling.
“Right in front of you,” Tricia giggled.
“How many steps in front of me?” Caitlyn continued to stare straight ahead.
“Look down,” Tricia coached. “Look down and you’ll see it.”
“But I can’t see,” Caitlyn came back. She said it as though it were the most ordinary thing in the whole world.
That day in the park, we told each other our names. A few days later, I saw Caitlyn there again. As soon as I said hello, she gave me a huge smile and a cheery, “Hi, Melissa. I hoped we’d meet again.”
“How did you know it was me?”
“I hardly ever forget a voice, especially a friendly one. I told Mrs. Wallace—she looks after me during the day—that I wanted to come back here in case you came again.” She reached out. “May I touch your face?” She explained, “I have to ‘see’ with my fingers.”
We sat and talked most of the afternoon. I learned that her father was a heart surgeon and her mother was an attorney. Caitlyn was their only child. She lived in a huge house east of the park. Mrs. Wallace was her special helper and friend. I might have been just a little jealous if it wasn’t for Caitlyn’s blindness.
“Have you always been …” I couldn’t bring myself to say it.
Caitlyn was quiet for a moment; then she answered gently, “Not always. I could see until I was four. Then I was in an accident. I still remember little pictures of the world before everything was dark.” She hesitated. “But most things I don’t remember. Or I never saw them in the first place.”
Caitlyn and I were so different. I came from a pretty ordinary family. We certainly weren’t rich. I lived in a small house with my two brothers and three sisters. I loved to play ball and run and jump. School wasn’t exactly hard for me—it just didn’t interest me much.
Caitlyn loved school. She went to a special school hundreds of miles away, where she learned to read books with pages covered with tiny bumps. She ran her fingers over those tiny bumps and read stories. She could play the piano, and she had a special computer that helped her write and explore the world.
Even though we were different, we became wonderful friends.
Because her school was far away, she was home only part of the time, but during those times we spent hours together, either at her house or at mine. Often when she was at school, she called and we talked for hours. As our friendship grew, I sometimes forgot that she was blind.
Caitlyn will get some really neat gifts this Christmas,” I told Mom. “She doesn’t know it, of course, but her parents are giving her a new music system for her room and a new bed that looks like something out of a fairy tale. Why would she ever want my silly wind chimes?”
“She loves things she can hear. You said she loves wind chimes.”
I shook my head. “I like bubbles, but I don’t think I’d like bubbles for Christmas.” I sighed. “That’s the problem with having a friend who has everything.”
“Everything?”
I knew Mom was talking about Caitlyn’s eyes. “Everything I could give her.”
I leaned back in the sofa and stared up at the ceiling, trying to imagine what Caitlyn’s world was like. I opened my eyes and looked over at Mom. “I know what I’d like to give her. My eyes. Just for a day. Just so she could see the world again. She’d have the memories of everything she had seen that day. I’d be OK, missing my eyes for one day, and that one day of sight would mean so much to her.”
Mom smiled at me. “It would be a wonderful gift. I wish we could both give her that. But we can’t. Caitlyn will know that you are giving her the chimes from your heart. That’s what will mean the most to her. And every time she hears them, she’ll think of you, even when she’s away at school.”
Mom helped me wrap the chimes. Then I went to my room, lay on my bed, and closed my eyes, imagining that I had magically lent my eyes to Caitlyn. I wished that Jesus Christ was here and that He healed Caitlyn’s eyes. I knew that He will come again one day, and He will do His miracles. One day Caitlyn will see again. I knew it. But I wanted her to see now!
While I was lying there, locked for a moment in Caitlyn’s dark world, it came to me what I could give her that would be special enough. I leaped from my bed and went charging down the hall.
Mom listened as I excitedly explained what I wanted to do. I needed her help. Smiling, she agreed, and for the next few days, we worked together—planning, preparing, practicing, pretending. Mom and I drove down the street, walked down the sidewalks, peered into store windows, and saw hundreds of other things all around us. I looked through my eyes as though they were Caitlyn’s. I saw things that I had never noticed before.
Two days before Christmas, Mom drove me to Caitlyn’s house. She was smiling wildly with excitement. “Ever since you called,” her mother said, “she’s been waiting for this evening. I don’t know what you have planned, but—”
“It will be wonderful, whatever it is,” Caitlyn interrupted, because Melissa is giving it to me.”
I led Caitlyn to the car, and we sat in the back. As soon as I closed the door, I announced, “I wanted to give you something wonderful for Christmas, something that came from me.” I reached out and touched her hand. “I thought if I could, I’d let you borrow my eyes for a day. And I’ve discovered a way to do it! Tonight I’m going to use my eyes to show you Christmas.”
Caitlyn nodded but looked confused.
“We’re driving down your street,” I started, my voice shaking with excitement. Mom drove very slowly so I could describe everything. “Right here at the corner is a gorgeous manger scene. Mary is by the manger, holding the Baby Jesus. Lights are shining from overhead. There are little gray donkeys walking across the snow and shepherds and lambs and …”
Mom and I took Caitlyn down several streets and described the decorated homes. We drove downtown to the Village of Lights. We walked up and down Main Street, peering in the big windows of the department stores and in the little panes of the small shops. When we stopped at a cute cafe to sip hot chocolate and munch cinnamon rolls, I described the tiny decorative elves perched on the counter, the holly hanging on beams overhead, and the mistletoe dangling from the ceiling above each booth.
Outside, we met Santa Claus, and we saw carolers. I didn’t want to miss anything, because I knew that if I didn’t see everything, neither would Caitlyn.
It was late when we returned to Caitlyn’s house. As she burst through her front door, she called out to her mother, “It was awesome! It was better than awesome! We went everywhere, and Melissa described everything. It was as though I could see again.”
Caitlyn bubbled with excitement, and I was so happy that I thought I’d burst. I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out the package containing my simple wind chimes. I pressed the small present into her hands. “This is also for you. Whenever you hear the chimes, you can remember tonight and everything we saw together.”
Caitlyn threw her arms around my neck and squeezed until I didn’t think I could breathe. “It was the best gift ever!” she whispered in my ear.

Jennifer handed Mom a piece of paper after church. She listened as her mother read the note: “Jennifer has been asked to give a talk in Primary next Sunday, February 14.”
“Mom, will you please help me?” Jennifer asked.
“Of course I will,” Mom said. “You can think and pray about what you would like to say. This week we can work on your ideas.”
“Thank you, Mom!” Jennifer said. She was a little scared, but she knew she could do it with help from Heavenly Father.
The next day as Jennifer cut out paper hearts to make valentines, an idea popped into her head. She ran to find Mom and handed her the paper heart.
“Do you think I could make some hearts to use in my talk?” Jennifer asked.
“Yes,” Mom said. “Let’s write a list of things that make your heart happy. Then we can find pictures of those things to put on the hearts.”
Jennifer had fun cutting out pictures and gluing them onto the hearts.
On Sunday morning, Jennifer knelt to say a prayer. She had done all she could to get ready for her talk. She asked Heavenly Father to help her remember what to say.
The Primary children sat and listened as Jennifer gave her talk:
My heart is happy because I have a family that loves me. We can be an eternal family.
My heart is happy when I choose the right.
My heart is happy because I know Joseph Smith was a true prophet and that Thomas S. Monson is a prophet today.
My heart is happy when I come to Primary and sing Primary songs.
My heart is happy when I read the scriptures. I know the Book of Mormon is true.
My heart is happy because Jesus Christ is my Savior. I know that He loves me. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Let’s take an imaginary example: You’ve been shooting the school’s most important football game, hoping to get a shot that could lead off the sports section of your yearbook. You want something dramatic, not just the usual running and passing pictures. Long shadows from the bleachers cover the field in patterns of dark, and the team huddles for the final play of the game. The score is tied. The players shift slightly, and suddenly their yellow helmets come ablaze with color from a small patch of sunlight. Everything else is in deep shadow. You center the exposure needle carefully and manage to squeeze off a shot just before the team moves into its scrimmage position. What a shot—the bright yellow helmets set off by the contrast of dark shadows.
You send the film to be processed and cross your fingers. A few days later the slides come back, and you nervously look for that one great shot. There it is! But something’s wrong. The yellow helmets are almost colorless. That great photo just isn’t.

It is in obedience to a divine thought that I now share with you a second experience, one that involves my son Sa’olotoga. We call him Sa’o for short. Sa’o is the second of my four sons, and he was born with many challenges, including being deaf and insensate. Though he was physically in the world, he was unable to move or hear or feel the world around him.

Neurologists taught us that we could help Sa’o by using intentional and consistent patterning. Each day, several times a day, I would hold a patterning session with Sa’o using exercises such as these: I would take a cup of hot water and a cup of ice water and put a metal spoon in each cup. Then I would say, “This is hot” and place the spoon from the hot water on the back of Sa’o’s wrist. The spoon was not hot enough to burn but hot enough to recognize the temperature. I would then say, “This is cold” and put the spoon from the ice water on the back of his other wrist. I repeated this pattern using textures, saying, “This is soft” or “This is rough.” Sa’o also had tactile sessions of massage, patting, scratching, and feather rub to help him learn how to feel as well as patterning sessions multiple times a day to help him learn how to move.

Now you might be thinking, Why did you need to verbally tell him what he was supposed to be feeling if he was deaf? I had the same thought when we were taught what to do for him. But I wanted so much to help him and didn’t want my skepticism to prevent his chances of receiving help. So I chose to trust that the medical specialists knew more than I did, and I faithfully followed their instructions.

At the same time, we were doing auditory patterning sessions throughout the day to help Sa’o hear. I would say things such as “This is a handbell,” “This is a sparrow,” or “This is a fire engine.” [Audio clips were played for each sound.] Incidentally, that is when I learned that this is a cougar [an audio clip of a loud meow was played] and this is a BYU cougar [an audio clip of a mighty roar was played]. We would ensure during each auditory patterning session that there were no other distracting noises so that it was easy for Sa’o to discern the sound.

Over time, Sa’o began to show signs that he could hear things. We first noticed it with his startle reflex. I still remember the day when he was about fifteen months old when he startled and cried because someone shut the door loudly. That was later followed by him looking in my direction when I called to him. And then one day when I said, “This is hot,” he reacted before I put the spoon on his wrist. We were able to stop with that specific patterning, but it was still several years before he fully developed the reflex to pull his hand away when he touched something hot.

Over the years Sa’o learned to crawl, creep, walk, and even run—well, it’s more like a trot. He is still nonverbal and has many other challenges, but he can hear and feel the world around him, and he communicates with us in many ways.

There are many truths that I have been taught by the Spirit through this experience. I’ll share just a few.

In the first week of August I went to the Idaho Falls Temple to be sealed to my parents for time and eternity. While my parents went through a session before the sealing, I sat in the youth waiting room of the temple. This was a time for quiet reflection, and while I sat there, I read through the entire September 1978 issue of the New Era. This was very inspiring to me. I especially enjoyed the story “Religion, Rebellion, and Rebecca.” When I returned home from the temple, I dug out all the New Eras from the past year or so and began reading them. Since then the New Era has become an important part of my life, and I look forward to it each month. I was surprised to find that one of my best friends is also an avid reader of the New Era. We have been trying to get others to read this fine Church magazine.
Lonny NorthrupOntario, Oregon

When I think of happiness, I think of an experience we had in Tarawa. We were traveling to Tarawa, and as the plane landed and pulled up to the very humble terminal, the door opened, and a man jumped in, saying, “Elder Sonntag, please come quickly.” We did not know what the urgency was, but we came quickly out of the airplane, walked right through Immigration (they knew we weren’t going anywhere else), and then walked over to two vans. There was a tarp spread between the two vans, and sitting on the tarp were nineteen young men and women. We were informed that they were missionaries—young people from the islands that dot the sea, islands that really have not even been given names. They were young people who had come to Tarawa to try and get an education, to learn how to read and write. While they were there they felt the spirit of the gospel and joined the Church. Now they wanted to go on missions. But as they sat there under that equatorial sun, huddled close together looking at that airplane that they never dreamed they’d have the experience of getting on, they were frightened. They asked for a special blessing. And we had the privilege of giving them that blessing—the Lord was good to us that day. We gave them that blessing, and then they arose and climbed the steps to the airplane.

Their feet had never had a pair of shoes on them. They had only one white shirt each and the clothes on their backs with just a little sack of personal belongings as they entered that airplane. They had never eaten with a fork or a spoon or a knife. They’d only eaten with their fingers. They didn’t know what a cup was. They had drunk from a half shell of a coconut all their lives. And yet here they were going to be the very first missionaries in the history of the Church to leave the island of Tarawa and go to New Zealand to the Missionary Training Center. They were the first of their young people to ever have the privilege of going to the temple to receive their endowments.

We could hardly wait until we got home so we could call President Palmer at the New Zealand MTC and find out how our Tarawan missionaries were—they were just like little scared mice.

When we talked with President Palmer on the phone, he said, “Oh, President, what a great experience it was. When they came in they saw their first neon sign. They saw their first big bus. They saw their first high rise. They looked at the boats in the harbor at Auckland and were just amazed at the types of ships they saw. Everything they did was a new experience. We hardly had enough water supply because every time we went by a tap they’d turn it on to see running water. They would flush every toilet they went by. They couldn’t believe what was taking place.”

“But,” he continued, “when they came into the classes they again huddled into the corners.”

And then he said, “On the fourth day we took them to the temple. They walked in petrified and unknowing. We had prepared them as best we could. But, President, when they left the temple of the Lord they came out as giants of the Lord. And you cannot believe the difference that took place. And I want you to know that we have nineteen young people who are now worthy to represent the Savior.”

The following is a true story I share with permission, and the names have been changed. A former student at BYU shared the following experience about choosing her marriage partner:

While I was dating at BYU, the principle of honesty in my romantic relationships ultimately helped me decide whom I wanted to marry. When Sam and I were in a serious relationship, I shared with him my desire for complete transparency in my future marriage relationship. For me, transparency was very important. Sam was transparent, vulnerable, and honest about his weaknesses, even though it was hard work to be open. I knew that, through the Atonement of Jesus Christ, he was clean and worthy and could overcome his weaknesses. We dated for many more months but eventually knew it wasn’t right for us to get married at that time because of other areas in which we both needed to grow individually.

Much later I started going on dates with Jack. We both saw the potential for marriage someday. However, Jack was not willing to be transparent and vulnerable with me. I felt a renewed sense of gratitude for Sam’s willingness to be honest, even when it wasn’t easy. I desired that transparency again because I knew that being vulnerable and open ultimately could lead to a greater unity in a marriage. Through a series of small miracles, Sam and I got back together, and we both felt it was right for us to progress toward celestial marriage. A year later we chose to be sealed to each other in the temple. Now, years later, we are happily married with a family of our own and are eternally grateful for the principle of honesty.

Mother sat back and started the amazing story of a little boy and his mother who was very ill. “Gobo was a three-year-old boy in 1857. His mother knew that she was dying and could no longer care for him, so she tucked him into the branches of a tree on the Talbots’ property. Ruth Talbot soon found the starving boy and gently coaxed him from the tree. Tired and cold, little Gobo climbed down and into the arms of his new mother. The entire Talbot family cared for Gobo as one of their own.
“When the family was taught by Mormon missionaries and joined the Church, they had a strong desire to follow President Brigham Young’s counsel to join the Saints in America. The Civil War was starting, and it was dangerous to bring Gobo to America because he was black. When the ship’s captain refused to allow Gobo on the boat, Henry Talbot knelt and asked for Heavenly Father’s guidance. He knew that Gobo would not be able to take care of himself if left behind.
“An idea came to Brother Talbot—his prayer was answered! He would roll Gobo into a large rug and smuggle him on and off the ship. Gobo was afraid to be wrapped inside the dark, heavy carpet. However, he had faith in the prophet’s counsel to go to America, so he remained very still and quiet. No one knew of the precious treasure tucked away in the old, faded rug.
“Once in America, Gobo was excited to start his new life there. He wanted to meet the prophet and see the temple that the missionaries in Africa had told him about.
“The family journeyed mostly by train. At one station, they were startled by an angry mob boarding it. Someone had told them that a child slave was being smuggled through. Gobo was not a slave, but the mob would not have believed it.
“Quickly Sister Talbot lifted her large hoop skirt and hid him underneath. Gobo pulled his knees tightly against his chest and held his breath until the mob left and his mother took him upon her lap. She reminded him that he was a child of God and explained that their home with the Saints in Utah would be a place of acceptance and love for their entire family, including Gobo. She assured him that their fellow brothers and sisters in the gospel understood what it was like to be persecuted and judged. Surely they would not turn Gobo away.
“Sister Talbot was right, and as soon as they could, the Talbots adopted Gobo.
“Once in Utah, Gobo grew into a righteous, hardworking sheepherder. He was always faithful to his baptismal covenants. In 1886, when a tablet of paper cost two cents, he willed his entire life savings—some five hundred dollars—to help build the Salt Lake Temple. Years later, the temple work was done for Gobo and he was sealed to Ruth and Henry Talbot in the very temple he helped build.”

In the spring of 1844, Parley P. Pratt and most of the other members of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles were serving missions in the eastern United States. In June, Elder Pratt felt inspired to return to Nauvoo, Illinois. On the way, he heard that Joseph and Hyrum Smith had been martyred at Carthage, Illinois. “I felt so weighed down with sorrow and the powers of darkness that it was painful for me to converse or speak to any one.”*
Now that great leader was gone. As Parley approached Nauvoo, he was worried. He didn’t know if Brigham Young, the President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, or any of the other members of the Quorum were there. What should he tell the people? Should he tell them to flee from Nauvoo? Or should they stay and complete the temple? Parley prayed to know what to do. “On a sudden the Spirit of God came upon me and filled my heart with joy and gladness indescribable. … The Spirit said unto me: ‘Go and say unto my people in Nauvoo, that they shall continue to pursue their daily duties and take care of themselves. … Exhort them that they continue to build the House of the Lord which I have commanded them to build in Nauvoo.’”
At Nauvoo Elder Pratt found that the people had already resumed work on the temple under the direction of John Taylor and Willard Richards, two other members of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles who had been in jail with the Prophet when he was killed. The three men worked together to keep the people united and at peace until the return of President Young and the other members of the Quorum.

A few years ago, I was extremely depressed. The only thing I could find a little motivation for was my best friend and her children. We went for walks on weekends, which I enjoyed. Over time, however, we began to go on walks less and less frequently. I began to miss my friend and her family. I later learned that our walks became less frequent because my friend and her family had resumed a practice they had stopped many years before—attending church.
One day they invited me to lunch. Seeing them again made me feel very happy. I told them how much I missed them. My friend’s six-year-old daughter suggested that we solve that problem by going to church together. So without thinking twice, she invited me to go.
Oh, no! How could I make this family understand that going to church was right for them but too boring for me? I hadn’t gone to church for years, but how could I say no to a child? I said I would go, but the truth was that I didn’t have the least intention of keeping that promise.
That Sunday, I went to breakfast with my dad. My cell phone constantly rang, reminding me that I had promised a little girl that I would go to church with her. I ignored my cell phone until my dad asked me why I wasn’t answering it. I admitted that I had been invited to go to a church meeting but didn’t want to go. He smiled and said, “Lluvia, never make a promise to a child if you are not willing to fulfill it.” I decided I would keep my promise.
When I arrived at church, I felt something different, something that I can’t describe. I still can’t explain how it happened, but the next Sunday, I found myself there again, and the next and the next, until I understood what I was feeling: the Holy Ghost.
The Church members began to make me feel at home. Without any doubt, I was curious about the Church. I began meeting with the missionaries, and I also began to gain a testimony. The missionaries’ visits became more constant, and my understanding of the gospel grew until I felt an immense desire to be baptized. I was baptized a short time later, and now I enjoy the blessings of the gospel. Because of this, I’m so grateful I kept my promise to a six-year-old girl.

Sitting in a hastily dug defensive position, I looked out over the sand toward the north—toward Iraq. It was December 24 during Desert Shield, and I had drawn guard duty starting at midnight.
I was the only Latter-day Saint in my battalion, so the holiday was even lonelier. We had been in the desert of Saudi Arabia since August, and now Christmas was here with a cold, star-lit night. The camp was asleep, and I had a few hours with the bluish-grey dunes and my thoughts.
I thought of my wife and son in Georgia, USA, and how I would miss the festivities back home—the tree, the presents, a real Christmas dinner. Then I began to ponder the Christmas story.
I wondered about the night that Christ was born. I wondered how dark it was and if there was a moon to cast its brightness over the landscape or if there was only starlight. Since there were no electric lights at His birth, the night must have been something like the one I was witnessing. There would have been no festivities—just dark, quiet night.
Then a wonderful thought struck me. The Bible states that Wise Men later came from the East, guided by a star that appeared in the night sky. As I looked into the dark sky, I realized I was to the east of Bethlehem and that one of the centers of knowledge at that time was Baghdad. Could the Wise Men have come from a location not far from where I was? What star shone? Was it still in the sky? Could I see it?
I gazed skyward in wonder at God’s creations and felt a warmth that came from within. It did not matter if I was in the same location or if the same star was in the sky. What mattered is that I shared the same knowledge as the Wise Men of an infant born in Bethlehem who is the King of kings.
I was not alone that Christmas; rather, I was united with all those who seek Him, whether they be Wise Men, prophets, or just lonely soldiers in a hole in the desert. That night my testimony of the birth of the Savior was strengthened, and the next morning the Holy Spirit was still with me.
Instead of being a sad Christmas that year, it became one of my most prized Christmases.

My father was never raised in any religion, and my mother’s family became less active when my mother was young. But one day my mother felt like she was missing something, so she decided to go back to the church she had grown up in, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. My sisters and I went with her. But my father didn’t like our attending church, and it tested my parents’ relationship like never before.
I was baptized when I was eight, and I learned how families can be together forever. Every year on my birthday, I blew out the candles secretly wishing for my father to be baptized. I prayed that my dad’s heart would be softened. After many years, the missionaries were eventually able to eat dinner with us. But the gospel was never brought up.
Then one summer my father came with me on a Young Men camping trip. Though he wasn’t a member, my dad was put in charge of a fireside! I was scared, but everyone helped by participating in the fireside. Then my friend bore his testimony of prayer. He shared a time my father had helped my friend’s little brother and had been an answer to his prayer. For the first time ever, I saw my dad cry. He felt the Spirit.
After that trip, my father wanted to learn more about the gospel with a new enthusiasm, and one morning he announced that he wanted to be baptized. We couldn’t believe it!
My father’s baptism was one of the best days of my life. The chapel was packed with everyone who came to support my dad, and I practiced the baptismal prayer a few hundred times because I was so excited. I was able to baptize my dad, and I can’t even describe the overwhelming emotions I felt as I embraced my father in the baptismal font.
The next year my family and I were sealed in the temple. After the sealing, we stood in a circle—as an eternal family—hugging each other with tears of joy running down our faces.
From this experience I learned that anything is possible. Don’t give up. I am going to try my absolute best to be worthy to be sealed in the temple with my future family.

In December 2012, LaVell underwent open-heart surgery. Just after the operation, while still connected to tubes and groggy from the anesthesia, LaVell struggled to say, “Patti, be sure to call the bishop and tell him we can’t make it to tithing settlement, but tell him we are full tithe payers.”

They walked the walk of honor and commitment, understanding that “Cougars, it’s up to you.” Here was one of the most successful coaches in the history of college football humbly demonstrating his commitment to the principle of tithing just moments after major surgery.

Together, Patti and LaVell demonstrated to all of us obedience, integrity, and faithfulness. They lived the Savior’s teaching to “seek ye first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things shall be added unto you” (3 Nephi 13:33).

Matthew’s family went to New York City for spring break. He saw some really cool things—the Statue of Liberty, the Manhattan Temple, and a lot more. But he saw one thing that definitely wasn’t cool: a huge ad on a building with a really immodest picture on it.
Matthew turned his head away. But the picture stuck in his mind. He tried thinking about other things. But that just reminded him of what he was trying to forget!
As weeks passed, he got more and more frustrated. Then one night at dinner Mom said something that made things even worse.
“Matthew, I can’t believe you’re almost 12,” she said. “It’s time to have your bishop’s interview for the Aaronic Priesthood.”
Dad smiled at Matthew. “I’ll call and set it up.”
Matthew stopped eating. What if he wasn’t worthy to be a deacon because he couldn’t forget the bad picture? Mom and Dad kept smiling and talking. They didn’t seem to notice anything was wrong.
A few days later Matthew overheard Mom talking to Grandma on the phone. “Matthew seems to be worried about turning 12,” she said. “Maybe he’s worried about passing the sacrament.”
So Mom had noticed! Would he get in trouble if she knew what was really wrong?
After Mom said bye to Grandma, Matthew sat down on the couch. “I heard you talking about me seeming worried and stuff.” He took a deep breath. Then he blurted everything out. About how hard he’d tried to forget what he’d seen, but couldn’t.
“Maybe I’m not ready to be a deacon,” he said.
Mom put her arm around him. “First, you need to know that you didn’t sin by seeing that picture. It wasn’t your fault. Also, being worthy doesn’t mean being perfect.”
Part of Matthew’s worry disappeared, but not all. “So then why is it so hard to get that picture out of my head? Why does it make me feel so bad?”
“Well, it still hurt your spirit. And it might take a while for those thoughts to fade away,” Mom said. “But the great news is that Jesus Christ’s Atonement can help heal us from everything, even things that aren’t our fault. Do you remember the scripture you learned for the Primary program?”
“Yeah—Alma 7:11. It says that Jesus takes people’s pains and sicknesses.”
“That means He can help you feel better again,” Mom said. “You’ve felt a lot of pain lately, haven’t you?”
“Yeah,” Matthew said.
“Well, you can pray and ask for His help. And you can have faith that He wants to help you and can help you. You can’t do it by yourself.”
Matthew nodded. The whole time he’d been fighting bad thoughts, he hadn’t wanted to pray. He’d felt too embarrassed.
That night, he knelt and asked Heavenly Father to help him stop thinking about what he’d seen and to help him feel worthy to have the Aaronic Priesthood. Then he fell asleep faster than he had in a long time.
On Sunday, Matthew got dressed for his interview with the bishop. He felt happy and thankful for Jesus Christ’s Atonement. Now when the bishop asked if he was ready to receive the priesthood, he knew he could answer, “Yes!”

Growing up in a small village in Kenya, we were basically peasants. My father had a job in agriculture on the lowest rung of the government. He worked in the fields with farmers. And so at home, he always asked my brother and me to join him on our small farm as he worked to provide food for our family. When he was away, he assigned us each a portion of the field to plant, or weed, or harvest, depending on the season.
I learned a lot of lessons working with my dad. I remember admiring how well he weeded his patch. He was so thorough in removing the weeds. He would carefully remove the weeds and all their roots. The plot he weeded was always so clean, while my plot was often messy with weeds that I hadn’t completely removed. He never lectured me while we weeded, but his example taught me a lot. And I applied it to other areas in my life.
Because of his example, when I did school homework, I was careful and thorough. Because of him, today I don’t leave details unattended. I don’t leave “weeds.” When I help people, I try and get at the root of their problems. That came from spending time with my father on our small farm in the early years of my life.

While recently reading the Book of Mormon, I came upon the following admonition: “Why do ye … suffer the hungry, and the needy, and the naked, and the sick and the afflicted to pass by you, and notice them not?” (Mormon 8:39).
Instead of feeling the peace and comfort I usually find in the scriptures, I was overcome by a lingering feeling of sadness. I had long recognized that I am not a particularly observant person. I had allowed myself to get so involved in my life, my callings, and my family that I just didn’t notice the challenges other people were having.
I knew I wasn’t doing all I could “to bear one another’s burdens, that they [might] be light; … to mourn with those that mourn; yea, and comfort those that stand in need of comfort” (Mosiah 18:8–9). I wanted to change; I wanted to be better. I simply didn’t know how. I prayed that the Lord would help me.
My answer came in an unexpected and unwanted way when I contracted a chronic illness. It slowly took away all my cumbersome busyness. As the disease progressed, I had to give up my outside activities, my callings, and my Church attendance. I’m housebound, I’m lonely, and I feel unnoticed.
I pray that someday the Lord will heal me. When He does, I promise myself that I will never be so blind again. When I arrive at church, I will look to see who is sitting alone and who is not attending that day. I will take time each week to overcome my shyness and visit somebody who is sick or afflicted or just in need of a friend. I will love my brothers and sisters every day—not just on Sunday or during Church activities.
I will remember and, I hope, be worthy to hear the Lord’s approbation: “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me” (Matthew 25:40).

Today I share an example with you of “how the Lord can help you” that was shared with me many years ago by one of my youth leaders. This man had an enormous personal impact on me growing up and has recently passed away. Thad Carlson was raised in the Great Depression era (in the United States) as the ninth of fourteen children. His family made a living by farming and raising cattle. It was a difficult time financially, and their greatest asset in being able to support their large family was their herd of cattle. In his youth, one of Thad’s responsibilities on the farm was to care for and, when necessary, herd the cattle to assure they found the best feed, a big job for a young boy. He was able to do this with the aid of a smart cow pony who knew exactly what to do with very little direction. The pony was named Old Smoky. Thad described that Old Smoky had one fault – which was that he never wanted to be caught. Whenever this horse was approached to be caught, he would just run away, knowing that he was going to be put to work!

On this day, after Old Smoky was caught, bridled and saddled, young Thad rode out to the pasture where the cattle were grazing. The ground was dry, and so was the pasture, as the whole area was experiencing a drought. Thad noticed that the grass outside the pasture along the sides of the railroad tracks seemed longer and greener. So, he thought they could herd the cows outside the fenced pasture and let them enjoy some of that good feed which was right along the railroad tracks. With the help of Old Smoky, he herded the cattle out of the pasture, where they began to move back and forth along the rail tracks feeding on the better, greener grass. Everything seemed to be working out so well with this plan. The contented cows seemed to be taking care of themselves, so Thad got off his horse, and sat on the reins of the bridle enjoying the surroundings around him, playing and amusing himself. Old Smoky eventually drifted away, his reins slipping out from under Thad, looking to graze in the green grass himself.

This idyllic and peaceful moment came to a crashing and abrupt halt when Thad suddenly heard a loud noise from far away. It was the whistle of an oncoming locomotive barreling down the very rail tracks where his cattle herd were lazily scattered right in front of him! He recognized the consequences could be devastating to the herd and also to his family if he did not act quickly to get the cattle back into the pasture away from that oncoming train. He felt he would never be able to forgive himself for not fulfilling his trusted responsibility. He swiftly jumped to his feet and ran to grab the reins of Old Smoky. Old Smoky saw him coming and quickly danced away from Thad – of course not wanting to be caught. Breathless and desperate, with images of dead cows and family tragedy flashing through his mind, Thad knew he had to act fast.

He later recorded what followed next :
“My primary teacher had taught us to pray, and reinforced teachings learned from my mother. With no other recourse, I dropped to my knees and started to pray for help to clear the cows off the tracks.” He continues, “I didn’t hear a voice, but the clear thought came, “Notice how the cows can walk by Old Smoky and he doesn’t move. So . . . now that you are on your knees, also get on your hands. Play [pretend] like you’re a cow and crawl over to Old Smoky.” I did. He didn’t move. I grabbed his reins, led him to the fence, hopped on his back and we raced like the wind to get the cows back into the pasture. Old Smoky was unusually brilliant at every twist and turn.”

Thad continued to describe that at the time he “didn’t dare tell anyone about this for fear of getting his pants kicked . . .”
He also described that it was sometime later, when he was in high school that it fully dawned on him that he had a very clear answer to his prayer in a critical time of need. He observed that, “angels administered to Old Smoky beyond my ability, and our family was spared a tragedy.”

Later on, he shared: “this was the first of many promptings that was to come to me. ‘And whatsoever ye shall ask the Father in my name, which is right, believing that ye shall receive, behold, it shall be given unto you.’”10
He finally quipped, “whenever someone would sing the song ‘On Top of Old Smoky’, I always thought of prayer.”

It is not an easy thing to be amenable always to priesthood authority. I recite the experience of the founder of Brigham Young University, Dr. Karl G. Maeser. He had been the headmaster of a school in Dresden, Germany—a man of distinction, a man of high station. In 1856, Brother Maeser and his wife and small son, together with a Brother Schoenfeld and several other converts, left Germany bound for Zion.

When they arrived in England Brother Maeser was surprised to be called on a mission in England. Much to their disappointment the families were separated and the Schoenfelds continued on to America. While the Maesers remained in England to fill the call from the Church Authorities, the proud professor was often required to perform menial tasks to which in his former station he had never stooped.

It was customary among the higher German people that a man of Brother Maeser’s standing never should be seen on the street carrying packages, but when the elders were going to the train they told him to bring their luggage. Brother Maeser paced the floor of his room, his pride deeply hurt. The idea of carrying the suitcases was almost more than he could stand and his wife was also deeply hurt and upset to think that he had to do so.

Finally he said, “Well, they hold the priesthood; they have told me to go, and I will go.” He surrendered his pride and carried the bags.

Name: Billy Matthews
Age: 18
Sport: Track and field (discus)
Location: Washington, USA
Major Achievement: 2007 Washington State high school discus champion with a throw of 164 feet, 8 inches.
“In track two of my goals were to earn a scholarship and to win the state title. I had also set the goal to serve a mission. During my senior year I was offered two scholarships. I worried about which school to attend, and my throwing marks began to suffer as well. Eventually another school offered a scholarship, and athletically I was sure this was the school for me. But once again my marks decreased, and I began to question my decision. I finally realized something I had learned from one of my seminary teachers: ‘Don’t give up what you want most, for what you want now.’ That’s what I had been doing. I decided that I needed to put the Lord first in everything. Shortly after making this decision, my marks rapidly improved, and I went up in the state rankings, and soon I won the regional and state titles. By putting the Lord first, I had no worries and felt comforted. I was blessed for sacrificing what I wanted ‘now’ for what I’ve always wanted.”

Each morning, these volunteers gathered to receive marching orders.
“The crew captain would give us the number for somebody who had asked for help,” says Nels S., 14, from Georgia, USA. “Then we would call and schedule a time to show up.”
Groups soon drove off to find their work sites. But the sight that greeted them was shocking.
“We started driving and after about 30 minutes we started seeing huge piles on the sides of the road,” says Hannah H., 14, from Alabama, USA.
“It was all of their personal stuff,” says Alana C., 15, from Alabama. “That was really sad. They were throwing it all out because it had gotten destroyed.”
“I was scared at first,” says Andrew H., 13, of Alabama, “because I saw all of this and thought it was going to take forever to clean up. But then I was happy because I realized this stuff wouldn’t stay sitting inside the house collecting mold. It would be easier for them to start new and get their lives back.”
And that was just what the Helping Hands hoped to do—help people start to get their lives back. So they set to work.
Teams tore out drywall, ripped out floors and ceilings, broke down walls, pulled out soggy insulation, removed furniture, and helped homeowners sort through their belongings. Then they gathered what was ruined and piled it by the road for sanitation services to haul away.
“Everyone did a small job,” says Meghan K., 12, from Georgia, “but it all ended up equaling a big work effort.”
Hallie R., 17, from Georgia, agrees. “It may not seem like you’re making a huge difference, but every little bit counts. When so many people come together and help, you can make a big difference.”
The Helping Hands weren’t alone in their work. Neighbors, other church groups, and larger organizations also joined the flood of service.
“There were rescue teams from other areas in Louisiana,” explains Anna J., 13, from Alabama. “I don’t think we would have been able to even get close to where we got with one house without those rescue teams and a few of the neighbors.”
“It was cool to see different churches working together under God’s name and to see God’s children working together even if they are from different churches and places,” Landon R., 14, from Georgia says.
Homeowners pitched in when they could too. Many of them worked side by side with the Helping Hands and others.
“You would think that they would all be absorbed in their own pain, and you wouldn’t blame them for that,” says Nels. “But most of them were positive and looking for ways to help their neighbors. They weren’t caught up in their emotions; they were just working to rebuild their lives.”
Working with one homeowner was especially memorable for Hallie. “He had been in an accident years ago, so he wore a back brace, and yet he was still helping with us,” she says. “It was an amazing experience.”
And “amazing” was just one way to describe it. Many youth also explained why the opportunity was memorable for them.
“The people we helped had gone through some rough times,” says Derek T., 13, from Alabama. “I felt warm inside doing service for other people.”
“Talking with the people, you couldn’t even tell that their houses were just destroyed. They were so thankful and smiling and positive,” says Gavin R., 14, from Alabama. “When you’re serving these people, the love you feel for them is definitely memorable.”
“You can see these things on the news, but you never really know what people are going through until you go out and help,” says Luke G., 13, of Georgia.
Many volunteers also felt that the hard work and service helped them gain new understanding.
“I realized that everyone has problems, and sometimes people need help because they can’t help themselves,” says Lindsay K., 14, from Georgia. “It was hard. It was really hard. But I am grateful that I am in a good situation so I can help others.” Madison C., 13, from Alabama says, “Service helps you understand that bad things happen to people and that they can get over it, so you know you can get over hard things too.”
“It was a great way to prepare for a mission,” says Jared R., 15, from Alabama. “You were tired, you woke up early, and it was hot. But you went in there and got it done. Once you got into the swing of things, everybody was talking and having a good time.”
Gloria G., 16, from Georgia, says, “I realized that there might be big problems in the world, but God will always be there. He’ll always find a way to help you even though you might think that you lost everything and there’s no hope. He’s not going to abandon you.
“I’ve been having issues with my testimony, but what He did for these people showed me that He really does care, He really is there, and He’s going to make sure we’re OK.”
“I learned that I should give my all and not give up when I’m tired or bored,” says Landon. “I think in some ways the man we helped blessed my life more than I blessed his. I know God gave me this opportunity to serve because He loves me and He knew I needed it.”
“I was able to serve as the hands of Christ,” says Julia C., 15, from Georgia. “It was humbling, and I was grateful that I was blessed to go. I loved the experience.”