Gospel Story Finder

At age 13 I was called into Bishop Murray Holt’s office, and he extended a call to me to serve as the president of the deacons quorum. He told me I needed to go home and pray about who my counselors should be. He taught me that the Lord would help me decide. He did. I then learned about counselors, and I began to see why the Lord has His Church directed by presidencies, not just presidents. I loved my counselors in the deacons quorum, and we prayed and worked hard to help the boys in our quorum. Bishop Holt taught me the pattern of presidencies and taught me how a presidency should operate and function in the Lord’s Church.
When I later served as president of other quorums, I already knew the importance of counselors, and I knew that the Lord would help me choose them—just as my bishop had taught me.

One spring afternoon I was packing my car to begin shuttling my five young children to and from lessons and practices. As I loaded football cleats and dance bags, I noticed a mother duck and her ducklings waddling down the sidewalk of our suburban neighborhood.
As I watched, she began to cross the road. Unfortunately, she chose a gutter grate for her crosswalk, and as she passed over it, her babies followed. Four of her ducklings slipped helplessly between the bars of the grate.
When the mother reached the other side, she realized she was missing some of her little ones and could hear their muffled peeps. Totally oblivious of her mistake, she crossed back across the drainage grate, looking for her missing ducklings and losing two more. With horror and some disgust at her poor judgment, I went to the grate to see if I could lift it. Although I used all my strength, the grate barely budged, and I was late to pick up one of my kids.
Figuring I would have to fix the situation later when I wasn’t so rushed, I hopped in the car while muttering self-righteously, “She doesn’t deserve to be a mother.”
During the next hour and a half, I made many of my recurring parenting mistakes. These are mistakes I have begged forgiveness for many times from both my children and my Father in Heaven. Each time I resolve to do better and not to fall prey to these weaknesses again. When I snapped at one of my kids for teasing another, my words echoed loudly in my ears, “She doesn’t deserve to be a mother.”
Suddenly I felt overwhelming compassion for that mother duck. She was trying to navigate the world with the instincts she was given, just as I was. But sometimes those instincts simply weren’t enough, and it was our children who suffered.
I resolved to get the grate off somehow and lift the ducklings out. As I rounded the corner to our street, I saw a small group gathered. My neighbor had lifted the grate, climbed inside the drainage tunnel, and was gently lifting the ducklings out to safety. The frightened little birds scrambled to find their mother, who was pacing nervously in a nearby bush. She hadn’t asked for help, but my neighbor had stepped in when her protection was simply not enough. I was overcome with emotion as I thought of the Savior doing the same for my children and me.

A few years ago, when Elder Merrill J. Bateman of the Presidency of the Seventy was in Japan, the missionaries introduced him to a young Japanese brother who had just joined the Church. He was from a non-Christian background. When he met the missionaries, he was interested in the message, but he could not understand or feel the need for a Savior, and he didn’t have a witness regarding the gospel. One day the missionaries decided to show him a film about the Atonement. The young man saw the film, but still he didn’t have a witness.

“The next morning he went to work. He worked in an optician’s shop making eyeglasses. … An elderly woman came in. He remembered her coming in a few weeks before. She had broken her glasses. She needed a new pair. When she had come in earlier, she didn’t have enough money and had gone away to save more in order to purchase the new glasses. As she came in that day, she again showed him her spectacles and showed him the money that she now had. He realized that she didn’t have enough yet. Then a thought came to him: I have some money. I don’t need to tell her. I can make up the difference. So he told her the money she had was adequate, took her glasses, [and] made an appointment for her to return when he had finished making the spectacles. …

“She returned later. He had the glasses ready for her. He handed them to her, and she put them on [and exclaimed] ‘… I see. I see.’ Then she began to cry. At that point, a burning sensation began to grow within his bosom and swelled within him. He said, ‘… I understand. I understand.’ He began to cry. Out the door he ran, looking for the missionaries. When he found them, he said, ‘I see! My eyes have been opened! I know that Jesus is the Son of God. I know the stone was rolled away from the tomb and on that glorious Easter morning He arose from the dead. He can make up the difference in my life when I fall short.’”2

4 Fourth, prayer. Every day I pray to Heavenly Father in the name of Jesus Christ. I know that I receive answers to my prayers, and that makes me believe in Jesus.
When my mom got run over by our car, I was very worried. I said several prayers and had faith that she would recover quickly. It took only a few weeks for her to feel better. My prayers were answered. It makes me glad that I can speak to Heavenly Father and know that Jesus listens to our prayers.

In our family, Dad works hard. He works a full-time job, devotes many hours to his Church calling, makes repairs around the house, fixes the car, changes diapers, and is involved in a multitude of other activities. But does Dad ever have time to play?
When Dad comes home from work, the children exclaim, “Daddy’s home, Daddy’s home!” He comes in, hugs the children, and kisses his wife, but too often he sits down in his chair and is too tired to get up again. When we found that Dad’s busy schedule was allowing him less and less time and energy for family activities, we brainstormed ways to work around the problem. The following suggestions help our family stay close to Dad. Some ideas may apply to single-parent families, too.
Take time with each child. In our home it is always easier to promise to do something later than to do it right now. So instead of making and breaking a promise to play later, Dad schedules time every week to be with each of the children. That way, even if something comes up to change plans to play, the children don’t miss out on time with Dad. If a call comes from the elders quorum asking for help in moving a new family into the ward, Dad simply takes a child along with him. It may not be playing, but it can still be fun. They might stop on the way and have a doughnut and hot chocolate. When the time comes to take a break, they might go to a nearby park and have a picnic. Whether it’s work or play, just being with Dad is a treat in itself.
Cut down on television time. We found that even though watching television is relaxing, it doesn’t give us quality time as a family. We decided not to watch television between the time Dad comes home from work and when the children go to bed. After we got used to having the television off, we were surprised at how much interaction we had as a family. We began communicating and feel closer to each other than we used to.
Plan surprise activities. If Dad comes home from work tired and worn out, falls into his chair, and doesn’t get up until dinner, we know it’s time to plan another surprise activity. We love to kidnap Dad when he leaves from work or steps out of the car at home and take him on a family outing. Our activity might be as simple as going to a park for a picnic dinner. Sometimes we make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, throw in a bag of chips, kidnap Dad, and drive to a local point of interest. Even though they aren’t elaborate, our activities are always fun and spontaneous—and Dad loves being the center of everyone’s kidnapping scheme.
Take time in the daytime. Some dads might work at night or have schedule obligations that make it hard to be with the family in the evening. If this is the case, Dad could spend time with the children in the daytime. After arranging with the child’s school, Dad could take one of the children to lunch. On a school holiday perhaps a child can spend some time with Dad at work so that when Dad needs to rest or have some time alone at home, the children will understand better why people get tired from working all day.
No matter what Dad does in his work, in his Church calling, or in his spare time, being a dad is a full-time job. By creatively planning ways to spend time together as a family, and by Dad’s scheduling time with individual members of the family, we have come to know each other better. And because we often sacrifice to be together, we have learned to love and appreciate each other more.

One moment that will always stand out in my mind was the day I came home from the hospital after I was diagnosed with leukemia. The young women and Relief Society sisters had moved my stuff from the basement into a room on the main floor so I would be closer to my parents and wouldn’t have to use the stairs. They had cleaned and decorated the room to make a great place for me to live while I was sick. My family was the recipient of many other service projects. In the beginning, it was hard for me to accept service. When people would do service for me, it would make me feel like I couldn’t do anything for myself. However, I soon learned that it was OK to ask for help. When I started feeling better, I began looking for opportunities to serve other people more. Now I try to serve as much as I can. I get a good feeling when I serve other people. I have come to realize that by letting other people serve me, I allow them the same good feelings.

When I was a youth, I didn’t know what the Holy Ghost felt like. I was around 12 years old when my mother sat me down and asked me this important question: “Mark,” she said, “has the Lord ever told you through the Holy Ghost that the Church is true?”
I wasn’t in the business of lying to my mom, so I honestly and sheepishly responded “No?”
She then said, “Heavenly Father wants you to know for yourself, but you need to put in the effort. If you will read the Book of Mormon and pray, He will let you know of its truthfulness by the Holy Ghost.”
I had my own copy of the Book of Mormon, but I had never read it on my own. With the determination to take this invitation seriously, I started my own spiritual journey. Each night before I went to bed, I read a chapter or so in the Book of Mormon. As I knelt down to pray, I asked Heavenly Father to let me know that it was true. As I prayed, a peaceful feeling rested upon me. I felt good inside.
Were these feelings from the Holy Ghost? I wasn’t really sure. This was all new to me, and I didn’t know what the promptings of the Holy Ghost felt like. I wondered if an angel was going to come visit me or if perhaps a great divine light would appear in my room. Nevertheless, with sincere desire to receive the promised knowledge from the Holy Ghost, I continued to read and pray night after night. Every time I prayed, I felt feelings of peace, and I felt good inside.
It wasn’t until later that I realized the Lord had been answering my prayers all along, but I had been looking for a different kind of answer. I just didn’t realize that we can “feel” the promptings of the Holy Ghost.

by Mike Kawasaki
The Young Men and Young Women presidencies with the Activities Committee of the Oak Hills 4th Ward, Provo Utah Oak Hills Stake, had planned a formal dinner-dance for the Mutual-age youth.
The dinner-dance was to prepare the youth to learn spiritual responsibilities and etiquette without the peer pressures of dating.
In preparation for the activity, we had a fireside with the speaker stressing that the youth develop a style of their own. A second fireside was held to learn manners, with volunteers offering to demonstrate their knowledge of table manners. The leader gently corrected or complimented as individuals demonstrated their knowledge of correct table etiquette. Details from avoiding chewing gum to how to butter bread were reviewed.
The evening of the dinner-dance arrived. The cultural hall was arranged with round tables, each set with fine crystal and china. As the different courses were served, leaders acting as waiters and waitresses were eavesdropping on dinner conversations ranging in subject from braces to seminary classes.
Following dinner, the dance began with partners having been arranged for each dance. One of the young men had programmed his computer to match up dance partners. Each participant was given a computer printout, rolled and tied with a ribbon.
The evening was a tremendous success. “We looked forward to this activity for so long, and it was so much fun. We learned a lot about how to eat at a formal table, and we learned about how to act on dates,” said my daughter Kara when reflecting about the evening.
After thanking their hosts, the young people asked, “Can we do this again next year?” The resounding answer was yes.

If it hadn’t been for the accident, the apple pie corner would probably have stayed closed for a lot longer.
It was a Saturday morning. I know, because Dad had been drinking at the pub the night before. I was down the yard at 5.30 milking Mrs. Nephi. (I call her that because Nephi found wild goats in the promised land. I’ve often wondered whether he liked them as much as I do. I mean, he seemed to care for outsiders, and no one else in the scriptures ever seemed to reckon much to goats, did they?)
I’d just found a good spot to rest my chin—there’s an extra lump of gristle to one side of Mrs. N.’s backbone that’s softer than the rest—when all of a sudden this fox appeared, right out of nowhere, rushing in front of us.
Well, old Mrs. Nephi went crazy, staggering sideways, then stumbling across the stand. I hadn’t bothered to tether her. She never moves an inch normally. Simply gazes into the distance, grinding her teeth round and round like some old lady thinking and thinking.
But this time, back legs bucked, hooves clattered down into the bucket, milk splattered all over … and me? My head snapped back, and I fell off the stool, crashing into the heavy gate beam wedged up against the goat shed.
The beam toppled, missing my neck by inches but hitting my arm, crushing the bone with wicked pain. I remember screaming in agony until things went swimmy and black.
My shrieks must have been right powerful. Only something dreadful could waken Dad on a Saturday morning. Next thing I knew he was leaning close, yelling at me.
Somehow he got me to the hospital, ten miles away. I never, ever, want to try to drive in that condition again. The pain was so terrible, bumping over those country roads, I wanted to cry and whimper like a child. Only the sight of Dad’s tight-lipped face forced back the anguished gasps.
Come to think of it, Teacher could have used an experience like mine when we did that scripture on suffering in the Doctrine and Covenants—19 something-or-other. I need to go over that one. And to think my agony was nothing compared to His. I daren’t begin to imagine His pain—and all for the likes of me and my dad. So I pulled out those apple pie thoughts to check them through again. I don’t want to miss knowing someone who loves me that much.
The day after my accident, Teacher appeared on the doorstep. I could just about see and hear from my makeshift bed on the sofa.
“Why, hello, Mr. Bell.” She didn’t give him a chance to slam the door but kept right on talking. “I’ve brought this pie to cheer up Thomas. I know he’s fond of apples. Could you help him eat it?”
If there’s one thing Dad and I have in common, it’s appreciation of apple pies.
“I … er … I, that’s right good of you, Miss … er …” He was lost for words—my dad was actually tongue-tied. My eyes bulged, and I couldn’t keep the grin away.
“The name’s Jenny, Mr. Bell. I’m Thomas’s seminary teacher, I …”
She got no further. Dad’s tongue loosened fast. “Kind of you—yes, most kind—but I’m sorry, you can’t see the lad. He’s … er …”
Guessing the lie he would offer, I quickly waved, calling out, “Sister Summers, hello! Thanks for coming. Is that for us? Can you stop a minute? How’s Sharon? How’s the class? How’s …” I’d run out of questions, but Dad had opened the door again by this time, sheepishly stepping aside.
She came again and again. Each time Dad softened more. I didn’t realize Teacher cared for animals so much. She could even milk Mrs. Nephi!
Good job she got on the right side of Dad though, because he wouldn’t have let the home teachers round for anyone else but her. And that blessing they gave me—I don’t remember getting a feeling like that ever before in my whole life. The comforting warmth rushed clear through to my toenails.
Now I’d heard Teacher mention miracles before, but I’m not kidding, I never thought it could happen to me … me, Thomas Bell! I healed all right. So fast that the doctors weren’t sure what was going on. And they were convinced that such a messy break could never mend straight. But it did.
Dad was equally amazed. And incredible as it may seem, he actually looked at my seminary booklets one day while I worked on them. I wanted to keep going, despite the arm. I mean, I couldn’t let her down, could I, not after she had gone to so much trouble. Besides, she makes me feel kind of important. I enjoy that feeling—belonging, somehow.
I’m planning on watching her mouth drop open one day soon. Now that my arm’s in use and I’m milking Mrs. N. again, I’ve made myself a promise. With each squeeze and squirt I’ll repeat a scripture reference until they’re all glued in my brain.
Today our class finished for the year. I gave Sister Summers a box of chocolates.
She looked sort of choked, and I heard her sniff as I turned away to hide my red cheeks. On thinking it over, though, perhaps it was the words, not the chocolates, that made her cry.
“Teacher,” I said, “I’ve decided to start saving for a mission. I want to take part in all the blessings of eternity. Not only that, but I want to help others feel they’re important to someone—you know what I mean?”
She nodded, her lips wobbling a little, and she dabbed away at her eyes with a tissue.
“Oh, and by the way,” I finished in a bit of a rush, because my own eyes weren’t staying too dry either, “Dad says, if I earn half, he … he’ll pay the rest.”
I had to leave the room quickly. But not before I caught a glimpse of her face—it was glowing with such a strange look. Could that be the joy she’s always on about?
Maybe her mind has a “chocolate corner.” I like the idea of being a memory that’s pulled out every now and again.

I also served on Christmas Day, alongside my stake president and his wife, teaching missionaries (Elder Logan and Elder Holt), and a family of two brothers from the stake who had not yet opened their presents.
Elder Logan said, “We had the opportunity to serve at a fish bar doing deliveries. We first heard about it from our Church leader, President Jason Spragg. It was so great to have the opportunity to be a part of such an amazing act of kindness and charity. We greatly respect the owners/workers of Victoria Fish Bar. We thoroughly enjoyed the chance to help spread some Christmas cheer and goodwill. We had the opportunity to deliver boxes of fish and chips to some local care homes in Cardiff for the workers who sacrifice so much time and care for our elderly community. It was a lovely experience and I encourage anyone to seek out those opportunities in their area.”
This was a day to feel united, as many volunteers turned up; so many we had to queue up to volunteer. It was such a humbling experience, one that will stay with me throughout my life. I have learned the importance of service and sacrifice through being a service missionary.

My wife and I were baptized on March 26, 1997. Three months after our baptism, our bishop called me to be Sunday School president. I resisted, saying that I could not fulfill this calling because I wasn’t prepared for it. The bishop, however, persuaded me to accept this challenge and gave me the Sunday School manual to study.
Two months later the Gospel Doctrine teacher called me during the week to tell me she could not be at church on Sunday to give her lesson on section 98 of the Doctrine and Covenants. She named three other people who could substitute for her. I contacted them, but they all had previous engagements. As I hung up the phone after the last conversation, I felt that Heavenly Father wanted me to teach this class.
I was not familiar with the Doctrine and Covenants, but with the help of the bishop’s first counselor, the ward library, and the lesson manual, I was able to prepare the lesson.
I was nervous to teach ward members who knew more about the gospel than I did. But during my short time in the Church, I had learned that if we pray to Heavenly Father, He will help us. On Sunday before the class began, I asked for peace and strength. As I entered the classroom, the brothers and sisters were smiling and receptive, and they helped me. All participated attentively, and I felt that the Spirit of the Lord had blessed me to impart that important lesson.
Afterward I had the assurance that Heavenly Father only gives us tasks that we are able to fulfill—with His assistance and help from other members.

My father was the great-grandson of Charles Shumway, the first convert to the Church in our family. The missionaries found him living in the state of Wisconsin and shared the gospel with him. He was so happy that the next day, when he went to the sawmill where he worked, he told his coworkers what the missionaries had told him. One big man did not agree with his message and beat him up. He crawled back home, wounded.
When he had healed, he told his family, “I have to go find out if Joseph Smith really exists and if there really is such a thing as a prophet, like those missionaries told me.” He traveled to Nauvoo, and when he got there, yes sir, there was a prophet.
He returned home for his wife and family, headed toward the Mississippi River, built a raft, and floated back down to Nauvoo. For the rest of his life, he followed the prophet and tried to do exactly as he was directed. Under the direction of Brigham Young, he led the first company of Saints across the Mississippi after they were driven out of Nauvoo. He came into the Salt Lake Valley with Brigham Young on July 24, 1847. Later, President Young asked him to settle in Arizona. He did, and that’s where my family has stayed ever since. Thanks to my great-great-grandfather who accepted the gospel, my great-grandfather, my grandfather, my father, and I have all been active members of the Church.

One of the first converts in Ghana was Dr. Emmanuel Abu Kissi. For most of his life he had struggled to find spiritual fulfillment. “I had read the Bible several times and expected something more than what the churches were doing. I felt that the churches were empty, although Christianity wasn’t. I made up my mind that there must be something more than what they were teaching us, but I hadn’t found it yet.” After completing medical school, Dr. Kissi continued to study the Bible, desiring to find a church that would satisfy his idea of what one should be like.

Then he went to England on a medical scholarship. During his second year there, health problems forced his wife to quit her nursing job and remain at home for many months. He was surprised when his wife, Elizabeth, called one day to say that she was ready to return to work. She explained that she had met two young men who shared with her the word of God. During the discussion, Sister Kissi had asked them to give her a blessing. “They came and anointed her,” Dr. Kissi explains. “She said that in the presence of the anointing she felt something like an electrical movement in her, from head to toe. And when they finished, she was cured instantly.”

Dr. Kissi read the Book of Mormon, Jesus the Christ, and A Marvelous Work and a Wonder. He strongly identified with the Prophet Joseph Smith’s testimony. “I realized that Joseph Smith had had the same problem that I had. The First Vision was very good for me. I put myself in his place and found myself enjoying every bit of his experience. It wasn’t difficult for me to understand him.”

After their baptisms, the Kissis returned to Ghana, where Dr. Kissi served in the mission presidency. The Kissis also founded the Deseret Hospital in Accra. In 1992, when the first two stakes were created in Ghana, Brother Kissi was called as a regional representative.

Illustration by Toby Newsome
I will never be able to think about Christmas without thinking about my dad. The two seem inherently connected after years of his meticulous gift giving, tree-chopping, music-playing, cookie-decorating, and utterly festive spirit. So when he died just a few months before last Christmas, I had a hard time feeling anything but sadness and resentment about the wonderful man I had lost. Nobody could parallel his spirit, his enthusiasm, his Christlike love. Or so I thought.
Eventually Christmas Day came around with what seemed to me to be insincere fanfare since my dad wasn’t there. I simply didn’t want to get up: I missed my dad, I missed my family, I missed those nostalgic, apparently perfect Christmas mornings filled with laughter and love and everything I couldn’t imagine feeling without him.
But over the next 12 hours, I discovered exactly how meaningful the holiday could be despite my loss. My entire family got gifts from anonymous members of our ward, everything clearly picked out intentionally. I experienced an outpouring of love from numerous friends and ward members wishing me a merry Christmas through texts or phone calls or surprise presents. I received a dozen assorted homemade gifts from my siblings. I spent time interacting with the family which I had somehow forgotten had experienced the exact same loss I had and which I had frankly ignored for too long.
And somehow every part of the day came together, not just materially but emotionally. I felt people thinking of me, praying that my day would be amazing, and somehow, it was. I felt like my dad was rooting for me, the closest connection I’d had with him since he passed. I felt Jesus Christ’s love permeating every moment of that afternoon. I felt joyful and grateful, and I felt good for the first time in weeks.
I know that my Heavenly Father was looking out for me on that day that initially brought such painful memories. I know my fellow Church members felt impressed to reach out to me because of Heavenly Father’s love. I know that though a crucial part of my family is now gone, it is only temporary, and I will see my dad again. I have a testimony of Jesus Christ that grows ever stronger because of those experiences. And I will never forget the gratitude and love I felt on that incredible Christmas day.
The author lives in Utah, USA.

Early one morning, without warning, the violent shaking of an earthquake woke us up. After making sure no one was injured, our family went out on the patio of our home to stay away from danger. There was fear that other violent earthquakes, aftershocks, would take place later on. How could we know when they would happen?
My wife came up with the simple idea of detecting tremors by hanging an old pair of scissors from a column in our home. Each time another tremor was near, the scissors would softly rattle, which made them ring like a small bell. This way, we could prepare for the violent shaking of the earth which soon followed.
This same phenomenon will occur on a spiritual level, if you listen. Anything that is contrary to your standards, that goes against correct principles, will trigger a warning, just as the soft ringing of the scissors let us know an earthquake was on the way. When you feel these warnings, get immediately away from danger. The best help you can have during critical moments will be the Holy Ghost. You have the right to his companionship. He will reveal to you what is right and what is wrong, and help you make correct decisions (see D&C 9:8–9 and D&C 45:57). But you must live worthily in order to receive his help. And you must learn to receive this spiritual help through personal revelation.

I began my college studies at a university about 100 miles (160 km) from home. It was an exciting time for all the freshman students. Many were living away from home for the first time and were eager to express their newfound freedom from parental oversight.
I was on the university basketball team, and it quickly became known that I was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. During the first weeks of the semester, one of my teammates invited me to a Saturday night party for new students to be held in the desert outside the city. I asked if the party would include alcohol and was assured that it would not. I felt uncomfortable with this response but decided to attend nonetheless. A blind date was arranged for me with the assurance that she had the same standards I had. My teammate explained that we would use his car.
That Saturday night we drove some distance into the desert and found the party. To my great disappointment, drinking alcohol was the principal activity, notwithstanding the fact that the legal drinking age in the state was three years above the age of most of the freshman students. My date couldn’t wait to begin drinking, along with my teammate and his date. When I voiced disappointment, they said I needed to “grow up and live a little” and that they would help me. I told them that I had never drunk alcohol and that I was not going to start then. They soon left me so they could join the others.
I sat alone, apart from the drinking and boisterous laughter, without transportation to leave, wondering why I had gotten myself into this mess. Later in the night, I saw a line of car headlights coming through the desert toward the party. The cars encircled the group, and then, as if on signal, lights began flashing on the top of what I then recognized as police cars. Many students attempted to run into the desert but were quickly apprehended. I remained where I was, perplexed by the developments.
The police began checking identification to determine the ages of the students, giving breath tests to those below the legal drinking age to determine if they had been drinking. When they came to me, I told an officer that I had not drunk alcohol that night or ever. He laughed at me, but when I firmly stated that he could believe me, his countenance changed. He told me that I did not have to take the test and directed me to drive my teammate’s car back to the university. Those who were underage and drinking were cited and required to pay fines. Some were taken to jail.
I, however, left with no police record and arrived home at about 3:00 a.m. on Sunday morning. Priesthood meeting in my ward began at 7:00 a.m. My alarm sounded at 6:45 a.m. I turned it off and rolled over, thinking for a few moments of all the reasons not to attend that morning. But spiritually, I couldn’t rest. I arose, dressed in my Sunday clothes, and walked to the chapel, arriving about 10 minutes after the meeting had begun.
As I walked into the chapel, my heart leaped as I recognized the back of my father’s head. He had come to visit me, unannounced. I slipped in beside him and sat down. He looked at me and smiled. Then, putting his hand firmly on my knee, he leaned over and whispered a message with meaning far beyond words: “I knew I would find you here, Son.” Simultaneously, Heavenly Father whispered the same message to my soul. I can’t adequately describe the love and joy I felt at that moment.
A few months later I was on my mission. A few months after that, I received word that my father had died unexpectedly. The message I received from him and through him that Sunday, however, has never left me.
When my teammate misrepresented the party’s activities, I felt a spiritual unrest that I did not heed. When confronted with that reality, I was more disappointed with myself than with my teammate. But keeping myself apart from the crowd brought spiritual comfort and later temporal benefit when the police allowed me to return home.
However, the greatest blessing of liberty came when, in the privacy of my dormitory room early Sunday morning, I chose to be where I should be, not knowing beforehand the treasure that awaited me there. Such experiences, accompanied by the ministration of the Spirit, foreshadow the liberty associated with the blessing of eternal life.

In 1983 his beloved wife, Clara Jeffs Hunter, passed away. She had suffered a devastating stroke several years before that had left her very much diminished. President Hunter tended to her needs, providing loving care with respect and an uncommon devotion for many years, with a complete disregard for his own health. But there was a reward, for as diminished as she was, Claire would smile and respond only to him. The tenderness so evident in their communication was heartrending. We have never seen such an example of devotion of a husband to his wife. Theirs was a many-splendored love affair. Love is service.

Another challenge to Craig’s humility might be the role he has played in the Hill Cumorah Pageant for the past several years. As Moroni, he is not on the stage very long. But when he is, there are just Craig and his father (playing Mormon) on that huge stage. And finally, there is just Craig/Moroni, carrying the gold plates upward from level to level and into the darkness beyond the spotlights. It’s an important moment.
“How do you like being in the pageant with your father?” I wanted to know.
“It’s super; it’s just great. I can’t often look him in the eye while we are on stage because I am supposed to be looking toward the audience. But when I do look him in the eye, the emotion is there and it’s hard to hold back. He’s saying that tomorrow will be the last battle of the Nephites and they’ll be destroyed. And when my father says that, I feel it. It’s like it’s real. And then I have to go and do my part as best I can.
“I wasn’t very confident with the part at first. I was very nervous. But after four rehearsals, and getting my lines and actions down, everything just worked out from there. Now it’s great. I can go up there and think about the audience and try my hardest to share my testimony—Moroni’s testimony—with them.”

I remember a special event that occurred in Idaho. It was early spring. The stake president called and said, “I think you had better look things over up here.” So I drove to southern Idaho. He took me to a reservoir several miles above some little towns. The water was almost ready to lap over the edge of the dam. He said, “Most people don’t realize that we are going to have a flood this year. They are relaxed down there in the valley. Most do not understand what is going to happen if a canal is not built to contain the excess water and take it away from the reservoir.”
He told me that as a young man he had walked those hills but had never seen so much snow left that late or so much water in the reservoir that time of year. Here was a man who knew what he was doing. The only thing I could say to him was, “Do what’s right. Do what you must.”
I went back a few weeks later and saw huge earth-moving equipment going back and forth, almost as if by some predetermined melody, digging a channel. Men and boys worked with shovels; people worked together. A miracle was being performed as a canal was dug twenty-three miles long in a matter of several days. The communities were saved. Yes, some of the farms were injured, but a whole area was now safe. How? Why? Because of the unity of courageous people doing what needed to be done together. No one person could have done it. No small group of men or women could have accomplished the task. But with the unity which that stake president helped to create, we saw the National Guard, construction companies (not knowing if or when they would be paid), and men from near and far loaning their valuable equipment so that a valley could be rescued. It was a latter-day miracle brought about by unity.

In addition to questions about his goals and strengths, I asked Elder Handsome about his social life.
“Tell me about your girlfriends.”
He virtually leaped out of his chair.
“Girlfriend, not friends. There is a one and only. She’s the greatest. I can’t live without her.”
“What will it do to your mission when she marries someone else?”
“If I hear of her even dating anybody else, I am gone, I am history, I am out of here. I’ll go straight home.”
For months Elder Handsome struggled to become involved in his mission. He was continually figuring out clever things to write to his “one and only.” He spent much of his time thinking about her instead of the work.
When the “Dear John” came, Elder Handsome struggled even more. But he did not go home. He eventually became an outstanding missionary and a dedicated district and zone leader. He learned to love his mission, his area, the prospective members, and the local members.