Gospel Story Finder

November 4, 2011, changed my life. I was a senior in high school and was playing my last regular season football game. During a punt-return play late in the fourth quarter, I went to tackle a player on the other team and was knocked unconscious when his shoulder pad hit my face.
I woke up briefly minutes later only to slip back into unconsciousness almost immediately. It was clear, however, that my body was paralyzed. As paramedics prepared to take me to the hospital, my mom wanted to make sure my dad gave me a priesthood blessing. So he found the dad of another Latter-day Saint player and they gave me a blessing in the back of the ambulance.
Later that evening, I regained consciousness and slowly began to gain feeling in my body. When that happened, the hospital staff sent me home and told me nothing was wrong. However, my parents and I felt that there was still a problem, so I went to see a specialist.
After looking at my injuries, the specialist said, “I don’t know how you walked into my office today. You shouldn’t be able to move or even breathe on your own because of the severe problems in your spinal cord. Someone has been watching over you.” He told me how surprised he was that I was even alive and that I wasn’t paralyzed. I knew it was because of the priesthood blessing, and I was grateful my dad and my teammate’s father were both worthy and prepared to administer the blessing.
My recovery was still painful. I continued to see the specialist and began physical therapy. I struggled with severe pain and fatigue and was unable to attend school—I couldn’t even sit up by myself for three months.
The only thing that kept me going was the Spirit. As someone who’d been very social, it was hard to be home by myself all day while Mom and Dad were at work. I found comfort through the Spirit and through prayer and scripture study. The gospel kept me going. And I knew the priesthood blessing and the prayers of my friends (both Church members and friends of other faiths) helped.
After a few months, I felt strongly that I needed to return to seminary. And even though my medication made it extremely hard to get out of bed, I was determined to go. At first, seminary took all my energy for the day. But once I started going, my recovery time seemed to decrease, and I began to heal more quickly and to feel better. This was a miracle to my family and me.
Two years later, I can now run, jump, and move around with little pain.
I know that Heavenly Father, Jesus Christ, and angels were watching over me the night of the accident. I’ve felt the power of the priesthood so strongly because I received a blessing from worthy priesthood holders. That, combined with the pattern of personal prayer, scripture study, and seminary attendance I’d established before the accident and have continued after, helped me through the healing process.

Although I acted as if I didn’t care, I really did want to win. After all, the opportunity to be the high school Homecoming queen only comes around once in a lifetime. And, it seemed to me, this was my one and only chance to be considered royalty.
When my name was announced as one of the three nominees, I was surprised. I wasn’t a cheerleader, and I wasn’t dating the quarterback. I’d created my own niche in school—doing activities that weren’t necessarily in the spotlight.
This would be a crowning accomplishment to have in my high school years, I thought. Royalty, huh? I could get used to that title.
The winner would be announced at halftime of the Saturday afternoon football game. The day before the game, I was sitting in my seminary class. People around me were predicting who would be crowned queen. Still wearing my facade of apathy, I took a deep breath, reminding myself that I’d survive even if I didn’t win. And remember, I told myself, it doesn’t matter if I’m royalty or not.
My heart pulsing heavily, I looked up at the teacher, hoping to divert my attention from the Homecoming chatter. Behind him on the bulletin board hung the same Mormonad poster that had been on my bedroom wall for years.
“It’s nice to be important, but it’s more important to be nice.”
My heart soared as I read again, but understood for the first time, how to look at life. Homecoming queen or not, I could concentrate on a more important thing—to be nice. If I did that, I would always be royalty in a more important, eternal sense.
Saturday came quickly, but halftime did not. The sun shone brightly on the brown October day, my 17th birthday. When the time approached, my dad escorted me to the field as the spectators watched us girls teeter out in our high heels. The announcer began, “We’d like to announce our Homecoming queen, …”
My mind wandered as I reminded myself of Friday’s realization. No matter how important or unimportant I might be, I could be royally nice to those with whom I came in contact. When I came back to reality, they were crowning the girl next to me as queen.
As I walked off the field, I smiled inside and out.
Although I’d missed my chance to be a high school queen, I hadn’t missed my opportunity to recognize my royal beginnings. We have a noble birthright, and that can’t be changed. I also realized that I should care whether I was royalty or not in a spiritual sense. Apathy has no place in our royal relationships with our Heavenly Father.
Unlike the Homecoming queen contest, it’s entirely up to us to accept the royal gifts and blessings our Father in Heaven offers to us. The Lord has crowned us all with eternal importance, and one way we can honor this noble birth is by treating others with the respect and consideration they deserve and letting that be more important to us than worldly honors.

My husband and I have two children: our daughter, Florence, and son, Frederick Monson. My father-in-law has lived with us for the past eight years. His name is Anthony and he is 88 years old. He is humble, patient, kind, and loving. He is a very faithful Roman Catholic who never misses his prayers or going to church. Be it winter, summer, or raining, attending church is important for him. He gets around by himself and besides church, he likes to go out to the park or to buy candy because he likes sweets.
Both my husband and I work so he is home alone for part of the day. On December 5, 2017, my husband and I were at our office. Around 3 p.m. I called my children to check up on their grandfather. When they told me that he had not yet returned from the sweet shop I felt that he may have become lost. I immediately informed my husband and he and his sister began searching for their father. I joined in the search after work. We searched all the first day and night, but we could not find him. The next morning, we went to the police station and filed a missing person report. The second day we posted his picture on Facebook and WhatsApp. We kept searching until Saturday, December 9. We were very worried. Our friends said that they would pray for his safe return. Some said they would put his name on the prayer roll at the temple. Others searched with us. We really felt the love of God through them.
My family kept praying and I continued my prayer and scripture study. All the scriptures I read were really uplifting and gave me more strength, confidence, faith, and hope that he would be back. An especially meaningful one was Doctrine & Covenants 90:24:
“Seek ye diligently, pray always, and be believing, and all things shall work together for your good, if ye walk uprightly and remember the covenant wherewith ye have covenanted one with another.”
We kept searching all the hospitals and drainage ditches from 6 a.m. until midnight. We did not think about food and the children were even left alone. Our only focus was to find my father-in-law. We printed a notice and posted it everywhere.
On Saturday, December 9, my husband went to search again, and I started to wash my father-in-law’s clothes and arrange his bed to prepare everything for him to come home and sleep comfortably. That evening, fasting, we started our search again. Satan was working very hard to discourage us, but we did not give up.
Following leads we received from other people, our search that night took us to a dark and dangerous place. Around 11:30 p.m., while we were searching in this area, showing my father-in-law’s picture to the people, a person approached and after enquiring asked us to leave immediately. He was the Inspector of Police of Nehru Place. We obeyed and left that place and, following another lead, started to walk towards the Kalka Mandir, another dark and dangerous area. We felt uncomfortable there, so we immediately left, reaching home around 1:00 a.m. on Sunday, December 10.
At 1:30 a.m. we knelt down and prayed with tears in our eyes. We decided that we would not search as it was Sunday. Our Heavenly Father wanted us to go to church and partake of the sacrament peacefully. He answered our prayer as we felt peace in our heart. Just as we finished our prayer, we received a call from one of my former classmates, telling me that she had seen an old man. She asked me to confirm that it was he through a video call. It was amazing that the person she had on the video was my father-in-law! We were astonished and once again we thanked our Heavenly Father, for He understood our intention and answered our prayer. My friend brought him to my home on the same night. It was truly a miracle that in a city of over 18 million people, my friend was able to find him.
We have seen miracles happen in our family through prayer, following the scriptures, and searching with faith. Though we have experienced many temptations, discouragements, and disappointments, we hold fast to God’s promise: “Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you: For every one that asketh receiveth; and he that seeketh findeth; and to him that knocketh it shall be opened” (3 Nephi 14:7–8; Matthew 7:7–8). I know that we found my father-in-law through the love of our Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ with the help of his angels, our friends.

Music has helped Ryan reach out to others and set a good example. He teaches keyboard and composition classes in a special summer school program. One friend was very discouraged and turned to Ryan for advice. He told her to go home and turn the radio to a classical station instead of the usual hard rock she was accustomed to listening to. “She followed my advice,” Ryan said. “The next day she thanked me and said she didn’t feel one bit discouraged.”

Sacred music is an important part of any Church gathering and when the committee coordinators looked for someone to conduct a special choral item for this event, Sister Adele Wi Repa from Auckland Henderson Stake’s West Harbour Ward was the first person who came to mind.
“I had a giggle when Brother and Sister Smith said that,” Adele says, “because I don’t think they knew anyone else! But I felt very grateful and privileged.”
Adele’s first task was to find the right song for the occasion. She searched the internet for suitable sheet music, but it soon became clear that she needed to arrange the song herself. To allow the choir time to learn her composition, Adele gave herself one week, and stopped working on the song at the end of that week despite her concerns that it wasn’t quite finished yet. The result of her effort was a beautiful arrangement of the well-loved hymn, Joseph Smith’s First Prayer.

Ancient One sat in a ray of golden sunshine on the banks of a slow-moving, muddy-green river. The day was warm, but Ancient One was as wise as he was old. He knew that many cold days were soon to come. As a boy running swift and strong, he had not minded the cold. He had shouted with glee and bounded through the new-fallen snow.
While remembering the boy he had once been, Ancient One noticed a small flock of birds gathered on the opposite bank of the river. Seven birds stood in a row, as if taking turns at some game.
The first bird in line flew up, higher and higher, slowly flapping his glossy black wings, his shiny black beak pointing at a cloudless sky. His shadow chased him along the water’s rippling surface. When the bird was as high as the tallest tree, he folded his wings, pointed his sharp black beak at the water, and began to fall. Diving faster and faster, he became a blur in Ancient One’s large black eyes. Just when it seemed that he would plunge into the water, the bird spread his wings wide and sailed to shore, taking his place once again in line.
Ancient One smiled at the boy in the eyes of his memory.
The sun had sunk low in the sky, and the light of day was fading. The birds had flown off to roost in the trees. Ancient One laughed aloud and stood up. He dusted the soft, orange sand from his leathery hands and walked slowly home, his heart full of happiness.

When my wife, Sandra, and I were called to serve in the South Africa Durban Mission, we began looking for a community service project. I had been a member of the Mormon Tabernacle Choir for over 20 years, and my wife, a library aide, had conducted story time in an elementary school. When our mission president decided to open missionary work in a nearby township, we knew this was our chance.
We visited the township and discovered that there were no libraries in the schools, just a small community library in the town. The young elders introduced us to the library director. We explained to her that we would like to hold a weekly story time for children. She was skeptical, but after some thought she agreed to get the word out and we could try.
On the first day five children attended. Gradually more came. After several months we enlisted the help of a young lady, a recent convert, who spoke beautiful English and Zulu. Attendance at story time grew, and the director and parents were excited about what was happening.
The Zulu people love to sing, so we added simple songs and rhymes to our story time. By the end of our mission, we were holding two or three sessions of song and story time a week to accommodate the more than 100 children who attended. What a blessing it was when we would see the children elsewhere and they would start singing our songs and reciting our rhymes to us.
Another blessing came out of our service in this area. As the local Church membership grew and we needed a place to start holding our Sunday meetings, the library director insisted that we use the library at no charge.
We are so grateful that the Lord helped us find a way to use our talents, serve the community, and help open an area of the mission.

It seemed the year 1987 would never arrive. This was the year I would turn 18 and be able to serve in the Brazilian Air Force. When I could, I enlisted and dedicated myself entirely to serving my country.
After a Church leader challenged us to share the gospel, I decided to seek out someone who might be interested in the Church. After many frustrating attempts and feeling somewhat discouraged, I was reading the scriptures in my bunk when I noticed another serviceman kneeling in reverent prayer.
I decided to inquire about his religious affiliation. His response was like a ray of sunshine. He told me he had observed my lack of inhibition in praying at mealtime and before bed. He had always had the desire to pray but had never found the courage. Finally, he resolved to do it, even though he didn’t know exactly what he would say in his prayer.
I asked him, “Would you like to learn how to say a prayer?” His response was a very definite yes. That night I taught him in essence the six missionary discussions and bore my testimony. The Spirit testified clearly to the two of us that it was all true.
The weeks passed, and he accepted my invitation to go to church. He began hearing the discussions from the missionaries and participating in ward activities.
One day during lunch, after saying a prayer, he looked into my eyes and said, “I have decided. I want to be baptized.” His words were like the resounding of a cannon in my heart. I was surprised and happy, and he added to that when he said, “And I want you to baptize me.” Then it was too much. Unable to contain my tears, I embraced him, and he said to me, “Thank you, my friend.”
With the passing of time, we sent in our missionary applications, and he actually ended up leaving on a mission before I did. Today we are far from one another, but we have a strong link that will unite us beyond this mortal life. He married in the temple and has a beautiful family.
I am thankful for the inspired leader who challenged me to share the gospel with those around me and to be an example for others.

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Youth Dance
Come have some fun at the dance this Saturday! Remember, no saying no—always say yes when someone asks you to dance!
I’m excited for the dance, but For the Strength of Youth says that agency is the ability to choose and act for yourself. What if I just don’t feel like dancing with someone? Don’t I get to choose whether to say yes or no?
You should always be kind, but I think it’s your right to choose. Let’s talk to the leaders about this rule.
Thanks for letting us know how you feel. You’re right. It’s your choice. We understand not everyone will always feel comfortable dancing, but they still want to come.
Hey, will you dance with me?
Thanks, but I just don’t feel like dancing right now.
Oh, OK.
I’m not trying that again!
What about her?
Well, I guess it wouldn’t hurt to ask!
“Heavenly Father has given you agency, the ability to … act for yourself.”
For the Strength of Youth (2011), 2.

When I was released from the service, I faced a critical decision. My best friend from Normandy and I had planned for a long time to visit the United States, and I had saved my money so I could go. But his plans fell through. I had to decide whether or not to go by myself. I returned to Normandy, to walk the beaches and to think.
Anyone who could have eavesdropped on my mental conversation at that time would have known I already had a testimony. “I am well off here—I have my family and friends, I feel sure of myself, and this is the most beautiful spot on earth,” I told myself. “But what if I don’t go? I could miss an opportunity to learn even more about the gospel, to really gain a testimony of it. I could give up the trip, the dream of my young years. But to give up a chance to know more about the Lord’s church?”
In the U.S. I had the opportunity to develop many close relationships with Church members. I finally began to believe I did have a testimony—I can’t forget the wonderful feelings when, each time I’d ask myself a question, I would feel the Holy Ghost enlightening my soul, clearing away the doubt. I had had difficulty understanding why polygamy had been practiced. On a bus somewhere between Colorado and Utah, I glimpsed the vision, not a visual sight, but a spiritual insight, of the men who practiced it. And I saw how it was possible for such a thing to be pure, that it had come from God. That sort of clarification continued throughout my trip in the States.
I eventually ended up visiting some islands near Seattle, Washington. There, in a small apartment, I studied the Book of Mormon for ten days. My testimony continued to grow. The time had come to return to France, and in my heart I knew I would be baptized.
Several days after I returned home, the missionaries asked me to help them teach a lesson. The investigator was a science student, and he was struggling with some of the same questions I had confronted when I was studying the same subjects. I explained to him how I had found answers to the questions, and when we left he seemed satisfied and happy.
A few days later, the missionaries called to tell me he was joining the Church. “How about that,” I told myself. “Here I am, able to help someone else accept baptism, and not myself. This has lasted long enough!” I felt I had a testimony, but I fasted and prayed. I stayed up the whole night pleading with the Lord to seal this testimony in me. Finally, early in the morning, a sweet, peaceful calm filled my soul. I knew I had to tell the elders I was ready to be baptized.
As I rounded the last corner on my way to see the missionaries, I felt a strong force trying to keep me from going. It was like walking against a 70-mile-per-hour wind, which I had done before, only it was stronger. But this was spiritual. I was just about to give up and turn around. I knew this force wanted me to doubt everything, but I finally said, “No, no. I know there’s a God.” I felt that truth deep in the roots of my soul. I knew He would battle this force for me.
I reached the chapel door, just a normal chapel door, but I had to pull with all my might to force it open. When I entered I saw some members and felt their spirit, and the opposing force was gone, broken. I felt the sweet peace in my heart again, and felt it even more strongly several days later as I was baptized and confirmed. I still feel it to this day.

My family joined the Church in 1977, when I was 11 years old. At that time a violent civil war was beginning in our native land of El Salvador. The political situation was serious, and there were constant armed confrontations between the army and the rebels, forcing the government to order a curfew of 6:00 p.m. for all citizens. There was no freedom of assembly or freedom of speech, and we felt threatened by both the army and the rebels.
These events caused many people to look for ways to emigrate to wherever they could. My family was no exception. My father accepted an offer of employment in Venezuela, hoping he could get us out of danger. For a time my mother was left as the head of our household.
The war made it a difficult time for the Church. The same flight that took my father to Venezuela took the last 15 missionaries out of El Salvador. This meant the end of any chance to receive the messengers of the gospel of Jesus Christ for a long time.
At the end of 1979 we and other members of the Church, especially the youth, began doing missionary work of our own. We organized small choirs and sang in the streets to give people hope. By doing this we found many people wanting to learn about the gospel.
Meanwhile we learned to live in danger. Whenever the confrontations or shelling occurred, we threw ourselves on the floor and hoped it would all be over soon. Mama would cover us with our mattresses for protection. What brought peace to us in these difficult moments were the hymns. Lying on the floor, we would hold our hymnbooks, and Mama would encourage us to sing “Come, Come, Ye Saints” (Hymns, no. 30), “How Firm a Foundation” (no. 85), “Joseph Smith’s First Prayer” (no. 26), “High on the Mountain Top” (no. 5), “O My Father” (no. 292), “I Stand All Amazed” (no. 193), and many other hymns that comforted us in our adversity. We often cried from the stress, but singing the hymns gave us the courage to face such a terrible situation.
Some time later Papa succeeded in bringing us to Venezuela, where we began a new life. We thanked our Heavenly Father for keeping us together and alive. Through this experience, I learned that the hymns invite a spirit of peace during difficult times.
Ana Gloria Hernández de Abzuela, Venezuela

But sometimes the pressure of always being the example—of always being the “good” guy, especially when there are those around you trying to make you slip up, can become overwhelming. That’s what happened to Ryan when he was traveling with his marching band. “Sometimes I get made fun of a lot because I don’t swear or tell dirty jokes. I’ve actually had people say they were going to get me to crack before the end of the band season.”

At one point about two years ago during an extended band competition, the harassment got so bad that Ryan reached a breaking point. “I was crying on the bus. I just couldn’t handle it anymore. I didn’t want to be there anymore. I wanted to go home.” When the bus arrived back at the school where the band was staying, Ryan told a friend he was going for a walk and left to find a quiet place to pray.

“I found this spot behind the school, and when I knelt down and started to pray, I broke down. I’ve never cried so hard in my life. I just didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know how to get through this. I must have prayed for a good 30 minutes where I was literally pouring out my soul. It was really the first night where I felt as if Heavenly Father was near to me. When I felt that, I’ve never felt so much at peace in my life, and I knew right then that I would get through this.

“Before I prayed I was like, ‘I can’t take it,’ and afterward it was one of the most calm and peaceful feelings I’ve ever felt. Then there were tears of joy and tears of happiness. What I felt was truly the gift of the Holy Ghost helping me get through what I was going through.”

Ryan says that as he felt the loving presence of his Father in Heaven, everything changed. Ryan had felt alone and insignificant; now he felt loved and empowered. “I’m a son of God,” Ryan said to himself. “I’m a priesthood holder—a priest in the Aaronic Priesthood. That night I really felt like I was someone important to my Heavenly Father.”

The competition circuit continued for another week, and those who had been badgering Ryan stopped. He’d weathered the storm, his testimony now strengthened, his reputation intact. Plus he’d had a few opportunities to share the gospel with others.

A few months into his mission, our youngest son and his missionary companion were completing their study when our son felt a dull pain in his head. He felt very strange; at first he lost control of his left arm; then his tongue went numb. The left side of his face began to droop. He had difficulty speaking. He knew something was wrong. What he didn’t know was that he was in the middle of a massive stroke in three areas of his brain. Fear began to set in as he became partially paralyzed. How quickly a stroke victim receives care can have a dramatic effect on the extent of his healing. His faithful missionary companion acted decisively. After calling 911, he gave him a blessing. Miraculously, the ambulance was only five minutes away.
After our son was rushed to the hospital, the medical personnel quickly assessed the situation and determined they should administer a medicine to our son that could potentially reverse the stroke’s paralyzing effects over time.1 However, if our son was not having a stroke, the medicine could have severe consequences, such as bleeding in the brain. Our son had to choose. He chose to accept the medication. While full recovery required more operations and many months, our son eventually returned and completed his mission after the effects of the stroke were substantially reversed.
The missionary companion and the medical professionals who helped our stroke-afflicted son in the mission field acted quickly. Our son chose to receive the stroke-reversing medicine. The paralyzing effects of his stroke that could have followed him for the remainder of his mortal life were reversed. Likewise, the faster we repent and bring the Atonement of Jesus Christ into our lives, the sooner we can be healed from the effects of sin.

D. Brent Collette told a stirring story:
“Ronny was not just shy; he was downright backward. As a 17-year-old high school senior, Ronny had never really had a close friend or done anything that included other people. He was famous for his shyness. He never said anything to anybody, not even a teacher. One look at him told you a great deal of the story—inferiority complex. He slumped over as if to hide his face and seemed to be always looking at his feet. He always sat in the back of the class and would never participate. …
“It was because of Ronny’s shyness that I was so astonished when he started coming to my Sunday School class. …
“His attendance in my class was the result of the personal efforts of a classmate, Brandon Craig, who had recently befriended Ronny. Boy, if there had ever been a mismatch, this was it. Brandon was ‘Mr. Social.’ A good head taller than Ronny, he was undisputedly the number one star of our high school athletics program. Brandon was involved in everything and successful at everything. … He was just a neat boy.
“Well, Brandon took to little Ronny like glue. Class was obviously painful for Ronny, but Brandon protected him like the king’s guard. I played a low profile—no questions, just a quick smile and once a pat on the back. Time seemed to be helping, but I often wondered if Brandon and company (the rest of the class certainly played it right) would ever be able to break the ice. That’s why I was so shocked when Brian, the class president, stood before our Sunday School class one Sunday afternoon and boldly announced that Ronny would offer the opening prayer.
“There was a moment of hesitation; then Ronny slowly came to his feet. Still looking at his shoes, he walked to the front of the room. He folded his arms (his head was already bowed). The class was frozen solid. I thought to myself, ‘If he does it, we’ll all be translated.’
“Then almost at a whisper I heard, ‘Our Father in Heaven, thank you for our Sunday School class.’ Then silence—long, loud silence! I could feel poor Ronny suffering. Then came a few sniffles and a muffled sob.
“‘Oh, no,’ I thought, ‘I should be up front where I can help or something.’
“I hurt for him; we all did. I opened an eye and looked up to make my way to Ronny. But Brandon beat me to it. With an eye still open I watched six-foot-four Brandon put his arm around his friend, bend down and put his chin on Ronny’s shoulder, then whisper the words of a short, sweet prayer. Ronny struggled for composure, then repeated the prayer.
“But when the prayer was over, Ronny kept his head bowed and added: ‘Thank you for Brandon, amen.’ He then turned and looked up at his big buddy and said clear enough for all to hear, ‘I love you, Brandon.’
“Brandon, who still had his arm around him, responded, ‘I love you too, Ronny. And that was fun.’
“And it was, for all of us.” (New Era, May 1983, p. 18.)

When I asked about their father’s sense of humor, one of the children offered this comment, “Dad has very poor handwriting and he readily admits it. He sometimes asks his office secretary to tell him what he has written on his calendar, because he can’t read it himself. President Lee called Dad’s handwriting, ‘unreformed Egyptian.’ One time when he was on the stand with President Kimball at a meeting, a message was delivered to Dad reporting that one of the Church school buildings in South America had burned. Father wrote a note to President Kimball, telling him about it. President Kimball looked at it for a long time, then sent a note back, ‘Do you mean burned or buried?’”

In a few days we will dedicate the beautiful Denver Temple.

When it was announced that we would build a temple in that city and had selected a site on which it should stand, opposition rose against us. We gave up that site and tried another. Again we were thwarted. But we were determined to go forward, putting our trust in the Lord that He would guide us in accomplishing His purposes. Two other possible sites were selected. At the time, President Kimball and President Romney were both ill, and mine was a serious responsibility. I asked President Benson, then President of the Council of the Twelve, if we might go to Denver together, and there with Elder Russell Taylor we looked over these sites. I give you my testimony that we were guided by the Spirit in choosing the ground on which that beautiful new structure now stands. It will be dedicated later this month as a house of God.

When I was serving as a missionary in northern Mexico, a few days after the baptismal service of the Valdez family, we received a telephone call from Brother Valdez asking us to come to his house. He had an important question for us. Now that he knew the will of the Lord regarding the Word of Wisdom, and even though it would be difficult to find a new job, he wondered if he should continue to work for the cigarette company where he had worked for many years. Only a few days later Brother Valdez again asked us to come by and visit him. He had decided to quit his job because he was not willing to go against his convictions. Then with a smile and emotion in his voice, he told us that the very day he quit his old job, another company had called to offer him a much better position.

Black Otter beached his canoe and stepped ashore. He pulled the boat under some low branches of willow trees that lined the riverbank and tied it fast. The fragile craft would not be easily noticed and the spot was protected from pounding waves. This was desolate country. He would not like to be stranded here.
Perspiration streamed from the youth’s bare chest as he moved away from the river with its cooling wind. The hot air was stifling to breathe and a shimmering curtain of heat moved ahead of him, distorting the shapes of giant boulders. Black Otter walked slowly, conserving his strength as he searched for what he now considered a treasure cave. He had not seen it for two years. Can I find it again? he wondered.
The youth veered to avoid a large rattlesnake dozing in the sun. His tribe did not take life unless it were unavoidable. Except for a lizard that darted into a crevice and a soaring giant bird of prey, the reptile was the only live thing he had seen. He felt very uneasy here.
Black Otter’s heart leaped with hope when he saw the cave entrance. He had feared that he could not find it again, because he had been with his uncles and cousins when they stumbled across the cave and took refuge there from a raging blizzard two winters ago. Without its protection they might have died in the storm.
But now that he had found the cave, Black Otter felt dismay. He had grown taller and wider in the past two years and the tunnel seemed much smaller! No one knew where he had gone, for he had waited until everyone was asleep and then slipped away. If he became wedged in the narrow opening, he might never be found!
Black Otter squirmed along like a worm, trying to make his shoulders narrow. Several times he became wedged and almost panicked. He trembled with relief when he finally reached the inner cavern and could stand upright again. He shuddered and tried to forget that he must return through the tunnel. He lit his torch and watched the rainbows of color streak across the rough walls and the roof of the secret place. Have any other eyes seen it? he wondered.
This time Black Otter had brought a knife to pry out larger crystals. And he would try to select as many different colored stones as possible. Since he would probably not be able to enter the cavern again, he must take many rocks this time. The youth wedged his torch between stones and set to work.
When he had lit the last of his three torches, Black Otter prepared to leave the inner cavern. He was grateful that the tunnel sloped downward. This allowed him to roll the large stones down to the outer cave. He hoped they would not shatter. It was the only way to remove the large pile he had collected, since he could not carry so many. He had choice stones of many colors. The white man would get full value for his trade goods.
The torch began to sputter, and Black Otter scooped up a handful of small deep red stones and placed them in his pouch. He sensed these were more valuable because he had found so few of them.
Black Otter’s body stung from many small cuts and scratches when he emerged from the tunnel. He discovered that he had rolled down many more crystals than he could take back without sinking the canoe. But perhaps I can return for them someday, he told himself. After selecting what he felt would be a safe load, he hid piles of the shimmering stones behind boulders in the back of the cave. Then he packed the others in leather carrying bags he had brought along. It took two trips to carry the heavy stones to the river.
The sun was low and it was cooler when the youth began to paddle upstream with strong, silent strokes. There would be a full moon to light his nightlong journey; and he could stay near the shore, where the sluggish current would not endanger his hard-won cargo.
Black Otter smiled with pride. Now every family will have fine cooking pots, axes, and hunting knives, he thought. The rock trader had promised to bring needles, nails, and even the biting barbed wire that would keep their sheep and horses from straying. His hard work would make life better for all his people.

I try to always be available to help others in my ward, but on occasion I have been the one in need of service. Once when I needed to paint a room in my home before moving, I was in the middle of final exams and also had to leave town for a wedding. When I mentioned these circumstances to a sister in my ward, she told me she would get some other sisters together to paint the room. Their service saved me lots of time and money.

The incident at the pond was just one of many times that Elder Wirthlin and his father learned from each other. He related the following incident too.
“Once, when I was about seven, Father gave me five dollars to buy some items at the hardware store about a mile away. When I came back, we accounted for the money and found that they had given me a dollar too much in change. Father said, ‘Whenever you purchase anything, make sure that you get the correct change back, and be especially careful that they do not give you too much change.’ He insisted that I immediately walk back and return the dollar, which I did. This was a great lesson in honesty and in promptness in correcting an error.