Gospel Story Finder

Some years ago a woman complained to me about her unresponsive husband. I asked her to describe some of his behavior. She indicated that in most cases he was a very negative person. He would come home in the evening and complain about the untidy home. Occasionally dinner was not ready on time, which elicited criticism. She was neither as attractive nor as intellectually stimulating as her husband desired. He was negative with the children as well, offering very critical comments.
I then asked the wife to describe her behavior toward her husband. She admitted that most of the things she did were designed to hurt him. In fact, quite often she planned a meal late just to make him angry. Likewise, the more he urged her to take better care of herself, the less desire she had to make herself more attractive. Their home was frequently in disarray simply because she had no motivation to clean it. On the whole, she did little to please or praise him.
I felt that there was enough basic love within their marriage that they could correct the situation—provided they made a strong effort to develop positive feelings for one another. I suggested that she return home and change her appearance, clean the house, read a good book, and attempt to become more interesting and attractive. She was counseled to greet her husband each night with a smile and a positive attitude.
Such a drastic change in attitude came as shock to her husband. Initially, he was very suspicious, certain that something was wrong or that his wife was being pleasant because she had some ulterior motive. But as she continued with the positive behavior, he began to enjoy the special attention she gave him and was pleased with the positive comments. He spent more time at home, and developed a better relationship with the children. The marriage soon became good and productive again.

I attended general conference in person for the first time in October 2008 on a beautiful Sabbath morning in Salt Lake City. I went to the Conference Center, knowing that I would hear enlightening, uplifting, and inspired speeches. But I found that I was also touched by what I did not hear.
Before the session started, I saw the Apostles taking their respective seats, but I could not see the First Presidency. A few minutes passed, and when the several thousand people around me began to stand, I followed suit. It was then that I saw the First Presidency walk in. A hush fell over the room. I did not know that it was possible for so many people to be so silent; the quietness and reverence I witnessed was unforgettable!
I imagine that daily we are trying to feel the same reverence that I felt in that room on that lovely Sunday morning. But I’ve found that in a busy world it can be hard to find peace and reverence in our lives.
I went to a Young Women activity at a beach, where we all took 20 minutes to silently ponder and meditate. I sat on a rock, listened to the crashing waves, and saw the serene sunset. But I was disappointed to find that even after 20 minutes, I still had not been able to find reverence. My distracted mind was too busy turning its wheels. I was consumed with my college application process. I was having trouble getting into my school of choice, and I felt like I had forgotten to breathe every once in a while.
When I realized I was having trouble feeling calm, I began praying for peace and relying on the Lord more. Instead of reciting a wish list in my prayers, I tried to remember that the Lord’s will was more important than my own. I prayed for what the Lord wanted to happen, not what I wanted to happen.
I felt more at peace over the course of the next few months and saw miracles in my life. I realized the Lord was trying to show me that He loved me. The peace I felt helped me to know of His love. I know that it is possible to find reverence despite our everyday distractions. If we seek peace and reverence, then we can more fully usher in the feelings of love that come from our Heavenly Father.

In our effort to understand how the Spirit leads us to do good, we need to recognize that it sometimes works in mysterious ways. The account of Brenner Hall, an army marksman in World War II, known by his friends as “Dead-eye Dick,” illustrates this point.

Fearing that a German patrol of two soldiers would discover their position, Brenner and his comrades decided to confront and capture them. One German soldier attempted to fire on the Americans and was immediately gunned down. The second turned and ran. The leader of the American unit turned to Brenner, a company sharpshooter, and asked him to shoot the fleeing German. Brenner took careful aim and squeezed the trigger. Much to the surprise of his friends, Brenner repeatedly missed his target.

Another American patrol captured the fleeing German and returned him for questioning. As the GIs approached the house, they shouted out that they had caught Brenner’s friend. Still smarting from the embarrassment of having failed to hit his target, Brenner demanded to know what they meant.

“Well,” they reported, “he must be your friend, because we found him praying on his knees, and you are the only one that we have seen do that.” “He must be your friend,” they teased.

Speaking through an interpreter, the German soldier explained that he had a friend in Arizona. No one was more surprised than Brenner when the German told of his friend, a Mormon elder from Mesa, Arizona, who had baptized his family before the war. Brenner recognized the name of his high school friend and knew that he had served his mission to Germany.

“I know that guy,” Brenner exclaimed.

“Hey,” one of the GIs laughed, “Brenner’s a Mormon, too.”

“Brudder Hall!” the German said with a big smile. Brenner embraced the German solider as a brother in the gospel, thankful that for once he had missed every shot.

Mother sighed. “It’s a picture of my cousin Kenny and me. Kenny was my best friend too. We both loved the early spring, when buds began to form on brown branches, green grass peeked out from patches of melting snow, and the river roared through the farm with spring runoff. Kenny was deaf and couldn’t hear it, but he could feel the spring sun warm his back as he played with Bridget, his huge pet sheep who was about to have baby lambs.
“We were both five. We talked to each other with our own made-up sign language. I loved playing with his large collection of farm toys, and he was always willing to share them.
“On that beautiful spring afternoon, the snow had been totally replaced by a carpet of green grass, and the creek had calmed from a roar to a strong, pleasant chuckle. Our mothers decided to let us go fishing.
“I was eager to try out my new bamboo fishing pole. A real fishing pole. Always before I had used a thick stick, like the one Kenny was still using.
“We sat side by side on our little perch, not moving so that we wouldn’t scare the fish. I threw my line into the creek, just the way my mother had shown me, being careful not to get it tangled. Kenny just sat there with his stick-pole, a sad expression on his face. Oh no! I thought. He wants a new pole too.
“Soon he motioned to me in our own private language that he wanted to use my new fishing pole. I shrugged him away, pretending not to understand. He tried again, more insistent this time. I looked away, pointedly ignoring him. Frustrated, he tried to pull the pole out of my hands.
“I pried his fingers off my pole and pushed him away. I wanted to tell him, ‘Just let me use it first for a little while. I’ll let you try it if you’ll only wait until I’m ready.’ But I didn’t know how.
“He was hurt and turned away. I reached over to pinch him, angry because he wouldn’t let me enjoy my new pole even for a moment.
“I looked up to see my mother taking our picture. My face burned with shame. I felt small and little and mean. I didn’t feel like fishing anymore.
“Handing my precious new pole to Kenny, I left to go play with Bridget. I loved to put my fingers deep into her soft wool. I looked back to see that Kenny was offering me his thick stick and motioning for me to come back and sit by him, but I ignored him.
“We had a picnic that day on the vast green lawn, with fancy little sandwiches cut in the shape of hearts, pink lemonade, and Aunt Dorothy’s angel food cake. We laughed when Bridget tried to steal a nibble.
“That was the last time I ever got to play with Kenny. Our mothers had planned this special day for us because Kenny was going into the hospital to have surgery, which the doctors hoped would help his ears.
“But something went wrong. Kenny died. My mother said that Kenny went to live with Jesus. I didn’t understand why he couldn’t stay right here with us.
“I missed him terribly. His mother put away all his farm toys and never got them out again. I wanted to play with them because then I could pretend that he was playing with me.
“Mom’s pictures came back from being developed, and the pinch was in that picture! Mom had the picture made big and ordered several copies so that Grandma and all my aunts and uncles could have a picture of Kenny.
“I have always felt sad about that mean pinch. Every time I see that picture of Kenny and me fishing, it makes me feel bad.”

My first assignment in the Air Force was with the F-111 Fighter development program, to do economic analysis and trade-off studies. This was a prestigious assignment in an important national defense program. This position was a real opportunity for young Lieutenant Russell "to shine."

This was in the days when the Air Force glamorized alcohol. All social events in the Air Force seemingly focused on alcohol. My commander was Colonel Darwin E. Rasmussen. And Colonel Rasmussen was a great promoter of the Air Force social scene.

Shortly after my arrival, Colonel Rasmussen announced that the F-111 Program needed to throw a cocktail party to welcome the Russells. Oh, dear! I knew well that military officers had social responsibilities and that my advancement through the ranks required that we support the Air Force social agenda. Here I am, a brand new Air Force Officer, assigned to the nation's highest priority national defense program, trying to make a good impression in my first position, and I am to be the guest of honor at a drinking party.

We went to the Rasmussen home on the appointed evening. We were apprehensive. How would we decline cocktails at a cocktail party held in our honor? Colonel and Mrs. Rasmussen greeted us at the door, took our coats, and graciously guided us to seats. Then Colonel Rasmussen started taking orders around the room. Far to my right was Fred Sills, the senior program manager. "What are you drinking tonight, Fred?" asked Colonel Rasmussen? "I'll have a Manhattan," was the response. Next to Fred, Captain Walker asked for a Martini. Then we heard orders for other alcoholic beverages with strange and unfamiliar names. As Colonel Rasmussen approached us, I knew we would decline his offer. But how would we do it without offending him? I just knew that this social fiasco, only two weeks after entering active military service, was about to torpedo my career. Then Colonel Rasmussen stood before the Russells. He looked at me and my wife and said, "For you dear people, we have orange juice, Seven Up, or ginger ale."

I have no idea how Colonel Rasmussen knew that we were Latter-day Saints. But he did know, and he showed great respect for our standards.

I had the privilege of being involved with a young man and a father recently. The young man and a friend were up hiking in the lower foothills near Cody, Wyoming. The friend jumped across a high-power line that was down, but the young man got tangled in it and was electrocuted. The friend turned and ran all the way back down to where the father lived—and it was no short distance—and told him that his son had been electrocuted and was dead. The father, who was not a young man, ran all the way back up, taking about fifteen minutes. When he got where the boy was lying across the wires, he in some way removed the boy from the wires with a board or large stick. Then he picked his son up in his arms and held him, saying, “In the name of Jesus Christ and by the power and authority of the Holy Melchizedek Priesthood, I command you to live.” The dead boy in his father’s arms opened his eyes. He was taken to the University of Utah Medical Center for treatment and a blessing. I believe that it is this kind of experience that we have as we walk through this life with Him.

I joined the Church in England in 1965, but the hostile reaction of my father and other pressures eventually led me to become less active.
Those were painful and unhappy times. On the outside it seemed easy to stay away, and I suppose I started to break the Word of Wisdom to fool myself that I didn’t care. Eventually I convinced myself Heavenly Father no longer loved or cared about me, and I felt completely rejected and alone.
Members still visited me occasionally, but it didn’t help. I both resented and envied them.
Then one evening a pair of senior sister missionaries dropped by. I was determined to give them a hard time so they wouldn’t make a return visit, but something inside me warmed to them. They had come as friends, not to preach to me or make me feel guilty.
They returned again and again to work in my garden and to strip paint from an old chest and help restore it—but above all to be friends to me. I began to be able to feel the Savior’s love through them as they filled my home with their obvious joy in living the gospel. They gained my trust, something that was so difficult for me to give.
All too soon their missions came to an end and they returned home. I later visited them in the United States. Rebellion against the Church was still within my heart, however, so I would not attend any Church meetings during the trip. In fact, I took great delight in drinking coffee in front of my two friends, trying hard to show them I was “untouchable.” I soon found out I was far from untouchable.
On the Saturday before Easter, we visited a memorial park in Glendale, California, and were deeply moved by the paintings and other art having to do with the Savior. It seemed that the Atonement was suddenly becoming real to me. A week later I was in southern Utah on the Sunday of general conference. During a moment alone, I switched on the television to a talk given by President Thomas S. Monson, First Counselor in the First Presidency. As I listened to that great man, I could not contain the tears of guilt and shame.
That afternoon I climbed to one of the observation points in the national park I was visiting. As I walked, I tried to put my life into perspective. I found that the climb, which was very difficult and strenuous in places, was comparable to the trials in my life. Because I pressed on and reached the end of the climb, I could look down at the beauty of creation and feel exhilaration.
The spirit of rebellion was not completely gone from my heart, but I was starting to feel the hostility melting away. I began to experience feelings of love—new, beautiful, and strange to me. I also began to learn that I could be loved. I knew I needed to change my life, to truly repent.
When I returned home I felt much different inside. I was beginning to feel hope and was learning to pray for guidance and forgiveness. True repentance didn’t take place overnight; it took many months before I felt I had been forgiven. I made a decision to start attending church again, the most difficult part of which was finding the courage to actually walk to the doors and go in.
I become overwhelmed as I think of the meaning of the Savior’s Atonement: “Oh, it is wonderful that he should care for me enough to die for me!” (“I Stand All Amazed,” Hymns, number 193). It is also wonderful that two sister missionaries came into my life when they did and shared with me their love and example. I was filled with joy to have one of them be my escort when I finally attended the temple to receive my endowment.
Following years of wandering, I had come home at last.

With Eduardo’s baptism in 1987 came a desire to strengthen his testimony by reading the Book of Mormon. “How do I learn to read?” he asked his wife. María told him to look at the letters, put them together in his mind, try to sound out words, and then attempt to read aloud. With practice, she assured him, he would eventually learn to read.
Eduardo, then 45, knew the sounds of many letters, but he had not attempted to read since leaving school nearly four decades before.
With a prayer in his heart, Eduardo sat down one hot summer day in a shady spot in the backyard of his home. “There,” he says, “I determined to make the attempt.”
María says she never would have imagined what happened next. As she worked in the kitchen, she listened off and on as Eduardo attempted to sound out letters and words. “Suddenly I heard him speaking rapidly,” she says. “I listened and realized that he was reading—fluently. Less than half an hour had passed, and he was reading!”
Eduardo was so immersed in his attempt that he hadn’t realized he was reading. But as he read, he recalls, “I felt a fire burning within me.” Frightened and surprised, Eduardo called to his wife, “Mami, what is happening to me?”
“It’s the Spirit of the Lord,” María replied. “You are reading fluently!”
As she recalls the experience, María says, “It was something we can never deny.”
Eduardo adds, “The day I learned to read is also the day I gained my testimony of the Book of Mormon and its power.”

In 1961, the Church College of Hawaii received full accreditation from the Western College Association as a four-year baccalaureate degree-granting institution. With this accreditation, questions about quality and peer recognition were answered. Winning accreditation was not without major challenges. The accrediting team were impressed that Wootton received high marks from both faculty and students. However one reviewer was highly critical of the campus and seemed to want to deny accreditation. Wootton flew to California to confront his critic. Not only did Wootton win the day, he so thoroughly exposed the man for taking a disparaging position, but never really doing his homework or reading the documents he was criticizing, that the man was dismissed from the review board.

When I was almost 16 years old, that same bishop assigned me to temporarily replace a youth Sunday School teacher. When he extended that calling to me, I was scared and nervous. I felt that I didn’t know enough to teach. I thought, “How can I be a teacher in that class? It’s like the blind leading the blind.”
I remember that in one specific lesson I had to talk about the testimony of Jesus Christ. We were studying in the Book of Mormon about how we could have a testimony of the gospel. I felt in my heart that I knew this Church is true, that Jesus is the Christ. But I had never prayed about those things. I thought, “How in the world can I teach these youth that they have to pray and receive an answer when I’ve never prayed for an answer?”
Ever since I was born, I had been taught about faith in Jesus Christ. And when I became a member of the Church, I always had that warm feeling in my heart about Jesus Christ, about my Heavenly Father, and about the Church. I had never had any concerns about whether this was the true Church of Jesus Christ; I had never prayed about it because those feelings were so strong. But in preparation for that class that week, I decided that I should pray to receive a confirmation that the gospel is true.
I knelt down in my room, and I decided to pray with all my might to confirm in my heart that this is the true Church of Jesus Christ. I was not expecting a great manifestation or an angel or something. I didn’t know what to expect as an answer.
When I knelt down and asked the Lord if the gospel is true, there came to my heart a very sweet feeling, a small voice that confirmed to me the gospel is true and that I should continue in it. It was so strong that I could never say that I didn’t know. I could never disregard that answer. Even though it was a small voice, it was a very strong feeling in my heart.
I spent that whole day feeling so happy that I couldn’t think about anything bad. When kids at school would say bad things, I wouldn’t listen to them. It was like I was in heaven, contemplating that beautiful feeling in my heart.
The next Sunday, when I stood up in front of the class of young people, I could share my testimony and tell them that Heavenly Father would answer their prayers if they had faith. I read James 1:5, which is the same scripture Joseph Smith read regarding asking God for wisdom. But the next verse says that you have to ask in faith, “for he that wavereth is like a wave of the sea driven with the wind and tossed” (James 1:6). It also says that a person cannot expect to receive an answer if he or she has a heart that doesn’t trust when praying. And then I said to myself and to my little class that we should ask with real faith, looking for an answer, and then the Lord will answer.
From that time on my testimony gave me the conviction I needed to make good decisions, especially in moments when I faced challenges. All of us faced challenges in keeping the standards of the gospel, especially those, like me, who were the only Church members at their schools. But my testimony helped me to remember that even though I was pressured by my friends to do wrong things, I knew in my heart that I was following the true gospel of Jesus Christ. After that experience I could never reject that testimony.
That day made a big difference in my life. Afterward I continued preparing myself for a mission with the help of my wonderful bishop and my family. I served a mission, and when I came back, I went to school to get my degree. I married and started a family. And everything happened because of that prayer when I was only about 16 years old.
As I said, I always knew the gospel was true, but I had to ask and then share my own experience with other people. That helped me on my mission too, because when I invited people to pray, I could tell them my own experience, letting them know that I had done that before. I testified that they could get an answer if they would pray with faith.

It was a considerable change to go from one of the nation’s premier universities located in a large metropolitan area to a small, private, two-year school in the rural farm town of Rexburg, Idaho. But it was a wonderful time for the Eyrings. It provided an opportunity for the family to grow closer to one another. The two older boys, whose school was near the campus, would come to his office each day at noon to have lunch with him. But it was more than that. “At Ricks I worked with a dedicated faculty and staff. I looked into the faces of those wholesome young people of faith and intelligence who were so open and friendly and determined to serve the Lord, and I was deeply impressed.”
“We loved the people in Rexburg,” Kathy says of that time. “They were wonderful, faithful Latter-day Saints. And I knew it was what Hal should be doing.”
While he was there, even though he was president, he couldn’t pass up a chance to follow one of his great loves: he taught religion classes with one of the other instructors, going through all four scripture courses before he was through. He also taught a young adult Sunday School class. A recent letter to the Church magazine tells of one young man’s experience in that class. “I was drifting, being a bit rebellious,” he wrote. Then he and his friends began attending Brother Eyring’s class. It was the influence he needed. He went on a mission, married in the temple, and has remained active since then. “Elder Eyring probably has no idea how much he affected so many of us,” the letter concludes. “It is just the quiet, powerful influence of a great disciple of Christ.”

She met Russell Ball, president of Staines Stake, who introduced LDS Charities and the Burnley Ward elders quorum president, William Haddock to her. William and LDS Charities helped BEST receive nearly £12,000 of funding, which enabled them to deliver a further 5,000 packs across Burnley around Christmas.
William said, “In one of the meetings I had with Sam at the centre she pointed out that she was struggling to get hold of hygiene bags to house the goods that the money would buy. I suggested that we could make the bags, thereby allowing our members to be involved and serve instead of just providing a financial donation. I approached Sister Carol Cryer (our ward Relief Society president and asked what she thought). Carol worked with Chester England Stake sisters and produced over 5,000 bags. It was amazing, but exactly what we have come to expect from our amazing sisters. Whilst LDS charities provided the money, the real miracle was how our sisters (and brothers) pulled together to make the bags.”
Continued William, “Sister Cryer and her daughters made a video showing how to make the bags. She sourced the materials, which along with the video, were distributed throughout the stake. President Russell Ball initially met Samantha at a meeting, and it went from there. He got in touch with President Michael Gratton (Chorley Stake president) who in turn got in touch with me as elders quorum president in Burnley Ward. President Gratton was very keen and supportive from the outset, and Chorley Stake funded a further £1,200 to purchase the materials to make the bags.”
“When you break the pack down into products, 80,000 sanitary towels were delivered with the funds that the Church provided for us. That’s incredible.” Samantha explained.
From September 2020 to the end of January 2021 the project delivered 12,400 packs to females of Burnley.
Samantha said, “Not only did LDS Charities provide us with the products we needed to complete our Christmas response, but they also provided links to an organisation and people within it, with whom we can build a future relationship. William Haddock collaborated with Carol Cryer from Burnley who organised a far-and-wide bag-making mission. In total, between William and Carol and the congregation of Latter-day Saints, they hand-made 5,079 drawstring cotton bags. They were so beautiful and so much easier to handle when packing. Each bag was made with care, knowing that they would be helping make someone’s life a little bit better; as a community you cannot put a value on that.”
She continued, “We will be forever grateful to Russell, William and Carol who helped us every step of the way. If Latter-day Saints ever need help from us, that connection is available to return the help. We just wanted to say thank you.”

My parents played a big role in to who I am today. They were raised in the Catholic faith in Brazil. My mom was one of seven children, and she was only able to finish elementary school as she had to start working at a clothing factory at the young age of 11 to help her family financially. My dad also had to stop school to start working as a bellboy at a hotel when he was still a young teenager. I remember when I was young seeing my dad going to school for adults at night after work to get his high school diploma. My parents were introduced to the gospel of Jesus Christ after they were married and had their first child. For some reason, they felt that they were not ready to be baptized, but my mom said that if one day she would join any church to raise her young family, it would be The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

A few years passed, and my parents were in the car on their way to the hospital for my mom to give birth to their second child which was me, when she saw two missionaries of the Church walking on the street. She asked my dad to stop the car because she needed to talk to them. My dad stopped the car, she called the missionaries over and told them that she was going to the hospital to give birth, she would be back home in a few days, and she wanted them to come to her house because she wanted to get baptized in their church.

A few months later, my parents were baptized. The Church was still very young in Brazil, but it was growing exponentially.

Years ago I attended a stake conference in California at which the wife of the stake president shared this story: She had been born considerably after the other children in the family, and her father was unusually protective of her. When a suitor would stop by to pick her up for a date, the father would look him over very carefully and then say: “Do you want to date my princess? Go home and wash your car and shine your shoes. Then I will give my permission.” I sometimes wonder if our Heavenly Father whispers the same when we date His precious daughters. The Book of Mormon speaks of a people who “did not wear costly apparel, yet they were neat and comely.”25

I was born and raised in a small city in Chile. When I was 12 years old, I saw the missionaries for the first time, and I was curious. Then one day a classmate at school told me that he and his family had become members of the Church. He invited me, and I attended all Sunday meetings and Tuesday activities for several months.

Our branch was new, and because I attended practically from the beginning, everyone thought I was a member. After six months I told one of the missionaries I was not, because I thought the missionaries were interested only in families.

The missionaries tried to involve my family, but my parents and siblings were not interested. They invited me to be baptized, but since I was 12, I needed my parents’ permission. I thought my father would say I needed to wait until I was 18, but he said, “I have seen my son wake up every Sunday morning while his brothers and sisters keep sleeping, dress up in his best clothes, and walk to the chapel. If my son will be responsible with this decision, you have my permission.” I couldn’t believe it. I was in heaven in that moment. So I was baptized the following day.

I can share with you a simple example from my own life of what parents can do. When I was about five or six years old, I lived across the street from a small grocery store. One day two other boys invited me to go with them to the store. As we stood coveting the candy for sale there, the older boy grabbed a candy bar and slipped it into his pocket. He urged the other boy and me to do the same, and after some hesitation we did. Then we quickly left the store and ran off in separate directions. I found a hiding place at home and tore off the candy wrapper. My mother discovered me with the chocolate evidence smeared on my face and escorted me back to the grocery store. As we crossed the street, I was sure I was facing life imprisonment. With sobs and tears, I apologized to the owner and paid him for the candy bar with a dime that my mother had loaned me (which I had to earn later). My mother’s love and discipline put an abrupt and early end to my life of crime.

During the turbulent hours prior to his departure for Carthage Jail, the Prophet Joseph Smith and his brother, Hyrum, alighted into a boat and were about to cross the Mississippi River to deflect the attention of the marauders who were trying to murder him. His intention, of course, was to remove himself so that the mobs would leave the Saints in peace. However, as they were crossing the river, Joseph felt inspired to return back to Nauvoo.

Probably that decision cost him his life. Yet his death has brought about a zeal by the members of the Church and a determination to continue on in spite of even insurmountable odds. His martyrdom is a witness that Joseph Smith is the prophet of the restoration, and that he sealed his testimony with his own blood.

I recently read with great interest a biograph­ical article in Time magazine. The article, “In Death’s Throat,” was written by Robert Hughes, an art critic for Time. It seems that Mr. Hughes was in Australia when he was involved in a ­devastating head-on ­automobile accident on a remote highway in Western Australia. Charlie Fishhook, an Aborigine, came upon the accident scene and sounded the ­critical alarm for help. A friend, Danny O’Sullivan, upon hearing of the ­accident, used his radio and cell phone to summon help from the nearest town, seventy-five miles away. He then raced to Robert’s side to reassure him that assistance was on its way. Aborigines of the Bidyadanga people formed a semicircle around the car and chanted a prayerful song. A Filipina nurse from the Bidyadanga settlement comforted his badly broken body until police and medics airlifted him to the Royal Perth Hospital. Skilled physicians operated for thirteen hours to carefully restore his body. His loving and deeply concerned ­family arrived from the United States to keep vigil until he awoke from a thirty-day coma.

Robert Hughes, in writing about his near-death experience, said:

I am a skeptic to whom the idea that a benign God created us and watches over us is somewhere between a fairy story and a poor joke. People of a ­religious bent are apt, under such conditions, to see the familiar images of near-death experience—the tunnel of white light with Jesus beckoning at the end, as ­featured in the memoirs of a score of American K Mart mystics. Jesus must have been busy when my turn came: he didn’t show. There was, as far as I could tell, absolutely nothing divine on the other side.10

Several weeks after Robert’s story appeared, several letters to the editor of Time magazine were received and published. A perceptive ­gentleman by the name of Pedro Costa from Portugal wrote, wishing to ask Robert the following question:

I would like to ask [Robert Hughes] if he also ­didn’t see Christ among the Aborigine family that found him, the Bidyadanga people who chanted to keep him alive, the Filipina nurse who wept for him, his friend Danny who raced to save his life, the police and the medics who got to the scene, the ­medical personnel who decided to fly him to Royal Perth Hospital, the people who operated for 13 hours—or in the midst of relatives and friends who gave him the ­support and affection he talks about in his article. Hughes just might have missed Jesus in such a crowd.11

From Stellenbosch, South Africa, Marius J. DeWaal profoundly wrote: “Robert Hughes said of his near-death experience that Jesus didn’t show. But one cannot expect to find Christ in death if one has not known him in life.”

I was visiting a friend on the west side a few weeks ago. We had plans to swim with dolphins, as we both loved water photography. I had visions in my mind of the bright sun and crystal clear blue water with hundreds of dolphins swimming around me. I was imagining the perfect shot of a dolphin spinning out of the water and a baby dolphin close behind with the sun raging in the right of the picture, and a perfect rainbow to top it off. I was stoked. I woke up early, traveled out there for this perfect moment, looked for the dolphin boats as they were an indication of where we needed to be. But there were none, and it was overcast and raining.

My friend Alika, in his humble pigeon accent, said, “Braddah Marc, why are you bummed? If you only look for the perfect moments in life, you have lost your passion for the ocean. Have faith. Mother Nature always provides, even in bad conditions.”

He was right. We got in the water and, even though I didn't see what I wanted, we were still blessed with beautiful water, fish, honu and a shark. It was a great day. As we were leaving and dropping my friend home, he said, “Marc, thank you for adding value to my life.”

This statement has had a profound impact on me; it was so deep. How is it that I added value to his life? I was the negative one and he was the one who I felt added so much value to my life with what he had been teaching me, with his example of faith and a positive attitude.

Most of the time Ben liked to share. He liked to share Daddy’s toast and Mom’s cookie. He liked to share Mike’s football and Anne’s book. He liked to share Max’s wagon.
But Ben did not like to share his cool cars, not even with Max. “Mine!” Ben said.
Ben filled his hands and pockets with cool cars. He hid them in the corner and under the couch pillows. If Max wanted to play with him, Ben felt angry. “My cool cars!”
One day Mom pulled Ben onto her lap. She gave him a hug and a kiss. “Does Daddy share his toast with you?” Mom asked.
“Yes,” Ben said.
“Does Mommy share her cookie with you?”
“Yes.”
“Does Anne share her book and does Mike share his football with you?”
“Yes.”
“When you play with Max, does he share his wagon?”
“Yes.”
“When we share with you, we feel happy. You feel happy too,” Mom said. “If you share your cool cars with Max, you will feel happy, and Max will feel happy. You can play together, and you won’t feel angry anymore.”
Ben stayed on Mom’s lap for a minute. Then he got down and took two of his cars out of his pocket. He gave one to Max. Ben smiled, and Max smiled. Ben didn’t feel angry anymore. Sharing made him feel happy.