Gospel Story Finder

Come on, Son. It’s time to go to the bishop’s office for your interview,” Dad called.
Randy didn’t move. He just lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling and wishing he knew how to tell his parents that he didn’t want to be baptized.
A few minutes later Dad knocked on the door, then stepped inside the room. Randy rolled onto his stomach and hid his face in his pillow.
“Aren’t you ready?” Dad asked.
Randy shook his head.
“Why not?”
“I don’t want to go,” Randy mumbled into his pillow.
“If you don’t have your interview, you can’t be baptized. Don’t you want to be baptized?”
“No,” said Randy.
Randy felt his mattress sink as Dad sat beside him. “You’re not afraid I’ll hold you under too long, are you?”
Randy shook his head. “I’m not worried about that.”
“Then what are you worried about?” Dad put his hand on Randy’s head and smoothed his hair.
His father’s touch helped Randy feel a little bit better. Maybe Dad would understand, he thought, then said, “You’ll think it’s dumb.”
Dad pulled Randy up to sit by him. “I’ll never think anything that’s worrying you so much is dumb.”
Randy leaned against his father. “Cory and Matt from our ward and some of the other kids in the stake are getting baptized the same day I am. I don’t want to be baptized in the same water after them.”
Dad looked puzzled. “I guess we could arrange to have you baptized first, but why would that make any difference?”
“Well, when you get baptized, your sins are washed away. I don’t want the sins that get washed off the other kids to get washed onto me.” Randy looked to see if Dad was laughing at him, but he was only smiling.
“I understand now, Randy,” Dad said. “But I think I can show you something in the kitchen that will get rid of those worries. I’ll be there in a minute, but I have to make a phone call first, OK?”
“OK.” Randy hurried to the kitchen.
When Dad came in, he set some food colorings and a large fruit bottle half-filled with a clear liquid on the table. Then he took three small glasses out of the cupboard, filled them with water, and set them on the table in front of the bottle.
Randy sat next to him. “What are you going to do?”
“Watch. Let’s say that this large bottle has the power in it that Jesus had in the Garden of Gethsemane when He suffered for our sins. Do you know what happened when He did that?” asked Dad.
“Didn’t Jesus make it so that we wouldn’t have to be punished when we do something wrong?” Randy said.
“Something like that. He paid the price for our sins if we repent of them. To repent means to feel sorry for what we do that’s wrong, to ask the person we’ve hurt and Heavenly Father to forgive us, and to never do that wrong thing again,” said Dad.
“You mean Jesus suffered for everybody in the whole world?” asked Randy.
“Yes.”
“He must have suffered a lot!” Randy said.
“He did. He felt so much pain that blood came out of every pore in His skin. Jesus Christ did that because we are His brothers and sisters and He loves us,” Dad explained.
Dad pointed to the three glasses. “Now, let’s say these glasses are you, Matt, and Cory. What color is the water?”
“It’s clear.”
“Right. It’s as clean and spotless as you were when you were born. But neither you nor anyone else who has been born except Jesus Christ has stayed absolutely clean. Let’s say that these food colorings are different kinds of sins. The red might stand for hitting someone. The green could stand for telling a lie. The yellow might stand for selfishness, and the blue for stealing. Now, watch what happens when those sins are committed by a clean person.”
Dad let drops from each of the bottles fall into each glass of water. Randy watched the red coloring spread through the water. Then the green turned the red water into a funny brown color. The other colors made the water darker and uglier.
“What’s happened to the clear water?” Dad asked.
“It’s all dirty looking,” Randy said.
“And that’s exactly what happens every time we do something wrong. We aren’t clean any more. Do you think Heavenly Father would let us live with Him while we’re dirty?”
“No way!” exclaimed Randy. “And if I look like that, I don’t want to live with me, either!”
“There’s a way to get clean again.”
“I know—repentance,” Randy said.
“Right,” Dad said. “Now, remember we’re pretending that the big bottle holds the power to get rid of sin. Suppose Matt is baptized first, then Cory, and then you.” Dad poured the dirty-colored water from each glass into the large bottle, emptying the glass representing Randy last.
Randy watched in amazement as the color disappeared. In a couple of minutes the liquid in the bottle was as clear as it had been before!
Then Dad refilled the three glasses from the bottle. “See? You and Matt and Cory are spotless again.”
“That must be strong stuff in the bottle to get rid of all that food coloring,” Randy said.
“It is. It’s chlorine bleach. But it isn’t nearly as strong as the power Jesus has to cleanse us of our sins when we repent and are baptized—and afterward, every time we repent.”
Randy smiled up at his father. “Do you think the bishop is still in his office? I’d like to have my interview now.”
“When I called him, he said he’d wait for us.”
“Then let’s go!” Randy exclaimed.

My new friend Paul testifies of this truth. Paul grew up in a home that was sometimes abusive and always intolerant of religion. While attending school on a military base in Germany, he noticed two sisters who seemed to have a spiritual light. Asking why they were different brought the answer that they belonged to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

Soon Paul began meeting with missionaries and was invited to church. The next Sunday, as he got off the bus, he noticed two men dressed in white shirts and ties. He asked them if they were elders of the Church. They answered yes, so Paul followed them.

During the service, a preacher pointed to people in the congregation and invited them to testify. At the end of each testimony, a drummer gave a drum salute and the congregation called out, “Amen.”

When the preacher pointed to Paul, he stood up and said, “I know Joseph Smith was a prophet and the Book of Mormon is true.” There was no drum salute or amens. Paul eventually realized he had gone to the wrong church. Soon, Paul found his way to the right place and was baptized.

On the day of Paul’s baptism, a member he didn’t know told him, “You saved my life.” A few weeks earlier, this man had decided to look for another church and attended a service with drums and amens. When the man heard Paul bear his testimony of Joseph Smith and the Book of Mormon, he realized that God knew him, recognized his struggles, and had a plan for him. For both Paul and the man, “it fell on a day,” indeed!

I think movies and film can bring great power. I feel it gets hard to find wholesome content sometimes. I decided to make a short film that would inspire and uplift people. I called it “You Are Great.” It’s about a man who’s sad and is able to feel better by doing service for people. God wants us to stay clean. If you watch things that remind you of the Savior, it will bring the Spirit into your life.
Garrett L., 20, Colorado, USA

Just last month our youngest son, Chad, went to the temple with a beautiful, worthy young woman to be married for time and all eternity. As he took her hand and knelt at the altar, I looked into the mirrors on either side, and again I wanted to whisper, “Do you understand why it is so important to be clean and pure?” But this time I didn’t have to remind him, because the Spirit did the whispering.
To the youth of the noble birthright, look into the windows of eternity! See yourselves in the Lord’s holy temples. See yourselves living worthy and pure lives. Generations are depending on you! I testify that worthiness is possible because of the redeeming and enabling power of the Atonement of Jesus Christ. I pray that it may be said of each one of us, “They shall walk with me in white: for they are worthy.” In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

I had a lesson years ago as to the greatness of priesthood. It had to do with the call of the First Presidency for me to come to their office on a day that I shall never forget—April 20, 1935. I was city commissioner in Salt Lake City. I was a stake president.
We had been wrestling with this question of welfare. There were few government work programs; the finances of the Church were low; we were told that there wasn’t much that could be done so far as the finances of the Church were concerned. And here we were with 4,800 of our 7,300 people who were wholly or partially dependent. We had only one place to go, and that was to apply the Lord’s program as set forth in the revelations.
It was from our humble efforts that the First Presidency, knowing that we had had some experience, called me one morning asking if I would come to their office. It was Saturday morning; there were no calls on their calendar, and for hours in that forenoon they talked with me and told me that they wanted me to resign from the city commission, and they would release me from being stake president; that they wished me now to head up the welfare movement to turn the tide from government relief, direct relief, and help to put the Church in a position where it could take care of its own needy.
After that morning I rode in my car (spring was just breaking) up to the head of City Creek Canyon into what was then called Rotary Park; and there, all by myself, I offered one of the most humble prayers of my life.
There I was, just a young man in my thirties. My experience had been limited. I was born in a little country town in Idaho. I had hardly been outside the boundaries of the states of Utah and Idaho. And now to put me in a position where I was to reach out to the entire membership of the Church, worldwide, was one of the most staggering contemplations that I could imagine. How could I do it with my limited understanding?
As I kneeled down, my petition was, “What kind of an organization should be set up in order to accomplish what the Presidency has assigned?” And there came to me on that glorious morning one of the most heavenly realizations of the power of the priesthood of God. It was as though something were saying to me, “There is no new organization necessary to take care of the needs of this people. All that is necessary is to put the priesthood of God to work. There is nothing else that you need as a substitute.”
With that understanding, then, and with the simple application of the power of the priesthood, the welfare program has gone forward now by leaps and bounds, overcoming obstacles that seemed impossible, until now it stands as a monument to the power of the priesthood, the like of which I could only glimpse in those days to which I have made reference.

“I joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints at the age of 26. Even though I had a soothing feeling in my heart as I followed the desire to be blessed by God by making a covenant with Him, I know that my understanding of that covenant was just like a small seed at that time.
“As the years have passed by and as I have been making an effort to keep that baptismal covenant and other covenants I have made with Heavenly Father, I feel that He has blessed me with a deeper understanding about Him, about my Savior, and about my role as a covenant daughter of Heavenly Parents.”
—Sister Reyna I. Aburto, Second Counselor in the Relief Society General Presidency

On 24 October 1986, Sage’s father, Michael Volkman, decided to take his two children camping. [Only six days earlier, Michael, his wife Denise, and their son, Avery, had been baptized into the Church. Their five-year-old daughter, Sage—a bright, green-eyed child who loved soccer and was developing a talent for drawing—had been disappointed that she couldn’t be baptized, too; but she was content to know that one day she would be old enough.]
There was ice forming on Bluewater Lake that morning when Michael and eight-year-old Avery left Sage asleep in their camping trailer and went fishing. Michael regretted that Denise couldn’t be with them but she was a kindergarten teacher and hadn’t been able to find anyone to substitute for her at school.
As the early morning sky grew lighter, Michael walked back to the trailer to check on Sage. All seemed well. Five minutes after he rejoined Avery at the lake, dogs began to bark, and Avery turned to see smoke rising above their campsite 140 meters away. Michael’s heart pounded as he ran back to camp. The trailer was engulfed in flames. Inside, Sage was still in her sleeping bag.
Throwing open the trailer door, Michael was beaten back by smoke and flame. Taking a gulp of air, he ran into the trailer, gathering up handfuls of burning sleeping bags until he found Sage’s still body.
Ignoring the burns on his face and hands, he dragged Sage out of the trailer and immediately started artificial resuscitation. Almost three minutes passed. Sage remained lifeless. He continued pushing on her chest so hard he broke one of her ribs. Finally, he heard a little sound coming from her and saw her chest heave.
Avery, who had been praying desperately, suddenly remembered the containers of flammable propane gas stored at the side of the trailer. “Dad,” he yelled, “I think we’d better move!”
Michael nodded and painfully pulled Sage farther from the trailer. Seconds later the propane containers exploded.
Then followed a confusion of events: The twenty-minute race against death with another fisherman who drove Michael and the two children over a rough, unpaved road to a forest ranger station where they radioed for help; the ambulance trip to Grants, New Mexico, from where Sage was flown to the University of New Mexico’s burn unit; then Michael’s own 110-kilometer ride with Avery to Albuquerque, New Mexico, in an ambulance he could neither see nor touch because his eyes and hands were wrapped in bandages.
When Sage was first wheeled into the burn unit, the medical staff had little hope that she would survive the night. “They gave her a ten percent chance of living,” Michael remembers. She had third- and fourth-degree burns on her face, arms, chest, and legs. Her nose and one ear had been melted off. Her fingers were so charred that they would have to be amputated. She lost thirty-five percent of her eyelids. One lung had collapsed, and another was barely functioning; a liter of soot would be extracted from them.
She was also in a coma.

In some parts of the world, Latter-day Saints are few and far between. Thomas Eberhardt is one of only seven Latter-day Saints living in Muehlheim, Germany, a town of 3,000 people. Because the majority of Thomas’s friends aren’t LDS, and because beer is such a common drink in Germany, he’s had many opportunities to say no.
“In Germany, they drink beer everywhere for every occasion. As soon as you enter someone’s house, they pour you a glass of beer.
“First, I thank them for offering. Then I tell them I’d rather not drink beer and explain why. I’ll ask them if they’ve ever heard of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. They’ll answer no, so I explain a little about the Church and the Word of Wisdom. My friends then respect my beliefs, but I have to always be positive, not offensive.
“Soon after I was baptized,” says Thomas, “I was drafted into the German army. In Germany, all 19-year-old men must serve at least 15 months in the army. We soldiers lived in large communities, and I could not avoid being in situations that conflicted with the teachings and commandments I had recently gained a testimony of.
“It wasn’t long before I was offered cigarettes. I always tried to be polite, thank them for their offer, and then tell them I did not smoke. My fellow soldiers accepted it with no problem.
“However, I was invited to a friend’s birthday party, and at the party I was offered beer. I thanked them for their offer and told them I didn’t drink. My fellow soldiers got more pushy as the party went on. I finally could find no other way than to explain to them why I didn’t drink.
“I stood up and said to them all, ‘Thank you very much for your wonderful invitation to be here at this birthday party. Now I want to tell you all that I cannot drink beer or alcohol, and I want to tell you why. As you have probably heard, I am a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The Lord has commanded us not to drink alcohol, and that is the reason why I don’t drink.’
“After that, I had no more problems with being offered beer.”

These profiles can have a profound influence for good. Two months ago a young man named Zac—a freshman in college—saw an ad for mormon.org on television in Baton Rouge, Louisiana. He connected with the Web site and was intrigued by the profiles of Church members. At our Web site he found the link that informed him where he could attend church. The next Sunday, dressed in a white shirt and tie, he attended church, was introduced to members of the ward, and enjoyed all three hours of meetings. He was invited to a member’s home for dinner, followed by his first missionary lesson. In less than two weeks, he was baptized and confirmed as a member of the Church.21 Welcome, Zac! (He is listening.)

Jackeline Martinez Roman of the Colon Ward, Quito Ecuador Colon Stake, was recently selected as second runner-up in the Miss Quito contest, part of the annual celebration of Ecuador’s capital. She was nominated by her employers. Jackeline, along with the girls selected as Miss Quito and first runner-up, will spend time during the year raising funds for the elderly and underprivileged and attending activities sponsored by the city.
Jackeline hopes her new position will offer some good opportunities for missionary work. In fact, Miss Quito and the first runner-up have already asked about the Church and its beliefs, and Jackeline was happy to explain.
Although born in Ecuador, Jackeline lived for nine years in Maryland in the United States, where she attended school. She has served as seminary president and as a teacher in the Primary and Sunday School, and she is presently serving as Primary secretary.

I recall a few years ago I was supervising the missions in western Europe. We needed a mission president with a certain language proficiency. Several names were brought forward, but none of them seemed to be right. Then one of the Brethren remembered that he had met a man—I think it was in Korea—several years before. He was a member of the Church who was in the customs service. Somehow just the mention of that name and the Spirit confirmed it. He was called, by virtue of the time pressures, by telephone to preside over the mission. I visited him a few weeks later. He was living in Washington, D.C. He was within reach of the number one office in his category. His lifetime had been spent progressing through the ranks, thinking that perhaps one day he would stand at the head of that division. His senior officer had indicated that because of a health problem he would retire early and that this man was being recommended for that position. It was just at that time that the telephone call came.
I wanted to get acquainted with him and was invited to stay overnight. He brought me a message from his superior. The message was this: “Tell that Brother Packer of yours that you’re no missionary; I’ve worked with you for 30 years, and you haven’t converted me. Tell them they’re making a mistake. And you’re making a mistake. You’re a fool.” (I’m leaving out one word.) “If you will give up your retirement and all that you’ve reached for—why? Why would you do it?”
Simple answer: he’d been called. We live to know, in this church, that the response to a call does not depend on the testimony and witness of the one who delivers the call. It depends, rather, on the testimony and witness of the one who receives it.
It was very interesting. We were looking for a man who spoke French. It was not until after he was in the mission field, and we had some opportunities and responsibilities relating to some of the problems of some members we had in Spain, that we discovered that he wrote and spoke Spanish fluently. I suppose if we’d searched through the Church for a man who spoke French, spoke Spanish, and had had some diplomatic experience, particularly as it related to customs work, we would have gone afar in the world and not found him. Yet it was through the “chance” memory of one of the Brethren that he’d met a man a few years before in Korea who spoke French that he was found.

Kevin remembered the first time he had seen Jed. It was when they were both nine years old. A boy from a new family in the neighborhood had walked across the street and watched Kevin practice doing chin-ups on the branch of a tree in the front yard.
“How many can you do?” Jed had asked.
“Twenty,” Kevin had answered.
“That’s not so many. I can do 30.”
By the end of the day, they were both doing 40 chin-ups.
Through the years they had mutually pushed each other through one challenge after another. They were both presented with their Eagle Scout ranks at the same time. After that they continued to learn new skills—skiing, playing the guitar, cross-country running, baseball, fly fishing, and, just before Kevin had left, rock climbing.
On many Friday afternoons in the summer, Jed and Kevin drove into the mountains and camped—spending time hiking, fishing, or climbing the sheer granite spires near where they camped. By Saturday night they were packed again and heading toward home so they could carry out priesthood responsibilities on Sunday.
If it hadn’t been for Jed, I’d never have become an Eagle Scout, or even done much at all, Kevin thought as he rolled out of his sleeping bag and crawled over to his suitcase. Rummaging through it, he found his warm-up suit, socks, and tennis shoes, which he put on. He padded quietly through the house, being careful not to disturb his parents and two younger brothers.

When they shared the good news of their conversion with their relatives in Cuba, it was met with surprise and reservations. However, as the Fernandez Lee family’s lives changed and their faith grew stronger, their families’ views began to shift. Brother Fernandez’s mother, 76-year-old Nilda Méndez Herrera, noticed a big difference in her son’s life. This motivated her to receive the first teachings of the gospel through video calls from the missionaries who preached to her son in the Dominican Republic. Sister Yoleidy Lee de Fernández’s mother, 67-year-old Xiomara Munoz Latuazon, also felt inspired by the Spirit to join The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Luis Wilberto Tito Quintana baptized both women on May 25, 2024, in the waters of the Gulf of Mexico, in a simple yet beautiful ceremony where the spirit of gratitude to the Lord reigned. The Lord works to rescue His children, no matter how scattered they may be on the earth. “For I will take you from among the heathen, and gather you out of all countries, and will bring you into your own land.
“Then I will sprinkle clean water on you, and you shall be clean” (Ezekiel 36:24–25).

The youth of the Las Cruces New Mexico Stake hit the city parks en masse, but the purpose was work rather than recreation. Under the direction of their youth leaders, 80 young people accepted the challenge to help the city pick up trash and paint tables and rest rooms in the parks.
One lucky group climbed in the muck of a drained pond to clear moss from the edges. Braving dead fish, broken glass, and boot-grabbing mud, the young men and women slogged through the slime, swinging pitchforks. It was a dirty job, and this group did it without a complaint.
Employees of the city parks department were grateful for the participants’ efforts and praised their good work.

A few weeks later, Mom sent me a newspaper clipping about Todd. “Local Man Saves Child on Woolly Caterpillar Fun Ride” was the headline. Now what had he done?

According to the article, a child had fallen from the last seat of the ride and gotten his hand stuck in the rail. Todd heard him screaming and ran to the ride. He stopped it and stood under the dangling boy, hoisting him up. He held him until the paramedics could free the boy’s injured hand. Todd had stood with his head poking through the rails, a dangerous spot if the ride should somehow start again. There was a picture of the boy’s mother kissing Todd’s cheek and a smiling Todd with his hands on the shoulders of a beaming boy who held up a bandaged hand. The article said the mayor had plans to honor Todd as “The Hardworking Hero of Fun King.” Hardworking hero? This certainly wasn’t the Todd I knew.

In November 2001 my younger sister was diagnosed with a serious form of cancer. She was 45 years old and the mother of four sons, one serving a mission in Portugal. Immediately, her ward and stake in Arizona, as well as her family, began to fast and pray in her behalf. But before the end of May, the cancer had won the battle, and she fell into a coma. After we received priesthood blessings and prayed fervently, we decided to remove her from life support. The doctors assured us that her passing would be quick. But eight days later her status had remained the same, making each day long and grievous.
The previous few months had been a time of reflection for our family. We loved my sister, and although we understood the plan of salvation, it was difficult at times to have faith in the Lord that all would be well. Somehow we felt that if we had enough faith, my sister would be cured. So we questioned the power of that faith. We knew that Heavenly Father hears and answers prayers, but we were devastated by His answer and unable to feel at peace.
Our stake conference in Utah was scheduled for June 2, with a visit from an Area Seventy. Because of the number of members in the stake, stake conference was divided into two sessions. Our three sons who were attending a singles ward in the stake were assigned to the morning session. The rest of the family was to attend the afternoon session. My husband and I decided that attending the morning session as a family would be best. Shortly after we made that decision, however, my husband and I were invited to offer the prayers for the afternoon session. So we changed our plans.
During the Saturday evening session of conference, we noted a change. Elder L. Whitney Clayton of the Seventy had been assigned to our conference at the last minute, replacing the Area Seventy.
On Sunday afternoon Elder Clayton began by saying he felt impressed to completely change his talk. The Spirit told him he needed to speak to a family present that day. I immediately sensed that he would be speaking to our family. He told of a stake president whose wife was diagnosed with cancer. After much prayer and fasting by family members, friends, and members of her stake, she had fully recovered.
Elder Clayton then talked about another stake president, one whose wife had died of cancer during his service as stake president. She left several small children in his care. Many people had also fasted and prayed for her recovery. This story was particularly touching to Elder Clayton because this woman was his wife’s only sister.
Elder Clayton went on to explain that no matter how much faith is exercised at times like these, sometimes the answer is no. Then he read what has become one of our family’s favorite scriptures, Daniel 3:17–18:
“If it be so, our God whom we serve is able to deliver us from the burning fiery furnace, and he will deliver us out of thine hand, O king.
“But if not, be it known unto thee, O king, that we will not serve thy gods, nor worship the golden image which thou hast set up” (emphasis added).
Elder Clayton did not speak of any doctrine that was new to us that afternoon. But a miracle happened that left us in awe. The Lord made sure we would be in attendance during the afternoon session by inspiring someone to ask us to pray. He also arranged for one of His servants, one who had had an experience similar to ours, to speak to us. And finally, He gave us someone wise and obedient who had lived his life in such a way that he could hear the Spirit and respond accordingly. Our spirits were touched in indescribable ways by that experience.
The next day we received the call telling us my sister had passed away. Although we were saddened, a sweet spirit of comfort was in our home as we prayed for her family—this time with full confidence that the Lord’s will had been done—and thanked Him for His precious answer to our prayers.

God uses another form of chastening or correction to guide us to a future we do not or cannot now envision but which He knows is the better way for us. President Hugh B. Brown, formerly a member of the Twelve and a counselor in the First Presidency, provided a personal experience. He told of purchasing a rundown farm in Canada many years ago. As he went about cleaning up and repairing his property, he came across a currant bush that had grown over six feet (1.8 m) high and was yielding no berries, so he pruned it back drastically, leaving only small stumps. Then he saw a drop like a tear on the top of each of these little stumps, as if the currant bush were crying, and thought he heard it say:

“How could you do this to me? I was making such wonderful growth. … And now you have cut me down. Every plant in the garden will look down on me. … How could you do this to me? I thought you were the gardener here.”

President Brown replied, “Look, little currant bush, I am the gardener here, and I know what I want you to be. I didn’t intend you to be a fruit tree or a shade tree. I want you to be a currant bush, and some day, little currant bush, when you are laden with fruit, you are going to say, ‘Thank you, Mr. Gardener, for loving me enough to cut me down.’”

Years later, President Brown was a field officer in the Canadian Army serving in England. When a superior officer became a battle casualty, President Brown was in line to be promoted to general, and he was summoned to London. But even though he was fully qualified for the promotion, it was denied him because he was a Mormon. The commanding general said in essence, “You deserve the appointment, but I cannot give it to you.” What President Brown had spent 10 years hoping, praying, and preparing for slipped through his fingers in that moment because of blatant discrimination. Continuing his story, President Brown remembered:

“I got on the train and started back … with a broken heart, with bitterness in my soul. … When I got to my tent, … I threw my cap … on the cot. I clinched my fists and I shook them at heaven. I said, ‘How could you do this to me, God? I have done everything I could do to measure up. There is nothing that I could have done—that I should have done—that I haven’t done. How could you do this to me?’ I was as bitter as gall.

“And then I heard a voice, and I recognized the tone of this voice. It was my own voice, and the voice said, ‘I am the gardener here. I know what I want you to do.’ The bitterness went out of my soul, and I fell on my knees by the cot to ask forgiveness for my ungratefulness. …

“… And now, almost fifty years later, I look up to [God] and say, ‘Thank you, Mr. Gardener, for cutting me down, for loving me enough to hurt me.’”

God knew what Hugh B. Brown was to become and what was needed for that to happen, and He redirected his course to prepare him for the holy apostleship.

In 1979 a large passenger jet with 257 people on board left New Zealand for a sightseeing flight to Antarctica and back. Unknown to the pilots, however, someone had modified the flight coordinates by a mere two degrees. This error placed the aircraft 28 miles (45 km) to the east of where the pilots assumed they were. As they approached Antarctica, the pilots descended to a lower altitude to give the passengers a better look at the landscape. Although both were experienced pilots, neither had made this particular flight before, and they had no way of knowing that the incorrect coordinates had placed them directly in the path of Mount Erebus, an active volcano that rises from the frozen landscape to a height of more than 12,000 feet (3,700 m).
As the pilots flew onward, the white of the snow and ice covering the volcano blended with the white of the clouds above, making it appear as though they were flying over flat ground. By the time the instruments sounded the warning that the ground was rising fast toward them, it was too late. The airplane crashed into the side of the volcano, killing everyone on board.
It was a terrible tragedy brought on by a minor error—a matter of only a few degrees.

“By hearing a story,” answered his father. “Listen. Many years ago, in the direction from which the sun awakens each day, there lived a people here in Africa called the Mazumbas.”
Bhutto stopped rocking on his heels and sat down. He did not want to miss a word of his father’s story.
“The Mazumbas were greater hunters than others because the tips of their arrows were sharper and finer than any man could make.”
“How did they make the arrow tips?” asked Bhutto.
“They did not make them,” said Bhutto’s father. “They found them in a secret cave. And because the Mazumbas had such sharp arrow tips, no animal could stand against them.”
“Not even lions?” Bhutto asked.
“Not even lions,” said his father.
“Not even elephants?” Bhutto tried again.
“Not even elephants,” answered his father. “Not even the Great Beasts of the plains.”
Bhutto looked puzzled. “What are the Great Beasts of the plains?”
“The Great Beasts were the hardest of all the animals to slay. They had the eyes of an eagle, the ears of a giraffe, and the swiftness of a gazelle. But even so, the Great Beasts could not hide from the Mazumbas.
“One day, one of the Mazumbas was hunting when he came across the tracks of a Great Beast. For many hours he followed the tracks through grasslands, over hills, and down ravines until they led to the entrance of the secret cave.”
“Where the Mazumbas found their arrow tips,” Bhutto remembered.
“That’s right,” said his father.
“And was the Great Beast inside?”
“Yes, he was. And when the hunter saw the Great Beast, he put an arrow to his bow.”
“Did he kill the Beast?” Bhutto asked excitedly.
“Not right away,” answered his father, “because the Great Beast began to speak.”
Bhutto frowned. “Animals cannot speak.”
“That is true,” Bhutto’s father answered. “But the Great Beasts were not like other animals.”
“What did the Great Beast say?”
“He said, ‘Please do not kill me, great hunter of the Mazumbas. Your people have killed all the Great Beasts except me.’
“But the hunter just laughed and said, ‘If you did not want to be caught, you should not have come into our secret cave.’ And with that, the hunter let the arrow fly.”
Bhutto watched his father string the bow he was making. “Is that the end of your story?” he sadly asked.
“Not quite, Bhutto,” said his father. “When the Beast fell to the earth, a stone rolled from his mouth—a sharp stone, sharper than any a man could make.”
“Then, it was the Great Beasts that made the arrow tips!” Bhutto cried.
“Yes. The Great Beasts went to the secret cave to chew on stones and sharpen their teeth. The arrow tips were what they left behind.”
“But the hunter—he killed the last Beast!”
“Yes, and because of that, the Mazumbas soon used up the last of the very sharp arrow tips. No longer were they the great hunters they had once been.”

When John Lwamba from Lubumbashi was serving a mission, his older brother passed away. He says, “It was a bit difficult for me to accept because he was the first person in my family to pass away. With the help of my mission president and the scriptures, I was able to accept it, and since that day, this experience has brought me close to the Savior. I know that as He rose up, all my family members who have passed away are going to rise up again.”