Gospel Story Finder

I'd like to add my testimony as we close our devotional and say that I know that Heavenly Father lives because I have felt his presence. I know that Jesus is my Savior because I have literally felt the healing power of the atonement in my life. I know that the gospel is true, because I have felt it's power to change lives. I come from a long line of alcoholics, and I can tell you quite truthfully that this curse of my fathers would have been mine also, had I not lived the Word of Wisdom when it was introduced to us by the missionaries. I know that the gospel of Jesus Christ is a place of refuge in every time of trouble, because it is there that I have turned and have found solace. I count it a choice blessing that our family came to Hawaii and that we were able to raise our children in the shadow of the temple. I love my associations with the students in the University Chorale, and my friends in the community. I will forever be grateful to the two elderly sister missionaries who found us by knocking doors and who taught us the gospel when we were about your age. As you leave this devotional and continue on your journey take our aloha with you and find joy.

I spent two weeks in the hospital. I was bored, had bad headaches every day, and was afraid while waiting for the diagnosis. But one good friend of mine sent me some New Eras, and when I was reading them, I forgot about the pain and fear, and I felt peace in my mind and knew that everything will be okay.
I want to give my thanks to all the people who prepare the New Era because it’s a good way to spend time and find peace and hope in all the wonderful stories and talks and answers we are looking for.Tereza R., Czech Republic

Illustration by Clayton Thompson
I still remember that cold, crisp Sunday night in December. Our mom had just made her delicious potato soup with steaming vegetables for me and my brothers to take to a few of our neighbors. When she handed me a warm bowl of soup, she said, “This one goes to Ben’s house.”
I knew of Ben, but I’d never really seen or talked to him before. So I wasn’t very excited about dropping this soup off to him. As I walked over, I noticed the run-down home with leaves everywhere, and I decided I didn’t want to stay and try to get to know this stranger. I left the soup on the porch, rang the doorbell, and hurried away. But just before I crossed the street, I hid behind a bush and watched as a tall, delicate, older man opened his door and picked up the soup. But rather than rushing inside, he stood there for a moment and looked around to see who’d left it. As I watched him, he seemed very humble, with his knitted old sweater, simple black sweatpants, and worn-out shoes. Soon, I walked home, but I couldn’t get the picture of Ben on his porch out of my head.
As I sat down for dinner, my parents asked my older brother how the neighbor he dropped off the soup to was doing, then she asked my younger brother, and then she asked me. I paused hesitantly before saying, “Well, he’s doing fine, I think.”
My mom asked, “What did he say to you?”
I stared at the plate in front of me and mumbled, “I didn’t really talk to him. I just dropped it off and hurried back home.”
At this point my parents seemed less than happy about what I’d done—or perhaps what I had not done—so I asked them what they wanted me to do differently. In a loving way, they explained that the soup was not just something to give to the neighbors but an opportunity to get to know and spend time with others, which would’ve been far more significant than just a simple bowl of soup.
Later that week, I watched Ben’s home as I went out to get the mail. I noticed he hadn’t shoveled his driveway after it had recently snowed, and I ran home to ask my brothers for help. We got our shovels and hurried across the street to the home. The more I shoveled, the more I realized this man must be all alone here in this large and empty home. We finished shoveling, and Ben came out, smiled, and motioned for us to come inside. As we entered, we were surprised to see the house was beautiful, filled with pictures of his kids, grandkids, and even great-grandkids.
As we sat down, he handed each of us a piece of candy and thanked us one by one, telling us how happy he was to have company. Later he even mentioned the bowl of soup. “The soup was delicious, but I don’t know who dropped it off. I wanted to thank them and return the bowl.”
I smiled and said, “It’s my mom’s soup, but I dropped it off.”
He brightened and replied, “Thank you so much. It was so warm and delicious.” At that moment, I felt real love for this man.
He then pointed to a picture of his wife and explained that he’d lost her a few years ago. But at that moment, he seemed so happy.
My family and I still bring soup to Ben, mow his lawn, and shovel his driveway. We also now visit him and invite him to family events, like our sports games and dinners. He’s never failed to express his appreciation with a simple “Thank you!” and a piece of candy for each of us. I’m grateful for the lesson I learned that December day and for the symbolism of the soup. Anyone can give food, clothing, and money, but giving of your time and yourself is truly one of the most valuable of all gifts.

One morning the Prophet was unhappy with his wife Emma over a household matter. When he went upstairs where Oliver Cowdery and David Whitmer were waiting to continue with the translation, he still had a bad feeling about his wife in his heart. Joseph tried to translate but not even a syllable of a word came to him; and he knew why. Joseph went downstairs and out into an orchard where he prayed to the Lord.

After about an hour, Joseph returned to the house feeling humble and repentant. He asked Emma to forgive him for his lack of understanding. Then he went back upstairs where he was able to translate without any difficulty.

David Whitmer also understood why the Prophet couldn’t translate just an hour before. He said, “Now we see how very strict the Lord is, and how he requires the heart of man to be just right in his sight before he can receive revelations from him.”

I stared at my crooked tie in the mirror. “Do I have to go to Primary, Dad?”
“I thought you liked Primary, Brandon.” Dad poked his head into my bedroom.
“I used to, but not anymore.” I sighed. “Not since Justin moved away. Now there isn’t anybody in my class except Tyson, Kenny, and Derek. Nobody wants to sit next to Tyson because he’s a troublemaker. And ever since Kenny and Derek started going to the same school, they don’t even bother talking to me. I don’t have any friends in Primary now.” I swallowed at the growing lump in my throat.
I waited for Dad to tell me that he understood how awful it could be to not have any friends in Primary, but he just straightened my tie and said, “So what are you going to do about it?”
“Me? What can I do? I can’t make Justin move back—his dad got a new job about a million miles away.”
“But isn’t there some way you could make friends with the other boys?”
Hadn’t Dad been listening? “I could never be friends with them,” I said, my voice wavering. “They don’t like me, and I don’t like them.”
“One of the reasons we go to church is to become more like Jesus Christ,” he said. “What do you think He would want you to do?”
I rolled my eyes. Dad was always saying stuff like that. But I glanced at the picture of Jesus above my bed. His kind, brown eyes seemed to look right at me. I knew that Jesus would love everyone. But then He’s never had Tyson, Kenny, and Derek in His Primary class, either, I thought stubbornly. “I don’t know, Dad. What would Jesus do?”
Dad opened my Bible to John 13:34 and asked me to read it out loud.
“‘A new commandment I give unto you, That ye love one another; as I have loved you, that ye also love one another.’”
I was getting even more discouraged now. “How am I supposed to do that when I don’t even like them?”
“The same way the Savior showed His love and the way we show love in our own family,” Dad said. “By doing things for each other—love and service go together. Remember the stories I’ve told you about when I served a mission in Texas?”
“Sure, Dad.” I gave him a big smile. “You’ve always said how much you loved it.”
“That’s right.” Dad’s smile was just as big. “And there’s a reason why it’s called ‘serving’ a mission. I spent two years serving hundreds of people I didn’t even know. But the more I served, the more my love for the people in my mission grew. You could do the same thing in your class.”
“You mean do things for the boys in my class? Why would I want to do anything for them? Tyson tripped me last week, and the other two act as though I’m not even there.”
“But if you did,” Dad said, staring me straight in the eye, “their feelings would change—and so would yours. You could think of it as your mission to your own Valiant class if you want to.”
I gulped. I wanted to be a regular, full-time missionary when I was older, but “go on a mission” to my Primary class? “I don’t know, Dad,” I muttered. “It sounds more like a ‘mission impossible.’”
“Maybe.” He smiled again. “But would you think about it?”
I thought about it all the way to church. I finally figured that if I didn’t do something, I’d be miserable forever—or at least until another boy my age moved in. And in a small town like mine, who knew when that would be? But what exactly can a Primary missionary do? I wondered.
I got my first idea when I opened the big glass doors of the church and saw Elder Richards and Elder Martinez smiling and shaking hands with people in the foyer. If I was going to be a Primary missionary, I knew I’d have to try that, even though just the thought of it made my stomach leap as if I’d swallowed a dozen tree frogs.
I walked to the Primary room as slowly as I could, half hoping my entire class would be out of town. When I opened the door, Kenny and Derek were already huddled together at the end of the row, whispering and giggling. Tyson was tipping back in his chair, blocking the row with his feet.
Normally I would have plopped onto a chair by the wall and ignored everybody. But this time I couldn’t—not if I was going to be a missionary.
I took a deep breath and forced my legs to march to my row. “Er, … hi, Tyson,” I mumbled. Our eyes locked for a second, my mouth forming an awkward smile. “Can I sit down?”
He looked startled—like he’d never seen me before. Then, after a moment, he dropped his feet and chair to the floor. “Yeah, go ahead.”
I stepped around his feet, just in case he was thinking of tripping me again, and sat on a chair in the middle of the row. Then I turned toward the other two and waved. “Hi, Derek. Hi, Kenny.” You would have thought from their reaction that I’d just announced their name over the microphone or something.
But after a quick “Oh, hi” back, they were again hunched over a piece of paper Kenny had fished out of his pocket.
So much for being a missionary! I thought glumly. I couldn’t think of anything else to do until Sister Reynolds called for volunteers to read some scriptures she’d written on the board. I shot my hand into the air. Missionaries definitely read scriptures.
But just when I thought Sister Reynolds was going to pick me, she called on Tyson instead. He hadn’t even raised his hand.
“What?” he said, fumbling for the books under his chair.
Sister Reynolds frowned slightly. “Would anyone else like to read Alma 17:25?”
Then, just as I was going to shoot my hand into the air again, I got another idea. I pushed my own Book of Mormon onto Tyson’s lap and pointed to the verse. “It’s right there,” I whispered.
“It’s OK—I’ll read it,” he said, taking the book. He read about Ammon, a Book of Mormon missionary who served the Lord by becoming King Lamoni’s servant and watching his flocks.
When he finished, he slipped my Book of Mormon back on my lap. “Thanks,” he said. “I’m not very good at finding scriptures.”
“No problem.” I just shrugged. But inside, I was feeling as good as if I’d read the scripture myself. Suddenly Tyson didn’t seem like such a troublemaker. Was this what Dad had been talking about?
Later, in class, I sat by Tyson and Kenny. It was so fun listening to Brother Duncan’s lesson that I forgot I was even on my mission until he asked for volunteers to play a drawing guessing game. Kenny and I jumped to the edge of our seats, waving our hands. Then I remembered. “Go ahead, Kenny. You can go first.”
“Hey, thanks,” he said.
I found out that he could draw pictures better than anybody in the whole class. “Where’d you learn to draw like that?” I asked after the closing prayer.
“Oh, nowhere,” he said, his eyes shining. “I draw all the time—see?” He pulled out the piece of paper from his pocket and unfolded a picture he’d drawn of a really cool scooter with heavy duty shock absorbers.
“Wow!” I said. “It’s the same kind of scooter that I’ve been saving for.”
“I’m going to get one for my birthday,” Derek chimed in. “Except it’s still three months away.”
Kenny stuffed the picture back into his pocket and headed for the door. “Well, I better go, Brandon. See you next week.”
“Yeah, see you next week,” I said. Then I rushed down the hallway to find Dad. Making friends in my Valiant 10 class was not only possible—it was fun. Primary was going to be better than ever.

When I was 12, I introduced the missionaries to my family. I had met them on the street, and they were friendly to me. They were helping the Church build a chapel in my city in Brazil, and they invited me to help them, which I began to do in my free time. I had never heard of young men who would choose to spend their time building a church.
I was so impressed with them that I decided to introduce them to my parents, and we invited them to come to our home. The missionaries gave our family the first discussion. We hadn’t ever smoked, so our family was already keeping that part of the Word of Wisdom, and we had family home evening every night in our home. We didn’t call it family home evening, but that’s what we were doing. We were Catholics, and we attended our church regularly, so my father told them we felt comfortable with our religion.
The missionaries left, but they wrote about our family in the missionaries’ area book that remained in the missionary apartment, including their impression that we would join the Church.
Ten years later I was living in another city when new missionaries arrived in the area where my family lived. They didn’t have a single person to teach and decided to look in the area book. They found the name of my parents and decided to visit. The missionaries prayed before they went, and the Lord inspired them. Despite being very faithful in his religion, my father had a question. He couldn’t believe that after death his wife would not still be his wife. He really felt that family ties needed to continue after death. He had asked ministers from different churches about this, and everybody explained to him, “No, after death your wife will be like your sister, and your son will be like your brother.”
When these missionaries knocked on my parents’ door, my father opened it and told them he had heard their message previously and was not interested. But the missionaries said, “We have another message for you. Do you know that your family can be together forever?” Those words inspired him. My father invited them to come in and teach him. Guided by the Spirit, the missionaries told my family about eternal marriage and eternal families. With this introduction to the gospel, my family continued to meet with the missionaries until they gained a testimony and decided to be baptized and confirmed.

I recently had the opportunity to speak to a woman who asked me about Joseph Smith. She was clearly skeptical about his calling and mission. As I spoke to her, the words of the Lord to Oliver Cowdery came to me: “Stand by my servant Joseph, faithfully” (D&C 6:18). I hope that on that day, and at every moment in my life, it can be said of me, “She stood by Joseph.” I want to be his friend.
Joseph Smith himself was a great friend to many. He said, “Friendship is one of the grand fundamental principles of ‘Mormonism’; [it is designed] to revolutionize and civilize the world, and cause wars and contentions to cease and men to become friends and brothers” (History of the Church, 5:517).
And yet he knew that friendship was more than an abstraction. He learned one day that a brother’s house had been burned by enemies. When Church members said they felt sorry for him, the Prophet took some money from his pocket and said, “I feel sorry for this brother to the amount of five dollars. How much do you … feel sorry [for him]?” (in Hyrum L. Andrus and Helen Mae Andrus, comps., They Knew the Prophet [1974], 150).

Squirrel knew that winter was coming. Owl had said it was, Blue Jay and Deer had told him too. Even Chipmunk, his best friend, had reminded him as she busily gathered food for the winter.
“You’d better hide nuts for winter,” Blue Jay chirped.
“You can’t find food in the snow,” Deer said.
“Listen to your friends, Squirrel,” Chipmunk chattered, flicking her tail. “They’re right, you know.”
But it was only September, and for Squirrel, winter was a long way off. There would be plenty of time to gather food later. He had other things to do. He liked to have fun and to play tricks on his friends. He liked jumping from tree to tree and scaring Blue Jay. And whenever Deer was standing under a tree that Squirrel was playing in, Squirrel dropped nuts on him. When a nut hit him, Deer would bound away in fright—while Squirrel held his sides and chattered with glee!
But what he liked best was stealing a nut from Chipmunk. She would chase him around and around! Up and down the trees they’d go. Finally Squirrel would drop the nut and look for something else to do.
“Squirrel, you are being very foolish,” Owl scolded. “If you don’t store food, you will be very hungry this winter.”
Chipmunk warned him again too. “Store some nuts now,” she said. “Soon they’ll be covered with snow, and you won’t be able to find them.”
Squirrel didn’t like to have Chipmunk mad at him, so he took a few nuts to his pantry, just to please her. But he thought that work was no fun, so before long, he was off playing tricks again.
Time passed quickly. Then one morning when Squirrel poked his head out the door, a blanket of white greeted him. Snow? he thought. Already? The air was crisp and cold. A breeze blew a puff of snow off the branch above his door. Plop! It landed right on his head. “Yipe!” He jumped back inside. He shook his head. “Brrrr!”
Squirrel had to think about this. But thinking always made him hungry. He went to his pantry. Two or three nuts will help me to decide, he thought. Oh, oh! Squirrel stared at the little pile of nuts in the corner. He had always planned to gather food “tomorrow.” But “tomorrow” never seemed to come. “What shall I do?” he muttered.
He ate two of the nuts from the little pile and thought about it. “I’ll go see Chipmunk,” he said. “She’ll know what to do.” So away he went.
Squirrel raced along as fast as he could. At long last he came to Chipmunk’s burrow. He poked his head in. “Good morning,” he chattered. “May I come in?”
Chipmunk looked up from her breakfast. “Wipe your feet first,” she said, after swallowing a mouthful of acorn.
Squirrel wiped his feet, then came in and sat down.
“How do you like the snow, Squirrel?” she asked.
“It’s pretty, but it’s cold,” he answered. Hanging his head, he mumbled, “And it hides the nuts.”
Chipmunk shook her tail reproachfully, “We all tried to warn you that this would happen.”
“I know,” Squirrel said, watching his feet as he shifted from one to the other. “I was very foolish. But I won’t be anymore, I promise.” He looked up. “What can I do now, Chipmunk?” he said in a small voice.
Just then Blue Jay landed on the ground outside Chipmunk’s door. “Good morning, Chipmunk. Good morning, Squirrel,” he said in a cheery voice.
“Good morning, Blue Jay,” Chipmunk and Squirrel said together.
“How do you like this fine, snowy day?” Blue Jay asked, hopping about.
“I think the snow is very pretty,” Chipmunk chattered. “But Squirrel has a problem.”
“He does?” Blue Jay tipped his head and looked at Squirrel with shiny, black eyes.
“I was very foolish. I didn’t gather nuts when I should have,” Squirrel told him quietly. “Now the snow hides them, and I don’t know what to do.”
“Hmm.” Blue Jay ruffled his feathers. “That is a problem.”
“Squirrel has promised not to be foolish anymore,” Chipmunk told Blue Jay. “What can we do to help him?”
Blue Jay hopped about and looked around. He thought and thought. Then he said, “Wait here,” and flew away.
In a little while, he came back. Owl was with him, and so was Deer. Chipmunk and Squirrel came out to join them.
Owl was perched on a limb near Chipmunk’s burrow. The others gathered around him. “Blue Jay told me about your problem, Squirrel,” he said in a deep voice. “We will all try to help you, but first you must promise to never scare Blue Jay or Deer again, and to not tease Chipmunk when she is gathering food.”
“I promise,” Squirrel agreed earnestly. “I also promise that I’ll work hard next year to be ready for winter.”
“Good.” Owl turned to Blue Jay. “You can help Squirrel by knocking the last of the nuts from the highest branches. But”—he turned to look at Squirrel—“you must help Blue Jay get berries from under the bushes when he can no longer reach them.”
Squirrel nodded.
“I’ll help dig nuts out of the snow for you,” Deer offered.
“But when the snow gets too deep for Deer to find food,” Owl told Squirrel, “you must break off tender twigs that are high in the trees for him to eat.”
Squirrel nodded again. “I’ll do that too.”
“Chipmunk can help you carry the nuts to your tree,” Owl said.
“But next fall, Squirrel, you must help me carry nuts to my burrow,” Chipmunk told him.
Squirrel agreed happily.
And that is just what they did.

I decided to pray about it. I asked the Lord if he could tell me why we were always fighting and if he could stick with me through it all, so I could be a better family member. Soon I was doing a little bit better. I controlled my temper. I gave more to other family members, and I tried to develop better relationships with them. You know, Heavenly Father is there whenever you need him.
Karen Thomas, 13Orem, Utah

Hang Mormonads in your locker. Ginny Pettyjohn, 16, of the Sugar Hill Georgia Stake, says, “They remind me to always be good; plus they are a good influence on others when they see them.”
Last year Ginny’s locker was next to the locker of a guy known to drink a lot. He also liked to keep up on the latest Mormonads in Ginny’s locker. “One day a Mormonad about keeping the body and soul clean really seemed to intrigue him,” she says. “He kept looking at it but didn’t say anything.” The very next day he told Ginny a couple of his friends had come over the night before and asked him to go out drinking with them. But he thought about the Mormonad and decided not to go.

I would like to share an experience of faith. Being the only child, Elder Hermelindo Coy said good-bye to his mother and left for the first time in his life his small village in the mountains of Senahú, Guatemala. He entered the Missionary Training Center the fourteenth of March, 1991. Although he had been a member of the Church for only two years and also very timid about talking to people, his determination to serve was great. His formal education was less than five years of elementary school in his native language of Kekchi. Spanish, the official language of Guatemala, was foreign to him.

During his mission he learned to live with pain in his leg. He rarely complained. In August 1992 he noticed that in addition to the increase in the pain, something was abnormal about his knee. He had a medical exam—the diagnosis: bone cancer. A more careful exam revealed cancer in the liver, lungs, and lymphatic system; in other words, his illness was terminal. He did not understand the nature of the illness nor its seriousness. With the help of a translator and using examples from the farm life with which he was familiar, he understood that he had little time to live.

He never asked, Why is this happening to me? He did not lament or express negative feelings. He was obedient to all that was required of him. He was asked if he would like to return home, but he asked to remain in the mission and serve as long as possible, even until his death. By October of the same year, he walked with difficulty, requiring the use of a cane. He could work only a few hours each day. By December he was unable to walk. For the first time he was discouraged because he could not proselyte. His worry was always who would take care of his mother after he died.

In one of his visits, the mission president asked him to teach more of the basic doctrine to his mother, who, along with mission nurses, was providing twenty-four-hour care. When he taught the plan of salvation to his mother in his native tongue, his face radiated assurance and light. Elder Coy was understanding with power and conviction what he was teaching.

As his strength declined, he placed his complete trust in the Lord. On one occasion when the pain was very strong, he expressed in prayer, “Heavenly Father, I do not know the day or the hour that I will die, but I want to know soon from thee about my new assignment.” He died in February 1993. His death blessed all the missionaries, leaders, members, and even nonmembers who learned of his courage to serve and endure to the end. His faith was so simple that it was contagious. He never feared death. He strengthened all who knew him.

Jessie’s story is told by her friend, Maria Russo, who serves as the communication director in the Adelaide Australia Firle Stake.
Jie Ren, or Jessie as she likes to be called, arrived in Adelaide in March 2020 to study a master’s degree in speech pathology at the Flinders University.
Little did Jessie know that she had arrived just when the World Health Organisation declared the coronavirus to be a pandemic and her first semester would be in lockdown.
Jessie felt completely alone, isolated and scared. She said that all she had in her life during that time and all she did was to be “home alone, study, eat, sleep and repeat.” She was relieved when in July 2020 she was able to attend university for the first time since arriving in Australia.
Jessie said that being in a new country, away from family and friends, not knowing anyone in Australia and having to do all her studies (in what she said is an intense program) online for the first semester, took its toll on her and by November 2021 she was physically and mentally drained to the point that she needed to seek medical help.
During this time (Nov. 21) Jessie saw an advertisement on Facebook inviting people to English classes. The classes were being held by missionaries of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Jessie had previous experience with the Church in Shanghai when she was invited by friends to attend meetings, which she did sometimes. When she saw this post on Facebook, she was super excited and wanted to attend not only to learn English but also to be able to interact with people and perhaps make some friends.
As she dialled the number given in the ad, she was worried and apprehensive that she wouldn’t be accepted. She thought that the Church was a “sacred organisation and only members could attend.” She wanted to know if it was possible that she would be “accepted by God because [she had] little knowledge of Him.”
When Jessie was told she was more than welcome to attend she was delighted—ecstatic would be a more appropriate word.
Jessie still remembers the first day she entered the Adelaide Branch for English classes. She said the missionaries made her feel so very welcome and for the first time in a very long time she said she felt that “everything seemed right again.” She said it was like she “saw the light guide [her] through the darkness and felt hope again.”
Jessie couldn’t find a way out of COVID-19 and that first English class made her feel like there was light at the end of the tunnel.
After many English classes and the missionaries and members making her feel “so loved and welcomed” Jessie felt like she had arrived home. She was baptized on the first day of January 2022. She says it was a perfect way to start a new year and a new life.
Following is a quote from Jessie’s talk at her baptism:
“It is a big relief to know that there is a plan for everything happening in my life, and that plan is in the hands of God. He teaches me that I do not need all the answers and that it is okay not to know everything. Having faith in Him and keeping His commandments, I will find my inner peace. I can be calm to face difficulties in my life and believe I will make it eventually.
“I am so grateful that I am able to know God and get to experience the love and care that He has for me. I am ready to continue this journey with Him and pray that He will draw me closer to Him and guide my steps.
“Today I’m so excited to be baptized and share with all of you that I love Jesus, and He is my Lord and Saviour.”

Jenny rested her head against the school bus window. This was the first time she had ridden the bus to school, and she felt strange—sort of lonely, despite the greetings by the other children.
When the bus stopped at the corner of Cedar and Oak, she noticed an old man with white hair standing by the curb. He looked at the bus and waited. Just as the bus began to move again, he quickly raised his arm and gave a friendly wave.
“He waved to us,” Jenny blurted out to Billy who had sat down next to her. “Why did he do that?”
“I don’t know. He just does. He’s just some old man.”
One morning before Halloween, Jenny said, “Look, Billy. There’s a cardboard pumpkin on the old man’s door.” When the old man waved, Jenny smiled and waved back. She felt good inside.
By late November, the days grew colder. One morning, as a bitter chill frosted up the windows, Jenny said, “I wonder if the old man will be there today?” She crooked her neck to look up ahead. She saw him tacking up a colorful turkey decoration. “Hurray!” she exclaimed.
In the days that followed, Jenny didn’t wonder anymore if the old man would be there. She knew that he would be. It was as simple as that.
Time drew near for school to let out for the December holidays. Every morning Jenny anxiously glanced at the old man’s door. On a cold and dismal morning just before school let out, Jenny spotted a snowman decoration on the old man’s door. In spite of the cold, she felt sunshine inside when the old man smiled and waved.
A light snow was falling when school started again in January. Bundled up snugly, Jenny bounded up the steps of the bus. It sputtered and shuddered as it neared Cedar and Oak. When everyone began to cheer and shout, Jenny knew that the old man was there.
And then one morning, as a February drizzle fell in a gray and dreary mist, Jenny thought, Valentine Day is almost here. I wonder what the old man will put on his door. Her eyes searched for him. He wasn’t at the curb, or on the sidewalk, or on his porch. As the bus rolled by, she pressed her hands against the window, peered at his house through the streaks of dribbling rain, and felt sad. Where’s the old man? she wondered. She turned to Billy. “Do you know his name?”
“Mr. Brown. He’ll probably be back tomorrow.”
But the next morning he wasn’t there, either. Nor the next morning. Nor the next.
Finally Jenny said, “We have to call and find out where he is.”
Billy rolled his eyes. “There are hundreds of Browns.”
“But we know his address—717 Cedar.”
At lunchtime Jenny and Billy found a telephone book in the office. “Just look at the Browns one at a time,” Jenny said. “Not the name, just the address.”
“OK, but this could take days,” Billy moaned.
Jenny lowered her head. “Just start looking,” she said firmly.
With a steady rain beating against the windows, they read through the listings on the first page, then the next. Just as Billy licked his finger to turn the page, Jenny shouted, “Here it is—717 Cedar! Brown, Quincy. Let’s call.”
“Not me. Maybe he’s not there anymore.”
“But maybe he is.” Jenny picked up the phone and dialed the number.
After two rings, a woman’s voice said, “Hello?”
Jenny gulped. “Mrs. Brown?”
“Yes?”
“This is Jenny. A friend of Mr. Brown. Is he there?”
“A friend of his?”
“Sort of. I used to see him from the school bus every morning.”
“Oh, the school bus. He’s been worried about that.”
“Worried? That’s great! I mean, I’m glad to know he still lives on Cedar.”
“Oh, yes, but he’s been in bed with the flu. He’s over the worst of it, but until he gets his strength back, he has to stay inside. Unless the sun is out. Sunshine would do him a world of good.”
Jenny thanked Mrs. Brown and hung up. Sunshine, she thought. She raised an eyebrow and looked at Billy. “You’re thinking,” he said.
“Yes,” she said. “I’m thinking about sunshine. We have a few more days before Valentine Day. And I know just what we can do.”
When Valentine Day finally arrived, the sky was cloudy as they rode to school.
“All set?” Jenny asked.
“All set,” Billy said. “But the sun isn’t out.”
“The bus driver said it will be OK. He checked with Mrs. Brown. She’ll be there if Mr. Brown can’t be.”
As the bus rumbled along, Jenny could hardly breathe. But even though she wished as hard as she could, the sun did not come out.
“It’s not going to work,” Billy said. “Maybe we should wait.”
“We can’t,” Jenny said with a sigh. “Valentine Day is today. I guess we’ll have to give them to Mrs. Brown.”
The brakes whined as the bus slowed to a stop. When Mrs. Brown came outside, Billy and the others rifled through their backpacks and found the valentines they had made, and Jenny reached under the seat and pulled out the huge red heart trimmed in white that they had all signed. They watched silently as the bus driver collected them and gave them with a grin to Mrs. Brown. Mrs. Brown smiled at everyone on the bus, then hurried back to the house.
“We didn’t even get to see him,” Jenny mumbled.
That afternoon as the closing school bell rang, bright rays of sunshine streamed in through the classroom window. “Great!” Jenny grumped as she frowned at the clear blue sky. “Where were you this morning?”
She slumped in her seat as they rode the bus back home. Even though the sun was shining now, inside she felt as if the clouds had not gone away.
When they reached the corner of Cedar and Oak, Billy poked her with his elbow. “Look!”
Jenny turned her head and peered out the window. “Wow! There it is,” she said. “The heart we made is on Mr. Brown’s door.” She bounced up and down and clapped her hands. “And look at that.”
A roar went up, and everyone clambered for the windows on that side of the bus. Valentines filled Mr. Brown’s yard. Red hearts on long skinny sticks poked up all over the place. As they got closer, Jenny squinted her eyes. “They’re ours,” she squealed. “The ones we made for him.”
“Look over there, Jenny,” Billy said, as another cheer came from the bus.
There, standing in the sunshine and waving from the curb, was the old man at Cedar and Oak. Jenny beamed as she waved back.
“Well,” Billy said, “the old man is back, and things are just the way they were.”
Jenny’s eyes sparkled. She felt warm and snug inside. “No,” she said with a smile. “Mr. Brown is back, and things will never be the same old way again.”

Grant was only six weeks old when his father, H. Grant Heaton, was called to preside over the Southern Far East Mission. Unlike most children in the United States, Grant spoke his first words in Chinese. His little sister, Lisa Lee, who was born a year and a half after the family moved to Hong Kong, also learned Chinese first.
The mission home was filled with happiness until March 1958, when Grant was three years old. One day his neck became stiff, and there was pain in his chest. Soon he could not walk on his legs. President and Sister Heaton asked the missionaries to fast and pray for their son, but still his condition grew worse.
Grant’s father gave him a special blessing before taking him to the hospital. After tests, the illness was diagnosed as paralytic polio. The doctors said Grant would soon need an iron lung to help him breathe. Polio is not common among the Chinese, however, and the only iron lung in the country was being used by a British sailor.
By the end of a week in the hospital, Grant was completely paralyzed. Only his eyes moved, and the little body that had seemed healthy just a week before was quickly wasting away.
One morning Sister Heaton was with Grant. It was so hard for him to breathe that she thought surely he would soon return to our Heavenly Father. Two men came to the hospital that morning. They represented the Chinese Saints who had held a special fast and a prayer meeting the day before.
Both men had been members of the Church less than a year and neither held the priesthood, but they wanted to help. They asked permission to pray for Grant. Sister Heaton readily agreed and bowed her head to join them. She felt the faith of these humble Chinese men as they knelt beside Grant’s bed and prayed that this little boy’s health might be restored.
As they rose to their feet and left the room, Grant’s mother followed them down the hall. She thanked them and then went to the refrigerator where special food for Grant was stored.
Just as she opened the door, a familiar little voice called from down the hall and she turned around quickly to see Grant coming toward her.
“Look, Mommy,” he exclaimed with a happy smile. “I can walk!”
The doctors were amazed, but when the polio symptoms did not return, they let Grant go home. President and Sister Heaton and the missionaries gratefully acknowledged the power of the Lord and the faith of the Chinese Saints in behalf of their son.
Grant is now eighteen and lives with his family in Salt Lake City, Utah. He doesn’t remember his illness in China. His strong legs that helped him make the football team and wrestle for his high school don’t remember either!
Not long after the Church was organized in 1830, the General Authorities thought of sending missionaries to China. It was not until October 1852, however, that three elders left Salt Lake and arrived in Hong Kong on April 27, 1853. They had many problems and were not successful in converting anyone. Before long they returned to Utah.
In January 1921 David O. McKay, who was then an apostle, and Elder Hugh J. Cannon visited China. It was at this time that Elder McKay dedicated all of China for the preaching of the gospel. Now there are three missions for the Chinese people: Hong Kong, Singapore, and Taiwan. Although the first missionaries were very discouraged, later ones have had thrilling experiences in China. “I Can Walk!” is one of them that took place in Hong Kong.

A group of young members with recommends were going to the Salt Lake Temple to be baptized for the dead. One of them was hesitant because she felt that she didn’t really understand what temples were about. Her teacher said, “If you don’t feel that you’re ready for this experience, maybe you’d be willing to help a young lady in a wheelchair. Would you go with her, help her dress, help her into the font, and take care of her?” The girl said that she would.
In helping the young lady in the wheelchair, whom she hadn’t even known before, this girl became close to the Spirit of the Lord. She was so touched that she asked for the privilege of doing baptisms herself.

Later that year, at the open house for the Hamilton New Zealand Temple, I felt anxious and nervous. I said to my husband, “I think Kamau’s waiting for me inside the temple. I think he’ll be there with me.”
Inside the temple, the only room I really wanted to see was the celestial room. While waiting to enter, our tour guide said to our group, “I’m really sorry, but we’re not going to have much time in the celestial room. But I can promise you, brothers and sisters, that although your time will be brief, the blessings you will receive will be enough to last you for the eternities. And most importantly you will feel the love of our Saviour Jesus Christ.”
As we were about to walk in, my daughter, Indie-Rose, held my hand and said to me excitedly, “Mum, is this the special room you were telling me about?”
I answered, “Yes, it is.”
She then asked me, “Is this what it’s going to be like when we see Kamau?”
I replied “Yes, it’ll be as if we walked around the corner and there he is.”
Tears streamed down my face as the promise our tour guide spoke earlier was fulfilled. I could feel the pure love of our Saviour Jesus Christ comfort me. I felt that the words our tour guide spoke were in fact an intended message for me from my Heavenly Father, saying to me that although my time with my son was brief, the blessings and the love that I have for him will be enough to last me till the eternities.
In every room of the temple—every picture and every detail—I could feel the spirit of my beautiful son Kamau. It was confirmation to me that I need to be in the temple. Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ were reminding me of the heavenly comfort and divine healing I can receive within its walls because of the enabling power of the Atonement of our Saviour, Jesus Christ.
Never has the temple been more important in my life than it is now.

Eric stood in the darkened living room, looking out the window at the lighted spires of the temple on the hill. It was wonderful to have the temple so near.
Now that his family had moved, the temple was within walking distance, instead of several hundred miles away. In fact, his mother had walked there tonight.
Eric’s father came into the room. “Time for bed, son.” He glanced out the window, then quickly pulled the curtains shut.
“I was looking at the temple,” Eric said. “It’s beautiful when it’s all lit up. Don’t you think so?”
“Sure,” Dad answered gruffly. “Now head up to bed.”
Eric went upstairs to his room and began to undress. He was worried about his father. Several years ago, Dad had been an active member of the Church and had gone with Mom to the temple often. Now he never went to church with his family, and Mom attended the temple alone.
Eric finished putting on his pajamas and knelt beside his bed. “Heavenly Father,” he prayed, “please help us find a way to help Dad go back to church.”
It was the same thing Eric had prayed about since he was seven years old. Now, even after three years, he hadn’t given up.
When Eric finished his prayer, he climbed into bed. He stared at the dark ceiling, thinking. After a while, he heard Mom come upstairs. She poked her head into his room. “Are you still awake?”
“Yes—I can’t go to sleep.”
Mom walked in and sat down on the bed. “What’s bothering you?”
“Why did Dad stop going to church?”
Mom took a deep breath. “One of the ward members said something that offended him. He’s never been able to forgive that person.”
“Do you think he’ll ever decide to go back to church?”
“I don’t know. I pray for him all the time.”
“I pray for him too.” Tears began to well up in Eric’s eyes, and he brushed them away. He could see that his mother was crying too. She put her arms around him.
“Heavenly Father loves your dad,” she said. “He knows what he needs. We have to pray and then listen to what Heavenly Father tells us to do.”
Suddenly Eric thought of something. “Mom, I have to give a talk in Primary next Sunday. I think I’ll invite Dad to come and hear it.”
“That’s a good idea,” his mother answered. “But don’t be too disappointed if he doesn’t.” She squeezed his hand. “Good night, Eric.”
“Good night, Mom.”
The next morning, Eric felt like his insides were ready to burst. He had decided that he’d give a talk about why he loved to go to church. Then, when Dad came to hear it, maybe he’d remember all the good feelings he used to have a long time ago.
When he found Dad alone in the bedroom, he felt that it was just the right time to talk to him. “Dad,” he began, “I’m giving a talk in Primary next Sunday. I’d really like you to come and hear it.”
Dad didn’t look up from the shoelace he was working on. “I’m sorry, son—I can’t come.” He looked up at Eric. “But you can practice your talk on me. I’ll be glad to listen, no matter how many times you want to practice giving it!”
That night, Eric wrote his talk. It was the most difficult one he had ever written, because he was writing it “to” his dad. He wrote about the good feelings he had when he went to Primary and Sacrament meeting. He didn’t write anything about wishing Dad would come to church, even though he wanted to.
When he had finished, he went to find Dad. Halfway down the stairs he stopped. Dad was sitting quietly in front of the living room window, staring out. Was he doing the same thing Eric had done the night before? Was he looking at the temple? Eric turned and went back upstairs. Practicing the talk could wait.
That week, Eric practiced his talk many times on Dad, praying each time that something he said in it would make Dad want to come to church on Sunday.
But when Sunday finally came, only his mother and his sister, Lisa, were there to hear him. Eric had a hard time giving the talk. He had to keep swallowing to keep from crying.
On the way home, Eric stared out the car window. He had wanted so much for his dad to go to church. Finally he said, “I’d like to walk around the temple this afternoon.”
“Me, too,” said Lisa. “We talked about temples in my Primary class.”
“That’s a good idea” Mom agreed. “It’s such a beautiful day—that would be a perfect Sunday thing to do.”
When the family was seated at the dinner table, Eric told his father. “After dinner, we’re going for a walk around the temple. Do you want to come too?”
Eric’s father chewed for a minute. Then he spoke. “I’d like that.”
Eric felt warm all over as they walked together on the temple grounds. They didn’t talk as they walked, but Mom and Dad were holding hands, and he could tell that they felt something special too.
After they had walked for a while, Dad stopped them. “I want to talk to all of you. How about sitting down over there?”
They sat down on a bench, and Dad sat on the grass beside them. “I don’t know how to explain this,” he began. “Since we moved here, the temple has been, well, ‘following’ me. I see it out the windows of the house. I drive past it on my way to work. It stands over me when I’m taking the garbage out to the curb.” Tears began to stream down his cheeks. “The temple has turned on a light in my heart where there used to be only darkness.”
Eric’s heart began to pound, and tears filled his eyes too.
Dad continued, “This week, as I listened to Eric’s talk, I realized that I’ve been missing too much. I’m going to go to church again, if that’s OK with all of you.”
“Oh, Dad!” Eric cried. “It’s more than OK—it’s fantastic!” When he threw his arms around his dad, he found himself entangled with two other pairs of arms, as Lisa and Mom joined in the hug.
Dad looked up at the temple spires. “Soon I’ll be able to come here with your mom again,” he said. “But it won’t be easy. I’ll need your help and prayers.”
Eric and Mom looked at each other and smiled. “For as long as you need them, Dad,” Eric said.

My wife and I were having a serious discussion recently in which we were counting our many blessings. We named a host of things that have come to us, because of the Church, because of our family, because of the glorious restoration of eternal truth that has taken place in this day; and then she climaxed the discussion by asking this question: “What’s the greatest blessing that has ever come into your life?”
Without a moment’s hesitation, I said, “The greatest blessing that has ever come to me was on the thirteenth day of October in 1937 at 11:20 A.M. when I was privileged to kneel in the Salt Lake Temple at the Lord’s altar and receive you as an eternal companion.”
She said, “Well, you passed that test.” I believe that the most important single thing that any Latter-day Saint ever does in this world is to marry the right person, in the right place, by the right authority: and that then—when they have been so sealed by the power and authority that Elijah the prophet restored—the most important remaining thing that any Latter-day Saint can ever do is so to live that the terms and conditions of the covenant thus made will be binding and efficacious now and forever. And so I’d like, if properly guided, to make some suggestions that apply in all fields of choice—in all fields, at least all major fields, of activity—but that apply particularly to the matter of eternal marriage, singling that out as the one thing paramount above all others.
How do you choose a wife? I’ve heard a lot of young people from Brigham Young University and elsewhere say, “I’ve got to get a feeling of inspiration. I’ve got to get some revelation. I’ve got to fast and pray and get the Lord to manifest to me whom I should marry.” Well, maybe it will be a little shock to you, but never in my life did I ever ask the Lord whom I ought to marry. It never occurred to me to ask him. I went out and found the girl I wanted; she suited me; I evaluated and weighed the proposition, and it just seemed a hundred percent to me as though this ought to be. Now, if I’d done things perfectly, I’d have done some counseling with the Lord, which I didn’t do; but all I did was pray to the Lord and ask for some guidance and direction in connection with the decision that I’d reached. A more perfect thing to have done would have been to counsel with him relative to the decision and get a spiritual confirmation that the conclusion, which I by my agency and faculties had arrived at, was the right one.

When I was 11 years old, my bishop called me in for an interview in his office. He said, “Ulisses, it’s time to start your preparation to go on a mission.” I was astonished because I was only 11 years old! But he said, “We have to start that process now.”
My bishop said, “I’ll interview you once in a while to see how your progress is.” Then he gave me some direction. He taught me about the commandments, the priesthood, worthiness, and honesty. I was so impressed because he looked in my eyes and said, “You will serve a mission if you follow the directions I am giving you.”
I always remembered his words, especially when I faced a challenge. For example, one time my mother gave me money to go to a store to buy some fruit. For some reason the cashier gave me back more money than I gave her to pay for the fruit. I started walking home, and when I opened my hand, I saw that I had more money than I had started with.
Satan tried to convince me that I could keep the money for myself. I thought, “I have some money to do whatever I want, and then I will give back the correct change to my mother.” But then I thought, “No, that’s not what the bishop told me. To be a missionary I have to be honest.” I felt the Spirit at that time and went back to the store to give back the money. I felt good in my heart. I thought, “I was honest, I obeyed the commandments, and I am preparing for my mission. I will be a missionary, and I need to be honest.”

Some years ago in our meetinghouse in Darmstadt, Germany, a group of brethren was asked to move a grand piano from the chapel to the adjoining cultural hall, where it was needed for a musical event. None were professional movers, and the task of getting that gravity-friendly instrument through the chapel and into the cultural hall seemed nearly impossible. Everybody knew that this task required not only physical strength but also careful coordination. There were plenty of ideas, but not one could keep the piano balanced correctly. They repositioned the brethren by strength, height, and age over and over again—nothing worked.
As they stood around the piano, uncertain of what to do next, a good friend of mine, Brother Hanno Luschin, spoke up. He said, “Brethren, stand close together and lift where you stand.”
It seemed too simple. Nevertheless, each lifted where he stood, and the piano rose from the ground and moved into the cultural hall as if on its own power. That was the answer to the challenge. They merely needed to stand close together and lift where they stood.
I have often thought of Brother Luschin’s simple idea and have been impressed by its profound truth. Tonight I would like to expand on that simple concept, “lift where you stand.”