Gospel Story Finder

I will share an example to illustrate what I mean: Early in our marriage, Jeanene found just the right time to talk to me about something I know she had probably noticed ever since we had met. She said, “Rich, when you talk to people, look in their eyes. You look at the ceiling and the walls and the floor, but you never look in their eyes.” That suggestion profoundly changed my life. My precious companion loved me enough to help me by telling me what I needed to know.

This was way back in 1996. Not long into my first semester, I received a call from the Honor Code Office asking me to come in for a meeting. I had no idea what they wanted to discuss, but I scheduled an appointment and went. When I arrived, the staff member asked if I had shaved within 24 hours of taking my last test in the testing center. I told him I was only shaving about once a week, since I was sixteen years old and didn’t have much facial hair. He explained that I had committed to being clean-shaven and that I hadn’t been following that commitment.

At the time, I was annoyed, confused and even a little offended. I thought he was taking this too seriously. I couldn’t help but laugh to myself, thinking “I hardly need to shave at all. They’re overreacting.” I also wondered, “with everything going on with other students, they are worried about me and my facial hair?!”

Ultimately, the Honor Code Office wasn’t the problem. I was. I was struggling to fully embrace something that I chose to accept and committed to follow. This happens to even the best of us, so I guess I am in good company.

Consider that prophets like Moses, Jonah, and Lehi made commitments to follow the Lord and occasionally struggled to resist the temptations of the natural man. At times they complained and even hesitated to follow through on their commitments.

Each of them repented when reminded of their responsibilities and the associated blessings. For the record, I repented too—from that point on I shaved every day until I graduated. I have to admit, shaving still isn’t my favorite thing, but the blessings that have been brought into my life through the gospel and the Church Educational System are undeniable.

When Edward returned from his mission, the country was in a depression and work was hard to find. Almost without money he fasted and prayed about the matter and felt impressed to pay his last two dollars as tithing. “Bishop,” he said in late November, “I know that I don’t owe this money yet, but I hope to owe it before the end of the year.”
The next day Edward continued to make his usual visits to offices and businesses in Salt Lake City, looking for work. He was leaving the last office when the foreman called him back and told him there was a job in Price, Utah, at the community newspaper (about 200 kilometers from Salt Lake City).
Edward arrived in Price the next day, the company having furnished his transportation money. By Christmas, with the overtime he had accumulated, Edward had earned $21.50. Fully repaid and with some to spare for having paid tithing, he said, “I could have the Christmas I desired.”

The Millers’ most unusual family home evening started out very much as usual. Mom and Dad sat together holding hands. Twelve-year-old Jeramie looked bored. Nine-year-old Charlie tapped his toes impatiently. Eight-year-old Jimmy made faces at six-year-old Jenny, who glared back at him. It was four-year-old Billie Jo’s turn to lead the opening song, and she waved her hands wildly to “Jesus Wants Me for a Sunbeam”—as usual.
After the opening prayer, Dad began the lesson by hanging a picture of Jesus on the wall and telling the children that they should always remember Him.
Just then there was a knock at the door, and the man Dad invited in was anything but usual. He had a brown beard and long brown hair that hung to his shoulders. He wore a tan robe that came down to the brown sandals on his feet. A dark blue cloak hung across one shoulder. He looked just like the people in most of the paintings they had seen of the Savior’s time.
The children were very quiet when the stranger spoke. He said his name was James and that he was going to tell them some stories about his special Friend, Jesus Christ.
The first story was about a young man who died. The man’s mother had been very sad. She needed her son. She had asked Jesus to help her. He spoke to her son, and the young man awakened. (See Luke 7:12–14.)
James’s next story was about when Jesus had been teaching a large crowd of people on a mountain by the sea. No one had brought anything to eat, except a boy who had five loaves of bread and two small fish. The boy had been willing to share his food, so Jesus blessed it. After it had been blessed, it fed all five thousand people, with some left over. (See John 6:1–14.)
The stranger, who called himself James, talked to the Millers a long time. They had heard his stories before, but when he told them, they seemed to have just happened. There was an even more wonderful feeling in the room as James told them how much the Savior loved the people He had taught and how much He loved them. He told them that they would be happier if they remembered to love one another as much as Jesus Christ loved them.
Mom had begun to lead the closing song, “Love One Another,” before the children recognized the stranger. When he began to sing, they all knew that it was Brother Park, the man who led the singing in sacrament meeting each week. Long hair and a beard couldn’t disguise his singing voice. His first name really was James, he said, and the Savior really was his special Friend.
Brother Park stayed to eat ice cream and cookies with them. Before he left, he looked at the picture of Jesus that Dad had hung up and said, “You know, this is just how an artist thinks Jesus looks, but when you look at it, I hope that you will remember Him. Remember that He cares about what you do, and He loves you.”

Shelley liked seashells. She had a jar filled with them, and she liked to spread them out on her bed.
One morning Mommy said, “Grandpa and Grandma are coming tomorrow to celebrate Father’s Day with us. Would you please put your shells back into the jar and help me clean your room.”
As she was putting her shells away, Shelley had an idea—she would make Daddy and Grandpa each a Father’s Day present with her shells.
Daddy had given her one of his old belts, and Shelley carefully glued tiny shells all around it with some really strong glue. The belt buckle was smooth and flat, and Shelley glued one of her bigger shells right in the middle of it.
Shelley didn’t have one of Grandpa’s old belts, so she made him a tie clasp with a shell on it.
Then she asked Mommy to write “To Daddy with love from Shelley” and “To Grandpa with love from Shelley” on cards for them.
The next day Daddy and Grandpa thanked Shelley for her Father’s Day gifts by giving her big hugs.

I don’t know how many times people had told us to make friends, but one day in Miss Cocks’s third grade class, that was exactly what Aubrey, Shanae, and I did. We actually “made” a friend.
At first our friend didn’t have a lot of personality. She was a little bit flat and colorless because we made her out of sheets of white drawing paper that we taped together and cut out into the rough shape of a girl. Then we drew a face on her, propped her up in a chair, and slid her up to the desk.
Shanae, Aubrey, and I didn’t actually need a friend. We just needed a body, someone or something to take up space so that Miss Cocks wouldn’t assign another someone to sit with us.
All of the desks in the classroom were arranged in groups of four. There was an odd number of students in the room. Two groups had only three students, and Aubrey, Shanae, and I felt lucky to end up together with no one sitting in the fourth desk.
We really didn’t want anybody else joining us. So when Shanae took a note to the office for Miss Cocks and saw a new student, she hurried back to class with the awful news.
“Brittany,” she whispered to me, “there’s a new boy in the office, and I think he’s coming to our room. What if we get stuck with him?”
“A boy will ruin everything,” I muttered.
That’s when Shanae, Aubrey, and I decided to make our friend. We had to work fast, but we had her propped in the empty chair when Mr. Yost, the principal, escorted Jesse to our classroom.
Miss Cocks’s gaze settled first on our group. We all giggled. “Our group is full,” I announced. “We made a friend during art, and she’s sitting right there—see?”
“I didn’t know that you girls could make a friend so quickly,” Miss Cocks said, trying to hold back her own smile. She was sort of used to Aubrey and me, because she was the Primary president in our ward. She shrugged. “I guess Jesse will get to sit by Melissa in the other group.”
After Jesse was properly introduced to the class, Shanae, Aubrey, and I fixed up our friend, carefully using our scissors to give her a better shape. We got out our crayons and colored her face and glued on yellow construction-paper hair. We also painted a dress and shoes on her.
Later, when Miss Cocks started our social studies lesson, she turned to us. “Oh, by the way, Brittany, you girls haven’t had a chance to introduce your friend to the class. After all, she’s new, too.”
She caught all three of us by surprise. At first we just sat there. Then I got an idea. My favorite cousin’s name was Kerstin, so I took a deep breath, stood up, and pointed at our homemade friend. “Class,” I explained, “this is our new friend, Kerstin.”
“Where did she live before she came here?” Miss Cocks wanted to know.
I cleared my throat. “Oh, she lived in a big, dark forest. In fact, I think she was a tree.” I grinned.
Shanae stood up next to me and added, “And we hope all of you will be especially nice to her. She’s not used to being around so many people.”
“She doesn’t talk very much,” Aubrey joined in. “She’s very shy, so if you’d like to tell her something, you’ll have to talk to one of us.”
Most of the guys in the class rolled their eyes and the girls mostly snickered. Miss Cocks raised her eyebrows but only said, “Kerstin, I’m glad that you were able to get out of the big, dark forest. It’s nice to have you in our class. And,” she added solemnly, “I hope some of your quietness will rub off onto your three friends.”
That’s how Kerstin came to be our friend. We might have forgotten all about her, wadded her up, and thrown her into the trash at the end of the day. But as Miss Cocks was passing out our social studies crossword puzzle, she skipped Kerstin. Shanae raised her hand and pointed out, “You didn’t give Kerstin one.” She covered her mouth to hide a grin.
“Does Kerstin know how to do crossword puzzles?” Miss Cocks asked. “Coming from the big, dark forest, she probably doesn’t even know what the states are, and a person has to know the states in order to do this crossword puzzle.”
“Kerstin is a little slow,” Aubrey spoke up.
“But we’ll help her,” I volunteered. “That’s what friends are for.”
Miss Cocks considered a moment, then set a crossword puzzle in front of Kerstin. “Kerstin,” she said slowly, “if you have any questions, just ask one of your three very silly friends.”
Shanae, Aubrey, and I hurried through our own puzzles. As we worked together on Kerstin’s, we carefully explained to her what we were doing and why. The rest of the kids in the class shook their heads and muttered under their breaths.
When it was time for recess, I raised my hand.
“Is it all right if Kerstin stays in during recess? She has a bad cold.”
“That’s why she’s so pale,” Aubrey joined in.
“Besides,” Shanae added, “she doesn’t have a coat.”
“Then I think Kerstin had better stay in,” Miss Cocks agreed. “She can keep me company.”
When we returned from recess, Miss Cocks announced, “Only one person had a hundred percent on the crossword puzzle. Our new student Kerstin got every one of them correct.”
“If she got a hundred,” I protested, “the rest of us had to get a hundred, too.”
Miss Cocks shook her head. “Well, you missed 7-Across, Shanae missed 17-Down, and Aubrey missed 22-Across.” Miss Cocks smiled at Kerstin. “Maybe tomorrow you can help your friends a little with their work. They seem to need it.”
The next day Kerstin was still sitting patiently in her chair, just as we had left her.
During language arts, when Miss Cocks was explaining the difference between singular and plural nouns, Kerstin answered a question and Reggie Burke muttered loudly, “Kerstin’s got to be the ugliest, dumbest looking girl I’ve ever seen.”
“Don’t you ever talk about our friend that way,” Shanae fiercely burst out. “She can’t help the way she is. Maybe if you had grown up in the middle of some trees, you’d look just like she does.”
Aubrey and I nodded and glared at Reggie. Miss Cocks smiled and added, “That’s right, Reggie, we don’t want anyone in our class speaking unkindly about anyone else.”
He sank down in his seat. “It’s only a dumb paper doll.”
After that, a few more boys tried to make fun of Kerstin, but we stood up for her. We even redid her face so that she’d be prettier. We changed her clothes and said nice things to her. When Bobby Rice pointed out how skinny she was, we decided that from then on, we’d take her to lunch with us. We made her a paper jacket and took her out for recess. We even picked out an imaginary birthday for her that was a week away and posted it on Miss Cocks’s “birthday board.”
The day of Kerstin’s birthday, when Mr. Yost announced students’ birthdays over the intercom, he said, “And we have a new student in Miss Cocks’s class who is having a birthday today. Happy birthday, Kerstin!”
Kerstin was one of the most wonderful things that happened to us in third grade. Each day we thought up something new to do with her, and Miss Cocks and the rest of the class played along with us. Kerstin even won the math game. She was voted the best-behaved student in class. Hers was the best art project.
It seemed as though Kerstin had always been with us. So it was a shock one Monday morning to discover that Kerstin was no longer at her desk.
Miss Cocks motioned for us to follow her outside the classroom. “Kerstin moved away,” Miss Cocks said softly. She held up her hands and shook her head when we started to protest. “It happened rather suddenly.”
“You mean we can’t have her in class anymore?” Shanae asked sadly. “We’ll try not to be so silly.”
Miss Cocks shook her head. “It isn’t that. Kerstin wanted me to tell you all how much she appreciated your special kindness these last few weeks.” She looked at Aubrey and me. “Do you remember in Sharing Time yesterday how I talked about treating others the way Jesus Christ would want us to treat them?”
Aubrey and I nodded.
“Well, I thought of you three girls and Kerstin when I was saying those things. I think that you’ve learned that lesson well.”
Miss Cocks was quiet for a moment. “Kerstin wanted to ask a special favor of you three. I think it’s the same favor Jesus would ask if He were here. There’s another girl coming today. She’s a bit shy. She isn’t from a big, dark forest—she’s very real. Unfortunately she doesn’t live with her mother and dad. She lives in a foster home. Life hasn’t been easy for her. More than anything, she needs a safe, kind, loving place to go to school. Kerstin thought that this was the very best place in the world, and she was sure that no one could find three better friends than Shanae, Aubrey, and Brittany. Of course, I agreed.”
For a long time we were all quiet, truly missing Kerstin, but happy about making a new, real friend. It felt good to look forward to new people, rather than try to avoid them.
Aubrey asked, “What’s her name?”
“Brandy. And if you treat her the way you treated Kerstin, she will think that this is the most wonderful place in the world.”
“I guess we’d better get her desk ready. When will she be here?”
“I think that Mr. Yost will be bringing her in a few minutes.”
“If I were a new student,” Aubrey said, “I don’t think I’d want the principal to escort me to class. I’d want my three new best friends to go to the office and get me.”
Miss Cocks smiled. “I think you’re right. I think that Brandy would want that very much.”
That is how Shanae, Aubrey, and I made our second friend in third grade. And as we brought Brandy to our room, helped her with her assignments, took her to lunch, and protected her from the boys’ teasing, I sometimes thought of the One who is a very special Friend of us all.

In 1816 the family moved again, this time to Palmyra, New York. Joseph’s father had gone ahead to find a place for them to live. When Lucy Mack Smith and the eight children went to join him, a man named Caleb Howard was hired to drive the wagon with their things. Ten-year-old Joseph had not fully recovered from his leg operation yet, making it painful for him to walk. Nevertheless, Mr. Howard made him walk miles at a time.

At Utica, New York, still many miles from Palmyra, Mr. Howard unloaded the Smith’s household goods and was about to leave with the wagon and horses. Joseph’s mother demanded that he leave them, then reloaded the wagon and drove the rest of the way herself.

When I was a child, one of my favorite parts of the day was waiting for my dad to come home from work. I would look out the window and see him coming, and I would count each of his steps toward the house, looking forward to the joy he brought. I never thought I would have to do without that feeling.
One day when I was seven years old, in my father’s place came a man with a somber face who stood at the door and told us that my father had been killed in an accident.
That day I was silent. I looked at my four-year-old brother and my mother, so young and alone, and I did not cry. I didn’t think it could be true, so I went to the window and stared at the street. I began to feel an unbearable force pressing down on my shoulders, a weight that would not let me breathe normally, a pressure that oppressed me.
Not long after my father’s death, I went into my room alone at the fading light of sunset and, as I had been taught, prayed to my Heavenly Father. I pleaded with Him to let me see my beloved father again, just to hug him. In my heart I was certain that Heavenly Father could give me this miracle.
That day I didn’t get to see my dad or hug him, but I was given much more. It was as if I felt the hands of the Savior on my shoulders. His presence was almost tangible as He removed the weight that pressed down on my chest.
Illustration by James Johnson
Now, over 20 years later, that relief has never left me. At times I have felt sadness but never emptiness at the loss of my father. I can look back and see how many times the Spirit has come to console me, help me, and show me the way to follow the Savior’s precious steps. I can feel His presence in my life thanks to that first trial, which helps me see everyday trials with an eternal perspective. I know it is the gospel in our lives that allows us to feel the invisible caress of the Savior’s hand.
I have married for eternity, and now my husband and I have three little girls, who bring a taste of heaven into our home. When I see them, I rejoice in the peace and knowledge that every sorrow, trial, and challenge in their lives can bring with it greater faith, new witnesses, and wonderful miracles. I rejoice in the profound certainty that when they need something beyond what my husband and I can give them, they will be protected, consoled, and saved, just as I was.

I had an experience when I was in the southern states that helped me to realize what I think the Lord meant. I received a letter from a good brother from Phoenix, Arizona. He was quite an elderly man. He said that his grandfather was one of the first converts in the state of Mississippi back in 1840. He said, “Since that time my father and his descendants have given over 100 years worth of missionary service to the Church.” There were then 15 in the mission field, and we had three of them in our mission.

I told that story in a missionary meeting after I was appointed Presiding Bishop in 1940—just 100 years after the grandfather joined the Church. His grandson happened to be in that meeting and I didn’t know it. He came up to me after and said, “Brother Richards, it is now 165 years of service.” When you get to adding 10 to 15 years at a time, it doesn’t take long to add another 100 years.

This was my thought: If that missionary who waded through the swamps of Mississippi back in 1840, when they traveled without purse or scrip and many of them contracted malaria fever, had only brought that one man into the Church, he might not have thought that he had done much. But in 100 years there was 165 years of missionary service from that one man and his descendants, without counting all the converts he had made and all the converts they had made. How can you “lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor steal” (Matt. 6:20) in any better manner than by performing a service like that?

After he had served as a missionary in Tahiti for a year, the basketball federation asked if he could return to the team for just one month to participate in the games.
Bleck’s mission president, concerned about the effect the experience would have on Bleck’s ability to return and serve, felt inspired to tell him, “You can leave if you want, but you can’t come back.”
Bleck wanted that medal, but he no longer wanted it more than anything else. His mission had been amazing. He wasn’t willing to give up his last year, even for basketball.
Bleck stayed.
The team won gold.
After Bleck honorably completed his mission, he married Myranda in the Papeete Tahiti Temple, and they began a family. He also resumed playing for the national team.

David Oman McKay’s parents taught him at a very young age that he was a child of God and that his Heavenly Father loved him. They also taught him that he could always talk to his Heavenly Father.
In addition to having his own daily prayers, David knelt in daily prayer with his family.
One dark night there was a terrible thunderstorm. David was in bed, and he became very frightened. He knew that if he prayed, he would feel better, but he was afraid to get out of bed and kneel in prayer.
Finally, he gathered enough courage to kneel on the cold floor and pray for protection for himself and his family. As he was praying, David heard a voice say, “Don’t be afraid; nothing will hurt you.”
When he had finished praying, he was able to sleep because he knew that Heavenly Father would protect him and his family.
Many years later David O. McKay became the ninth President of the Church, and his strong testimony of the power of prayer was a good example for all the world.

Isn’t it nice to have a plan for your life? To have everything figured out? I thought I did, until I was diagnosed with a chronic health condition called polycystic ovary syndrome (PCOS).
When I was diagnosed, I grew angry and confused at times, and I focused all of my energy on getting rid of this condition.
I later realized that that wasn’t how God wanted me to view this trial. The Spirit helped me break free of these three unhealthy perspectives I struggled with and replace them with better ones:
At first, I thought I had done something wrong to deserve this disease and that if I changed my habits, I could be “fixed.”
I obsessively researched and tried many “solutions” that did little to help.
When I turned to Heavenly Father for answers, the Spirit helped me realize that we aren’t to blame for many struggles we face—some challenges just come with mortality. Elder Anthony D. Perkins of the Seventy said, “Suffering does not mean God is displeased with your life.”1 By letting go of blame and turning to faith, I was able to find hope and peace.
I believed that I could be healed completely if I just had enough faith, and I was constantly disappointed when I wasn’t. Eventually I learned that it’s also important to have faith not to be healed.
My “thorn in the flesh” has also helped me rely on God, thereby turning my weakness into a strength. I’ve learned that overcoming challenges can mean being able to manage them by relying on strength from the Savior, rather than getting rid of them altogether.

One young woman, Stacie, recognized the value of such traditions when she moved into a new ward. Her first few Sundays were challenging. She even told her parents she didn’t want to return. That very week her adviser called and invited her to an upcoming youth activity. Stacie recalled: “I was trying to think of an excuse, but the adviser said that every year they did a big dating game, and that caught my interest. I figured if they did it every year, it must be fun. So I went, and that was when things began to get better.”

A number of weeks later, we had another conference, this time with our new mission president, Elder Gene R. Cook. In my interview with him, he told me he felt that I had a good spirit and that God expected much of me. He also said he knew I could do more and be a better missionary.
I thought deeply about his words, and about those left us by our former mission president. I sought the inspiration of the Spirit and told the Lord that I would work hard during the rest of my mission to bring souls unto him. I dedicated my efforts to fulfilling the mission that God had given me. I worked hard. Even so, as my mission neared its end, I had not yet felt what my first mission president had felt: confirmation from God that my work was accepted.
I continued to work hard, and on the last day of my mission—our preparation day—my companion and I baptized a special young family.
When I returned to the mission home in Montevideo, President Cook interviewed me for the last time. After we prayed together, he asked me if I had anything I wanted to discuss with him.
I thought about it, but decided not to burden him with my desire for a confirmation from the Lord that my work was accepted. Then, as if he read my thoughts, he looked me in the eyes and said, “Elder Acosta, the Spirit tells me that the Lord is pleased with you because of your labors, and I feel that you may return home reassured. I feel that this is troubling you.”
With tears in my eyes, I told him that it had been troubling me but that now I could go home happy because I knew the Lord was pleased with my missionary labors. An inner peace came over me, confirming that it was so.

Miss Blake is concerned that everyone in my fourth-grade class has a good self-image. At first I wasn’t sure what she meant. I knew that your image is what you see in the mirror, but I decided that the image that she was talking about was the one that you see of yourself when you’re not looking into the mirror.
Last Thursday she said that we should all think of something good to say about ourselves. Now, that really took a bit of thinking on my part. I wish I could have said, “I like the way I look,” as Mary Lou did. That was all right for her, with her beautiful long blonde hair and her big blue eyes. But it would never do for me. Oh, my, no! My hair is too thin and my freckles are too thick and my nose is too short. That would never do for me.
Neither could I be like Wendy and say, “I like the way I do my schoolwork.” She almost always has the highest grades in class. Not me. I’m really not very good in math. I’m better in history. I love the stories, but when a test comes along, I can’t remember the dates.
What I truly wanted to say was, “I like having so many friends.” But I would have to leave that for Kevin. Everyone likes him, me included. He lives just two houses away, so maybe that’s why he’s always friendly and nice to me. But then, on second thought, he’s that way with everyone. We elected him class president, and when Miss Blake said that it was time to vote again, no one wanted to change.
“Well, Angie?”
That was Miss Blake. It was my turn, and I still hadn’t decided on anything, so she went on to Linda and the others.
I had to think of something, something that I was really good at. I couldn’t even say that I was the fastest runner. Both Kevin and Linda could beat me at running. They knew it, and so did I.
While I was trying to think of something, I was also listening to what the others were saying. When it was Kevin’s turn, he didn’t say a word about all his friends. He just said, “I like the way I can catch high flies when I’m having a good day at baseball practice.”
There is one thing I’m good at: I notice things, and I’m honest enough to tell people what I notice. For instance, one morning Mary Lou came to school with her hair looking just awful. No one else seemed to notice, but I did. I asked her if her mother was away. She seemed surprised and wanted to know why I asked. “Because,” I said, “your hair is such a mess.”
I learned later that her mother had been away—to the hospital for a new baby—but Mary Lou didn’t tell me. She sort of stayed away from me the rest of the day. Most of the other girls did too. They just seemed to flock around Mary Lou. I guess they hadn’t noticed how weird she looked.
And when Wendy came to school with a tear in the back of her blouse, not one other person seemed to notice. But I did; I told her about it too.
“Are you ready, Angie?” Miss Blake had finished with everyone else and was back to me. I had to think of something quickly.
“Honest.” I said. “I suppose I’m about the honestest person in this whole class.”
There was a big silence, a real silent silence. I was a little surprised. Didn’t the class members agree with me?
I thought about it as I walked home by myself. I decided that I’d have to work even harder at being honest. I began the very next morning.
Miss Blake was wearing a dress that I disliked. Now, I can take most colors. But purple! I have this strong feeling against purple, particularly that purple. I had to be honest about it. As soon as school started, I spoke right up. “Miss Blake, I don’t think I can do my work very well today.”
“Why, Angie? Aren’t you feeling well?”
“Yes … I mean, I was. But I hate that purple color of your dress, and it upsets me. I thought that I had better be honest and tell you.”
Well! The silence that followed that remark made yesterday’s silence sound like a traffic jam. For the next few moments I don’t think that anyone even breathed.
Miss Blake spoke first. “I am truly sorry, Angie. I shall try to remember.”
The next recess, when I tried to join the girls playing jump rope, they quit and went over to the volleyball net. When I moved over there, they all ran into the school building.
Then Kevin ran by, chasing a softball. He got it and threw it back to the pitcher. I wasn’t surprised to see him playing in the field, even though he is our best pitcher. He says that the other kids like to pitch too. That’s Kevin, always thinking about others.
“Hi, Angie,” he said.
I felt silly standing there all alone. “The others were all thirsty,” I explained. “They all went in early.”
He just glanced at me, then started back to his game.
“Well, I don’t care!” I shouted at him. “See those mountains in the canyon, those far, far back ones? My dad and I are riding our horses up there on Saturday. That’s my favorite place in all the world, and I don’t care what these girls do or say!”
“Honestly, Angie?” Kevin called back over his shoulder. Then he stopped and turned around. “You know, Angie, some people like purple. It’s my favorite color.”
I stood there thinking about what he had said and about what I had said to Miss Blake—and about how the other kids had looked at me. Right there on the playground, without any kind of mirror, I took one good long look at myself, and I didn’t like what I saw.
And to think that Kevin liked purple! Evidently Miss Blake did too. I looked again at the mountains to the east. The closer ones were different shades of blue, but those farther away, those up against the horizon—those in my favorite place in all the world—were a beautiful, lovely purple! And it was the same color as Miss Blake’s dress. …
I made up my mind. When the bell rang, I raised my hand and said, “Miss Blake?” My voice was a little shaky, but I made sure that it was loud enough for everyone in class to hear. “I’m sorry for what I said about your dress. It’s really very nice, and I’ve decided to learn to like purple.”
Once more there was silence in our classroom. Then Kevin started to clap. After a moment the other kids all smiled and joined in. So did Miss Blake.
After school Mary Lou, Wendy, and Kevin waited to walk home with me. I felt happier than I had for a long time. I decided that I would still be honest, but from now on I was going to be like Kevin, honestly kind.
When I reached the sidewalk in front of my own house, I took another good long look at myself, still without a mirror. I liked what I saw a little better.

With permission from our son Matthew, let me reconstruct a conversation we had when he was 16 years old. One evening, while driving in the car together, I asked what he was learning in seminary. “Oh, you know,” he said in his teenage way, “the gospel.” “What about the gospel?” I asked.“You know, Dad, the Restoration and all that.” “I see. Which part?”He paused for a moment, as if weighing whether to share something that really mattered to him. “OK,” he said, “the part about Joseph Smith giving Oliver Cowdery the 126 pages from the Book of Mormon.”For a moment, I wondered what kind of seminary class he was in. Then I tried to gently explain, “Well, you know son, the Prophet Joseph Smith gave those pages to Martin Harris, not Oliver Cowdery.”“Sure, whatever,” Matthew said.“And,” I continued, “I believe it was 116 pages, not 126.”“Yeah, yeah, Dad, I know. But the point is, I made the link.”“The link?” I asked.
Then Matthew helped me understand. “Do you remember the summer when I earned $100 mowing lawns, and I wanted to buy that electric scooter? You said you didn’t think it was a good idea. But I really wanted that scooter. So I prayed about it, and I had the feeling I should listen to you. But I didn’t like that answer, so I prayed about it again—a couple of times. And I kept getting the feeling I should forget the scooter. But I really wanted it, so I just bought it anyway. And the second day I rode it, it broke. It was too expensive to fix, and we ended up throwing it away. And I lost everything I’d saved! Dad,” he said, “ that’s what happened to Joseph Smith. He knew in his heart that he shouldn’t loan out those pages. But he kept asking the Lord, and finally Joseph loaned them anyway. And they were lost. He was totally sad and couldn’t sleep or eat or anything. And he decided he was never going to disobey again. That’s the link, Dad. That’s the link I made to myself.”We sat in silence for a moment while I was making a link of my own: Learning the gospel is about more than hearing and repeating facts and concepts. Was it Oliver Cowdery or Martin Harris? It’s important to know, but not essential to salvation. The number of pages lost? That’s not a saving doctrine either. Suddenly I was thinking about good people I know who master many details of gospel doctrine and Church history, but do not make the link to what it means for them. Linking gospel truth to ourselves is another way of talking about truly understanding the gospel.
Matthew’s new understanding was very simple: “Heavenly Father wants to help me. He won’t impose His will or insist that I obey. He will speak to me by the still, small voice of the Holy Ghost. And if I willingly listen and respond, I will be blessed and happy.” In time, Matthew did learn the correct names and number of pages. And thanks to a fine seminary teacher, he identified much rich doctrine embedded in early Church History. But let’s remember, none of that would have meant much to 16-year-old Matthew until he made the link and came to an understanding for himself. That’s when he changed. And that confirms the powerful principle taught by President Boyd K. Packer: “True doctrine, understood, changes attitudes and behavior.”8 That’s what happened to Matthew.

Professionally, I am a family solicitor but, about 12 years ago, a miscarriage set me back. I wanted to give up work, change my life, and do something completely different. However, I felt there was something more important that I was supposed to do with my life, and I needed to stay put. It was not especially what I wanted, but I waited and waited with anticipation. Eight years went by. I wondered whether a change was ever going to happen, or whether I had just imagined it would happen.
When I started my search for my important work, I came across these words by Orson F. Whitney (1855-1931), which profoundly affected me:
“God is using more than one people for the accomplishment of his great and marvellous work. The Latter-day Saints cannot do it all. It is too vast, too arduous, for any one people. Our part in it is the greatest. We have the gospel and the priesthood, with a mission to gather Israel, build the New Jerusalem, and prepare the way for the advent of the King of kings. And this duty has been laid upon us because we belong to the house of Israel. It is the God of Israel who is coming to reign, and we are the right people to prepare the way before him. …
“We have no quarrel with the Gentiles. They are our partners in a certain sense. The name Gentile is not with us a term of reproach. … It simply means, with us, one who does not belong to the Church. We need the Gentiles, and they need us, but they don’t know it, and we do. They are wiser than we are in material things—the things of Earth and Time. But when it comes to spiritual things—the things of Heaven and Eternity, we can teach them. We need their wealth and worldly wisdom, their wonderful skill in managing and manipulating temporalities. And they need the Gospel and the Priesthood. They need us, for we hold in our hands the Key to their eternal salvation.
“Again, I say, the Lord’s Work has need of auxiliaries outside as well as inside, to help it along. Because of their worldly influence—which would depart if they connected themselves with the Church—many are kept where they are, where the Lord has placed them, and can best use them for the good of all.”1
Towards the end of those eight years, I was surprised to receive a telephone call asking me to meet with the stake president. As I fretted and pondered, I suddenly knew that this was it. I was about to start my important work. I knew I was going to be called into public affairs. To be honest, this terrified me, but also exhilarated me. I was finally going to get started. I knew I was going to love the expected interfaith work, and I did!

About a year ago, our youngest daughter and her husband were preparing to welcome their very first child, a sweet baby girl. They were excited beyond belief. Just a few days before the delivery date, the baby stopped moving, and the doctors couldn’t detect a heartbeat. A day later, little Charlotte Faith was delivered stillborn. Never before had we experienced that kind of grief. Every part of our soul wanted to scream in anguish. Lucia and I hurt deeply for our daughter and her husband. All we could think of was all the whys and what-might-have-beens— all the joy we would have experienced with this little one. Why did this happen? Why didn’t we see it coming? Why? Why? Why? Well, I still don’t have answers to those questions. They’re currently in the box, and I think the answers will take some time— maybe a long time. But our faith and trust is in the Lord. We will wait on Him. We miss little Charlotte! The faith of our daughter and her husband has never wavered. Their hearts are healing. And they recently welcomed a little boy, Peter Abram, into their family. That’s what it looks like to move forward with faith.

Gottfried Richter, now 79, looks back over nearly a lifetime of service in the Church that began for him when times were extremely difficult for Latter-day Saints in his country. After four and one-half years in Russian prison camps, he returned to Karl-Marx-Stadt (now Chemnitz), in the communist-controlled German Democratic Republic (GDR). Through a friend who would later become his wife, he found the Church and was baptized in 1951. In 1952 he and Gertraude had their first child. The following year he was called on a full-time mission. These were times when being a Latter-day Saint automatically brought one under the suspicion of the secret police. So it was for many years afterward while he served as a district president and then in the presidency of the Dresden mission. Now the former prisoner of war finds himself serving the Lord in a reunified Germany as a sealer in the Freiberg Germany Temple.
“After the war there were many older members but not very many young people, but that has changed greatly. Today there are many young members. And this is something really special,” Brother Richter says with a wide smile. “They are marrying each other within the Church and bringing up strong children in the gospel. The day after tomorrow I will seal a young couple in the Freiberg temple. Both are fifth-generation members of the Church.”

The Savior has given us many ways to focus on Him intentionally, including the daily opportunity to repent. Sometimes we undervalue how great this offered blessing is. When I was eight years old, I was baptized by my father. Afterward, I held his hand as we were going to cross a busy street. I was not paying attention and stepped from the curb just as a big truck came rumbling by. My father jerked me back, out of the street and onto the curb. Had he not done so, I would have been hit by the truck. Knowing my own mischievous nature, I thought, “Maybe it would have been better for me to be killed by the truck because I’ll never be as clean as I am now right after my baptism.”
As an eight-year-old, I had mistakenly presumed that the water of baptism washed away sins. Not so. In the years since my baptism, I have learned that sins are cleansed by the power of Jesus Christ through His atoning sacrifice as we make and keep the baptismal covenant. Then, through the gift of repentance, we can remain clean. I have also learned that the sacrament brings a powerful virtuous cycle into our lives, enabling us to retain a remission of our sins.