Gospel Story Finder

Todd parted the barbed wire carefully and climbed through the fence. Then he held it up for his dog King. The collie leaped through carefully and bounded into the field. The April sun glinted on the dog’s golden coat, thick and deep from the cold winter.
“Come here, King!” Todd called. He put his hand on King’s sun-warmed head. King was Todd’s best friend—his only nearby friend, except for Mr. Phillips. There were no boys Todd’s age in the small mountain town where he lived, and he had to ride the school bus 16 kilometers to attend school.
Todd climbed through another fence into Mr. Phillips’ sheep enclosure. He could hear the old man moving around in the lambing shed. “Hi!” he called as he walked into the dimness of the shed. Then he saw Mr. Phillips watching an ewe lick her newborn lamb. Todd watched the lamb, smiling. He wanted to pick it up, to feel its woolly little body.
“You can hold it later,” the rancher said, picking up two shovels. “We have a less pleasant job to do now. Come with me.”
Todd followed his friend into the bright sunlight where King waited patiently by the door. He spent most of his Saturdays with Mr. Phillips, helping him with the sheep. Todd liked being there, for Mr. Phillips was like a grandfather to him.
“What are we going to do?” Todd asked, running a little to catch up.
“Well, Todd, I’d just as soon you didn’t see this, but I guess it’s part of our job.”
As they approached the corner of the fields, several black and white magpies flapped noisily into the air. Todd saw two dead sheep on the ground. “What happened?” His stomach tightened as he looked at the sheep’s torn bodies.
Mr. Phillips started to dig in the moist ground, piling the muddy shovelfuls onto the grass. “Dogs killed them,” he said, not looking up.
Todd couldn’t understand how this could happen. “When do the dogs come? Have you seen them?”
“I’ve seen four or five dogs running together ever since work started on the new dam and the men moved their trailers in up there. Everybody has a fierce watchdog because they keep so much equipment outside their trailers.
“I’ve lost ten or twelve sheep this way,” said Mr. Phillips.
The boy felt a terrible anger and frustration inside him. “Can’t you go to the owners and tell them?”
“I’ve tried that. But each one claims his dog is tied at night or for some other reason could not be the killer. And since I do not actually see who does the killing, I do not really know who is responsible.”
“Why don’t you get your gun and sit out here all night and watch. If you see a dog coming in here, just shoot it.”
“I’ve thought of something like that, and I’m within my legal right to shoot if a strange dog is on my property.”
Todd helped Mr. Phillips drag the sheep into the hole and cover them. Then they walked silently across the field to the sheds, King following sedately behind them.
Sunday morning Todd dressed quickly and quietly, wanting to see Mr. Phillips before Sunday School started and find out if anything had happened during the night.
Todd closed the back screen door quietly behind him and gave a low whistle for King. He was surprised when the animal didn’t bound out of his doghouse, but without waiting he walked quickly through the fields to Mr. Phillips’ sheds. As he crawled through the last fence, he saw Mr. Phillips leaning over something on the ground. He’s shot a dog, Todd thought. He ran forward quickly, but before he reached Mr. Phillips he stopped, fear and grief gripping his body. He walked forward slowly, his eyes fixed on the golden coat of the dog, now soggy with rain. Mr. Phillips looked up. He came toward Todd and put his hands on his shoulders.
“Todd,” he said, “it’s King. I’m so sorry.” Todd looked into Mr. Phillips’ face and saw tears mixed with raindrops, running into the deep wrinkles of his face. His dark eyes were full of suffering.
Todd felt numb. “How did it happen?” he asked.
“The night was so dark with the clouds and all—I’d fallen asleep waiting. When I woke up, I saw the dark form of a dog moving across the pastures, so I shot. I didn’t even look at the body until this morning. When I saw it was King I couldn’t believe it. He was probably going to the house to see if we’d put out any food scraps for him.” Mr. Phillips moved to put his arms around the boy.
Todd stiffened and pulled away. “How could you shoot King? You know him. You see him every day.” His voice rose with anger.
Mr. Phillips went for a cart as Todd struggled to lift the large wet dog. It was impossible. Together they lifted the dog into the cart and the old man pulled it down the road toward Todd’s house. The boy walked a short distance behind, grieving in silence.
Mr. Phillips wanted to dig the hole, but Todd dug it himself in the soft earth and lowered the dog into the hole, as Mr. Phillips stood silently watching him.
On Monday night Mr. Phillips came to the door with a little lamb for Todd. Todd wouldn’t see him. He told his mother to tell Mr. Phillips he didn’t want the lamb. All week Todd stayed in his room after school, mostly just lying on his bed. After dinner and when he had finished his chores he went back to his room. On Friday night, Todd’s father followed him into his room. He sat down on the side of the bed, not saying anything.
Finally Todd spoke. “Dad, do you honestly believe in dog heaven, or is it just a story to make little kids feel better?”
“I don’t know about dog heaven, but I do believe firmly that all life is eternal, because everything was created spiritually before it was created physically.”
“What does that mean?”
“It’s hard to understand, but to you it means that King still lives.”
“Will I see him again after I die?”
“I do not know that for sure, but it may be possible.” Todd’s father looked at him closely and said, “One thing bothers me, you had two great friends in this rather lonely place. You lost one by accident, something that could not be helped. I do not know why you chose to lose the second one. Have you thought any about how Mr. Phillips has been feeling this week?”
Todd had tried not to think of it. But he kept seeing Mr. Phillips’ face with tears and rain running down it. His conscience had also reminded him that shooting the prowling dogs was his idea. “Well, I do not want that little lamb. How could he think a lamb would ever replace King?”
“I am sure he does not think that, but he needs to do something to show how sorry he is. You are hurting him far more than he hurt you, because you are doing it intentionally.”
Todd had not thought of it quite like that. He still did not look at his father, who suddenly leaned over and kissed his cheek.
Saturday morning, Todd woke up early, the same knot of pain forming in his stomach as it did every morning since King died. Sunshine streamed in the window. Todd dressed, went out quietly, and walked through the fields, the morning dew drenching his sneakers. As the sun warmed his face, Todd slowly began to feel a little more alive again. His heart still ached for King, but he felt some comfort, a feeling of his heart softening just as he had prayed it would.
He saw Mr. Phillips in the shed gathering his shearing tools. “I guess I need that lamb if I’m ever going to have my own flock,” Todd called from the doorway. Mr. Phillips turned and came through the door into the sunlight, his eyes warm and shining.
“I’m sure glad to see you, Todd,” he said. “I’m going to need help with this shearing.”
And together they went into the shed.

Carolina tried to listen to her teacher. But she could not stop looking at her friend Ramón. He didn’t have any hair!
His hair had been falling out for a while. Now he was bald.
Carolina heard a sound behind her. Cesar and Luis were giggling. She hoped they weren’t laughing at Ramón.
All morning, Ramón hunched his shoulders. He didn’t raise his hand. He looked sad. Carolina wished she could help him feel better.
At last it was time to play outside. Ramón was the first one out of the classroom. When Carolina got outside, she couldn’t see him anywhere! He wasn’t playing soccer. He wasn’t climbing on the bars. And he wasn’t playing hopscotch by the teacher.
There he was! Ramón was standing in the corner of the yard. And Cesar and Luis were there too. Carolina walked closer.
“Look how big his head is!” Cesar yelled.
Luis laughed. “I’d shave my head too if I had such ugly hair.”
Ramón’s hands were clenched into fists. He looked like he might cry.
Carolina ran up to Ramón. “Do you want to play with me?” she asked. She held out her hand, and they walked away together. They kept walking until they were close to the teacher. No one would bother them there.
“Do you want to play hopscotch?” Carolina asked.
Ramón nodded. He drew chalk lines on the ground.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“I’m OK now.” Ramón smiled. “Thanks for helping me.”
Carolina smiled. She was glad she had been brave enough to help her friend!
When has someone helped you? How did it make you feel?
This story took place in Paraguay.

My Uncle Jim was my favorite uncle. He was everyone’s friend. He hid pennies around his apartment for me to find. Every Sunday I would call him on the phone. He always had time to listen. I told him all about what I had learned in Primary, at school—just about anything. He sent me hand-knitted doll clothes his neighbor had made. I wanted to send him back something special. It took me a long time to figure out what, but then I knew exactly what to send—an invitation to my baptism with my CTR ring.
A few days before my baptism, my Uncle Jim died. I cried all night. I didn’t want to be baptized without Uncle Jim, but my mother told me he would want me to be baptized. She said that it would be the greatest gift I could ever give him. I was baptized the day before his funeral. At his funeral I wore my white baptism dress and decorated his grave with white roses. I cried a lot, but my mother reminded me that Jesus also cried. It says so in the scriptures. I guess if Jesus cries, too, He must really understand it when I cry.
The next day my mother went to Uncle Jim’s apartment to clear things out. Tacked to his wall was a picture of me with my CTR ring taped beside it.Kelly Hoag, age 9Portola, California

One of the mountains we had to climb was when we were making all the arrangements with my wife’s family for our marriage. Her family, who is Catholic, made it a condition that if I wanted to marry their daughter, we had to get married religiously in the Catholic Church. We were completely at a loss as to what to do.

My wife and I said to each other that temple marriage is a commandment of God. We have faith in Him and in His son Jesus Christ; we shall pray and fast, and then whatever our Heavenly Father will reveal to us we shall do it, even if it is to get married in a Catholic Church. We decided to meet with my wife’s family to ask them if we could all pray together. If our Heavenly Father reveals to us that we should get married in the Catholic Church, then we shall do it. But if God reveals to us that we should get married in the temple, then we would invite my wife’s family to accept that answer. The goal: to accept the will of God.

After we prayed and fasted, our Heavenly Father revealed to us that we should get married in the temple. To our great surprise, my in-laws did not challenge us anymore.

We are married now for three years, and we plan to go to the temple next month.

A few months ago, my mother-in-law told my wife that she felt that we had “bewitched” them during the prayer. They did not understand what had happened! My wife tenderly explained that it was the Spirit of God that touched her heart.

Nearly every morning at 6:30 you will find me walking the streets of Spanish Fork with another of my heroes: my dad, Wayne Boothe. As we exercise, Dad speaks of his experience studying the scriptures that morning before our walk. For 34 years Dad taught seminary and institute classes for the Church Educational System. Through those years he chose to study the scriptures most mornings at 4:00. Since his retirement in 1990 his enthusiasm for scriptural feasts has not diminished. He sleeps in now until 5:00 a.m. and then gets up and dives into the scriptures every day. As we walk along he talks excitedly of his newest scripture discoveries. He enjoys the topical guide and will often approach his study by topic. He loves to encourage us to visualize the scriptural accounts in our minds or to place ourselves in the time and place of the scriptures to explore what it might have felt like to be there.

Dad chooses to ponder and pray about those passages he reads. He recently commented, “Son, my scripture study has a fresh new focus. I am reading the scriptures this time through to clearly ascertain whether I am living the gospel as correctly as I should at this stage of my life. I want to be prepared. The scriptures are helping me to prepare.” At 4:00 a.m. many of us could think of other ways to spend our time, but through all of the years of raising a family of seven children, 40 grandchildren, and nine great-grandchildren with my beautiful mother, Dad has chosen to consistently learn from the word of God.

When Joseph Smith was only seven years old, a bone in his leg became infected. The infection grew worse until the doctor decided that part of the bone must be cut out. There was no hospital, and no anesthetic, so the doctor offered Joseph a drink of brandy (a kind of liquor) to ease his pain. Joseph would not drink it. The doctor wanted to tie Joseph to the bed so that he would not move during the operation. Again Joseph bravely refused. His father held him tightly in his arms all during the operation, which was successful. Joseph began to get better, and he grew strong and healthy.

President Nelson made the following promise about spending time in the temple:
Our need to be in the temple on a regular basis has never been greater. I plead with you to take a prayerful look at how you spend your time . . . If you have reasonable access to a temple, I urge you to find a way to make an appointment regularly with the Lord—to be in His holy house—then keep that appointment with exactness and joy. I promise you that the Lord will bring the miracles He knows you need as you make sacrifices to serve and worship in His temples. [15]
In his “Think Celestial!” message, President Nelson commented on the importance of temple worship:
Spending more time in the temple builds faith. And your service and worship in the temple will help you to think celestial. The temple is a place of revelation. There you are shown how to progress toward a celestial life. There you are drawn closer to the Savior and given greater access to His power. There you are guided in solving the problems in your life, even your most perplexing problems. [16]
I assume that many of us are living closer to a temple right now than we ever will be again, so I hope we will take full advantage of that blessing by scheduling time to worship and serve in the temple as often as we can.
As was mentioned in the introduction, I served as a missionary in the Munich Germany mission. While I was a missionary, I wanted to learn what it takes to raise a happy and successful family. As I spent time with church members, I would notice what they were doing and how that affected their lives. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it didn’t take me long to realize that the individuals and families that seemed to be really happy weren’t doing anything amazing. They were just doing the small and simple things of the gospel consistently. I remember being so excited when I came to this realization because I knew that I could do those same small and simple things. I now know from personal experience that being consistent in the small things of the gospel is what really makes a difference in my life.

After retiring from the air force, I moved back to my hometown to continue practicing law. The intervening 20 years had reordered the wards along entirely different boundaries, but I felt that I should visit Sister Hazel Peterson, who had lived alone since her husband died of cancer.
Six months later, however, I still hadn’t visited her. One winter morning I was driving to my law practice when the image of Sister Peterson unexpectedly came into my mind. Passing by the freeway exit closest to her home, I discounted the feeling and continued driving. But by the time I reached the next exit, I found myself leaving the freeway and backtracking to Sister Peterson’s home. Just as the Spirit had gently compelled me to return to activity almost 25 years earlier, it now gently whispered that I should visit my old home teaching sister.
I knocked on Sister Peterson’s door and waited. After several minutes, I wondered sheepishly if she was out. Another knock, another few minutes. Finally the window above the door rattled and slid along its track. Sister Peterson peered down at me. The years had whitened her hair to the purest wool, and she looked tiny and thin. Her face was contorted in pain. Despite her labored breathing, she began weeping as she recognized me. “Oh, Kevin,” she said, “I’m so glad you’re here. I’m in such terrible pain from my arthritis, and I need a priesthood blessing. Thank you for waiting—please come in.” Before turning away from the window, she added, “I thought you were Burniss.”
I was startled to hear the name Burniss. “Do you mean Brother Skinner?” I asked her. “Does he still live around here?”
“No,” she said. “He lives another 40 miles [65 km] north. But he still works near here, and I have his work number. I called about 20 minutes ago and asked him to come give me a blessing. He should be here any minute.”
A car pulled into the driveway, and Brother Skinner stepped out—much grayer but with the same pleasant spring in his step and kind smile on his face. We shook hands, and 20 years of distance melted away. We entered Sister Peterson’s familiar home, the site of my spiritual apprenticeship to Brother Skinner so many years before. I anointed Sister Peterson’s head with consecrated oil, and Brother Skinner pronounced the blessing. We were together again, companions in an impromptu call to service from the Lord Himself.

San Salvador: A bishop and an earthquake turned them around.
Earthquake! “I saw the walls of my house coming down!” says Sister Salinas. “The debris blocked the doorways, so we couldn’t get out until the strongest part of the quake was over. Then we scrambled over the rubble and ran out into the street.” Later, the entire roof caved in.
In his nearby office, Brother Salinas was hit in the head by flying debris. “But I didn’t worry about the pain, because I was so concerned about my family,” he says. “I ran home, praying, ‘Father, help us! We are thy children. Help us!’”
Even though his wife and all six children had been inside the house, miraculously no one was killed. Terrified, the family fled. “But we knew our brothers and sisters in the ward would be looking for us,” he says, “so we returned.”
Church members were indeed looking for them. A construction project on the meetinghouse was halted so members could help the quake victims. The meetinghouse was converted into an emergency center—a place to find shelter, food, clothing, pure water, medicine, and other necessities. The Salinas family decided to stay on their own property in a tent the bishop gave them, and the members helped clean things up and provided building materials for their new house. “They were always there for us,” says Brother Salinas. “They helped us materially, emotionally, spiritually. But even more, we saw how much the Lord loved us. He was always with us, protecting us. I don’t have a way to pay Him back, except to obey and be humble.”
Although the family had not been active in the Church since their baptism six years earlier, a friend—Bishop Rafael Luna—had kept the Church in their lives. “He didn’t lose faith that we would return,” says Brother Salinas.
His wife nods. “The bishop came to visit often, as did his wife and children. He was always sending members and home teachers and visiting teachers.” She smiles. “They wouldn’t leave us alone!”
In June 1986, Bishop Luna and a group of ward leaders had come to visit the Salinas family and urged them once again to return to Church. And the bishop had felt inspired to send the missionaries back to teach them the discussions again. The family started coming back to Church sporadically. Then, four months later, on 10 October 1986, the earthquake struck. The subsequent overwhelming demonstration of love by the members determined their reconversion.
“Our house was destroyed,” says Sister Salinas, “but we had everything we needed: the love of the members and the protection of the Lord.” Now she is first counselor in the Relief Society presidency, and her husband is progressing in the priesthood. Their children are busy and active in the Church. “We have prospered,” she says.
“We have a goal with the Lord and with the bishop to go to the temple and be sealed,” says her husband. “It’s a marvelous feeling to be back again in the true Church. We feel very happy here.” (See: “We Go As a Group.”)

The article in the April 1990 issue, “I’m Sorry, Bertha,” was very meaningful to me. I suppose it is because I’ve been rather like Bertha all my life. The teenagers in the ward I attended in a small town were full of “exclusive” groups and I was never a part of them. I was rarely invited to a party or other activities. Even throughout my high school years I was still left out.
I am a young adult now and am still much the same type of person—shy, self-conscious, vulnerable. I have been hurt deeply. I only hope the article can help youth see the need to reach out to other people and include them in their activities. Please look to see who you may be hurting by your attitude.
Name Withheld

1 Agnes tried not to squirm in the narrow bunk so that she wouldn’t wake her little sister, Sarah, lying beside her. She pulled the blanket up over her ears, but even that didn’t keep out the faint tom-tom beat of drums from across the river. Father insisted that the Indians were friendly to the settlers, but Agnes was still afraid. Finally she fell asleep.
2 Agnes felt like she’d only been asleep a few minutes when little Sarah pounced on her, pulling back the blanket and saying, “Up, Aggie. It’s morning—get up!” Mama was ladling hot oatmeal into their bowls. “Your father and Tom have left already to help the new family build their cabin,” she told the two girls.
3 Agnes’s spirits rose at the mention of new neighbors, even though they would live miles away. Maybe there’ll be a girl my age, she hoped, someone to take the place of Emily, far away in Scotland.
Loud banging startled them, and before anyone could reach the cabin door, young Billy Harris burst in. “Mrs. McTavish, it’s Ma. She’s feeling bad, and the baby’s coming. Please come and help!”
4 Agnes quickly helped her mother gather up some things to take, while Billy jumped around, getting in the way. “Now, Agnes,” Mama said, “you’ll have to be in charge until Papa and Tom get back.” Agnes gulped but only said, “Don’t worry about us, Mama. We’ll be OK.”
5 As Mama and the boy set off, Agnes asked, “Now, what shall we do today?” Sarah pleaded, “Play with your shoes! Dance on the tree stump!” Agnes laughed. “Your favorite game!” Sarah clumped up the steps to the upper room and came down dangling the shoes by their laces. The shoes had become a link with the past for Agnes.
6 As Agnes put on the shoes, many wonderful memories of Scotland came back to her. At the door she began to wonder if they should leave the cabin. What if the Indians are watching? Her stomach tightened with fear. Not wanting to frighten Sarah, however, Agnes let herself be pulled outside.
7 But there was no happy spring in her step as she went through a Scottish dance routine on the tree stump. She finally stopped, panting, and took off the shoes and put them on the stump.
Sarah was coaxing for a turn just as Agnes heard a rustle in the brush. She spun, terrified, and was sure that she caught a glimpse of an Indian!
8 Grabbing Sarah’s hand, Agnes ran back to the cabin, then barricaded the door with the stout plank as her father did each night. Sarah cried, “Aggie, we forgot the shoes! I’ll go get them.” “No!” Agnes cried. Then, gaining control of herself, she softened her voice, adding, “Leave them, Love. We can get them later.”
9 The day dragged by slowly. As Agnes did small jobs in the cabin, she kept scanning the clearing through the window, looking for anything unusual. Then late in the afternoon she suddenly realized that her beautiful shoes were no longer on the stump!
Shouts from outside told Agnes that her father and brother were back, and she saw her mother, too, clambering out of the horse-drawn cart. “This is no gilded coach,” her mother joked, “but it saved me a long walk home. Papa found out that I was at the Harrises’ and picked me up. The Harrises have a fine new baby son. We’ll take some dinner over to them tomorrow.”
10 That evening Agnes told the family about seeing an Indian and bringing Sarah inside and about the shoes vanishing. Mama stroked her daughter’s hair and said, “I can see that you have the makings of a fine, strong pioneer woman!”
11 The next morning Sarah looked out the door and shouted, “Aggie! Mama! Look! There are some slippers on the stump. Come and see!” But what Sarah thought were slippers sitting on the stump were really soft leather moccasins with beaded embroidery down the front.
12 Agnes quickly looked toward the river. On the opposite bank she saw a tall, leather-shirted Indian man moving forward out of the trees. Then another figure came into view, an Indian girl waving in a friendly gesture and holding up Agnes’s shoes by their long laces.
It took a minute before Agnes understood. Then she smiled and held up the beaded moccasins and waved back.

One of my haunting childhood memories begins with the howl of distant air-raid sirens that awaken me from sleep. Before long, another sound, the rattle and hum of propellers, gradually increases until it shakes the very air. Trained well by our mother, we children each grab our bag and run up the hill to a bomb shelter. As we hurry through the pitch-dark night, green and white flares drop from the sky to mark the targets for the bombers. Strangely enough, everyone calls these flares Christmas trees.
I am four years old, and I am a witness to a world at war.
Not far from where my family lived was the city of Dresden. Those who lived there witnessed perhaps a thousand times what I had seen. Massive firestorms, caused by thousands of tons of explosives, swept through Dresden, destroying more than 90 percent of the city and leaving little but rubble and ash in their wake.
UniversalImagesGroup/Universal Images Group/Getty Images
In a very short time, the city once nicknamed the “Jewel Box” was no more. Erich Kästner, a German author, wrote of the destruction, “In a thousand years was her beauty built, in one night was it utterly destroyed.”1 During my childhood I could not imagine how the destruction of a war our own people had started could ever be overcome. The world around us appeared totally hopeless and without any future.
Last year I had the opportunity to return to Dresden. Seventy years after the war, it is, once again, a “Jewel Box” of a city. The ruins have been cleared, and the city is restored and even improved.
Bettmann/Bettmann/Getty Images
During my visit I saw the beautiful Lutheran church Frauenkirche, the Church of Our Lady. Originally built in the 1700s, it had been one of Dresden’s shining jewels, but the war reduced it to a pile of rubble. For many years it remained that way, until finally it was determined that the Frauenkirche would be rebuilt.

Stones from the destroyed church had been stored and cataloged and, when possible, were used in the reconstruction. Today you can see these fire-blackened stones pockmarking the outer walls. These “scars” are not only a reminder of the war history of this building but also a monument to hope—a magnificent symbol of man’s ability to create new life from ashes.

As I pondered the history of Dresden and marveled at the ingenuity and resolve of those who restored what had been so completely destroyed, I felt the sweet influence of the Holy Spirit. Surely, I thought, if man can take the ruins, rubble, and remains of a broken city and rebuild an awe-inspiring structure that rises toward the heavens, how much more capable is our Almighty Father to restore His children who have fallen, struggled, or become lost?
It matters not how completely ruined our lives may seem. It matters not how scarlet our sins, how deep our bitterness, how lonely, abandoned, or broken our hearts may be. Even those who are without hope, who live in despair, who have betrayed trust, surrendered their integrity, or turned away from God can be rebuilt. Save those rare sons of perdition, there is no life so shattered that it cannot be restored.
The joyous news of the gospel is this: because of the eternal plan of happiness provided by our loving Heavenly Father and through the infinite sacrifice of Jesus the Christ, we can not only be redeemed from our fallen state and restored to purity, but we can also transcend mortal imagination and become heirs of eternal life and partakers of God’s indescribable glory.
During the Savior’s ministry, the religious leaders of His day disapproved of Jesus spending time with people they had labeled “sinners.”
Perhaps to them it looked like He was tolerating or even condoning sinful behavior. Perhaps they believed that the best way to help sinners repent was by condemning, ridiculing, and shaming them.
When the Savior perceived what the Pharisees and scribes were thinking, He told a story:
“What man of you, having an hundred sheep, if he lose one of them, doth not leave the ninety and nine in the wilderness, and go after that which is lost, until he find it?
“And when he hath found it, he layeth it on his shoulders, rejoicing.”2
Over the centuries, this parable has traditionally been interpreted as a call to action for us to bring back the lost sheep and to reach out to those who are lost. While this is certainly appropriate and good, I wonder if there is more to it.
Is it possible that Jesus’s purpose, first and foremost, was to teach about the work of the Good Shepherd?
Is it possible that He was testifying of God’s love for His wayward children?
Is it possible that the Savior’s message was that God is fully aware of those who are lost—and that He will find them, that He will reach out to them, and that He will rescue them?
If that is so, what must the sheep do to qualify for this divine help?
Does the sheep need to know how to use a complicated sextant to calculate its coordinates? Does it need to be able to use a GPS to define its position? Does it have to have the expertise to create an app that will call for help? Does the sheep need endorsements by a sponsor before the Good Shepherd will come to the rescue?
No. Certainly not! The sheep is worthy of divine rescue simply because it is loved by the Good Shepherd.
To me, the parable of the lost sheep is one of the most hopeful passages in all of scripture.
Our Savior, the Good Shepherd, knows and loves us. He knows and loves you.
He knows when you are lost, and He knows where you are. He knows your grief. Your silent pleadings. Your fears. Your tears.
It matters not how you became lost—whether because of your own poor choices or because of circumstances beyond your control.
What matters is that you are His child. And He loves you. He loves His children.
Because He loves you, He will find you. He will place you upon His shoulders, rejoicing. And when He brings you home, He will say to one and all, “Rejoice with me; for I have found my sheep which was lost.”3
But, you might be thinking, what is the catch? Surely I have to do more than simply wait to be rescued.
While our loving Father desires that all of His children return to Him, He will force no one to heaven.4 God will not rescue us against our will.
So what must we do?
His invitation is simple:
“Turn … to me.”5
“Come unto me.”6
“Draw near unto me and I will draw near unto you.”7
This is how we show Him that we want to be rescued.
It requires a little faith. But do not despair. If you cannot muster faith right now, begin with hope.
If you cannot say you know God is there, you can hope that He is. You can desire to believe.8 That is enough to start.
Then, acting on that hope, reach out to Heavenly Father. God will extend His love toward you, and His work of rescue and transformation will begin.
Over time, you will recognize His hand in your life. You will feel His love. And the desire to walk in His light and follow His way will grow with every step of faith you take.
We call these steps of faith “obedience.”
That is not a popular word these days. But obedience is a cherished concept in the gospel of Jesus Christ because we know that “through the Atonement of Christ, all mankind may be saved, by obedience to the laws and ordinances of the Gospel.”9
As we increase in faith, we also must increase in faithfulness. Earlier I quoted a German author who lamented the destruction of Dresden. He also penned the phrase “Es gibt nichts Gutes, ausser: Man tut es.” For those who do not speak the celestial language, this is translated as “There is nothing good unless you do it.”10
You and I may speak most eloquently of spiritual things. We may impress people with our keen intellectual interpretation of religious topics. We may rhapsodize about religion and “dream of [our] mansion above.”11 But if our faith does not change the way we live—if our beliefs do not influence our daily decisions—our religion is vain, and our faith, if not dead, is certainly not well and is in danger of eventually flatlining.12
Obedience is the lifeblood of faith. It is by obedience that we gather light into our souls.
But sometimes I think we misunderstand obedience. We may see obedience as an end in itself, rather than a means to an end. Or we may pound the metaphorical hammer of obedience against the iron anvil of the commandments in an effort to shape those we love, through constant heating and repeated battering, into holier, heavenly matter.
No doubt about it, there are times when we need a stern call to repentance. Certainly, there are some who may be reached only in this manner.
But perhaps there is a different metaphor that can explain why we obey the commandments of God. Maybe obedience is not so much the process of bending, twisting, and pounding our souls into something we are not. Instead, it is the process by which we discover what we truly are made of.
We are created by the Almighty God. He is our Heavenly Father. We are literally His spirit children. We are made of supernal material most precious and highly refined, and thus we carry within ourselves the substance of divinity.
Here on earth, however, our thoughts and actions become encumbered with that which is corrupt, unholy, and impure. The dust and filth of the world stain our souls, making it difficult to recognize and remember our birthright and purpose.
But all this cannot change who we truly are. The fundamental divinity of our nature remains. And the moment we choose to incline our hearts to our beloved Savior and set foot upon the path of discipleship, something miraculous happens. The love of God fills our hearts, the light of truth fills our minds, we start to lose the desire to sin, and we do not want to walk any longer in darkness.13
We come to see obedience not as a punishment but as a liberating path to our divine destiny. And gradually, the corruption, dust, and limitations of this earth begin to fall away. Eventually, the priceless, eternal spirit of the heavenly being within us is revealed, and a radiance of goodness becomes our nature.
My dear brothers and sisters, my dear friends, I testify that God sees us as we truly are—and He sees us worthy of rescue.
You may feel that your life is in ruins. You may have sinned. You may be afraid, angry, grieving, or tortured by doubt. But just as the Good Shepherd finds His lost sheep, if you will only lift up your heart to the Savior of the world, He will find you.
He will rescue you.
He will lift you up and place you on His shoulders.
He will carry you home.
If mortal hands can transform rubble and ruins into a beautiful house of worship, then we can have confidence and trust that our loving Heavenly Father can and will rebuild us. His plan is to build us into something far greater than what we were—far greater than what we can ever imagine. With each step of faith on the path of discipleship, we grow into the beings of eternal glory and infinite joy we were designed to become.
This is my testimony, my blessing, and my humble prayer in the sacred name of our Master, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

I began investigating the Church as a teenager, but I stopped attending the Sunday meetings because I felt excluded by many of the youth. Some time later, one of those youth invited me to a Church activity. I accepted and liked the activities because they were things I enjoy doing: acting, playing basketball, and running.
As I continued to attend activities, I got to know the youth and realized that many of them went to my school. With time I was able to develop friendships with young men and young women who had the same standards that I live by. I am grateful that someone invited me to a Church activity, and I am grateful that I accepted.

I served for many years in the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles with Elder LeGrand Richards. He died at the age of 96. He told us that as a boy of 12 he attended a great general conference in the Tabernacle. There he heard President Wilford Woodruff.
President Woodruff told of an experience of being prompted by the Spirit. He was sent by the First Presidency to “gather all the Saints of God in New England and Canada and bring them to Zion.”7
He stopped at the home of one of the brethren in Indiana and put his carriage in the yard, where he and his wife and one child went to bed while the rest of the family slept in the house. Shortly after he had retired for the night, the Spirit whispered, warning him, “Get up, and move your carriage.” He got up and moved the carriage a distance from where it had stood. As he was returning to bed, the Spirit spoke to him again: “Go and move your mules away from that oak tree.” He did this and then retired once again to bed.
Not more than 30 minutes later, a whirlwind caught the tree to which his mules had been tied and broke it off at the ground. It was carried 100 yards (90 m) through two fences. The enormous tree, which had a trunk five feet (1.5 m) in circumference, fell exactly upon the spot where his carriage had been parked. By listening to the promptings of the Spirit, Elder Woodruff had saved his life and the lives of his wife and child.8

“Seven years after his death, I received a text from my son—or so it appeared.
“My teenage grandson (his son) had just celebrated a birthday and was given his dad’s old phone as a present.
“And I still hadn’t updated the contact information.
“Curious to see what my son and I said to each other in the last days of his life, I began to scroll through past texts.
“I saw many short messages about errands and family events. My heart sank the longer it took to find a text that simply said, ‘I love you.’
“I knew that he knew I loved him, but I wondered if I had missed the chance to say it one last time.
“Since then, I’ve tried to end every text with ‘Thank you’ or ‘I love you so much.’
“I want YOU to stop right now and check YOUR texts.
“Sometimes we get so busy telling each other the urgent things that we forget to say the most important thing: I love you.
“I invite you to text or tell the people you love and live with just how much you care about them.
“Let’s not wait another second to let them know how much they mean to us.
“Text them. Tell them.
“I promise you won’t regret it!
“‘Beloved, let us love one another: for love is of God’ (1 John 4:7).”
Sister Tamara W. Runia, Facebook, July 23, 2024, facebook.com/youngwomenworldwide.

My grandparents gave each of their grandchildren $1 and asked us to find a way to serve someone else with it for Christmas. My mom told us that a member of our ward collected gift cards to give to needy families for Christmas. I thought that would be a great idea, but I knew that $1 wouldn’t go very far. I decided to do some extra jobs to earn money for a gift card. I cleaned windows, dusted, emptied garbage, fed dogs, pulled weeds, and vacuumed for some ward members and neighbors. I was able to buy a gift card for a family to use at a grocery store. I knew that I had made a good choice. I know that it’s important to serve and give, especially at Christmastime.

May I relate to you my first journey along a personal Jericho Road. In about my tenth year, as Christmas approached, I yearned for an electric train. My desire was not to receive the economical and everywhere-to-be-found windup model train, but rather one that operated through the miracle of electricity.
The times were those of economic depression, yet Mother and Dad, through some sacrifice, presented to me on Christmas morning a beautiful electric train. For hours I operated the transformer, watching the engine first pull its cars forward, then push them backward around the track.
Mother entered the living room and said to me that she had purchased a windup train for Widow Hansen’s boy, Mark, who lived down the lane. I asked if I could see the train. The engine was short and blocky—not long and sleek like the expensive model I had received.
However, I did take notice of an oil tanker car which was part of his inexpensive set. My train had no such car, and pangs of envy began to be felt. I put up such a fuss that Mother succumbed to my pleadings and handed me the oil tanker car. She said, “If you need it more than Mark, you take it.” I put it with my train set and felt pleased with the result.
Mother and I took the remaining cars and the engine down to Mark Hansen. The young boy was a year or two older than I. He had never anticipated such a gift and was thrilled beyond words. He wound the key in his engine, it not being electric like mine, and was overjoyed as the engine and two cars, plus a caboose, went around the track.
Mother wisely asked, “What do you think of Mark’s train, Tommy?”
I felt a keen sense of guilt and became very much aware of my selfishness. I said to Mother, “Wait just a moment—I’ll be right back.”
As swiftly as my legs could carry me, I ran to our home, picked up the oil tanker car plus an additional car of my own, ran back down the lane to the Hansen home, and said joyfully to Mark, “We forgot to bring two cars that belong to your train.”
Mark coupled the two extra cars to his set. I watched the engine make its labored way around the track and felt a supreme joy difficult to describe and impossible to forget.
Mother and I left the Hansen home and slowly walked up the street. She took me by the hand, and together we returned homeward by way of our private Jericho Road.

As my children were growing up, I saved their school papers and projects, letters, awards, and other items, thinking that someday they would want these memories for some future purpose. As I was going through the collection I had saved for my oldest son, I came upon a note that had been written by a 14-year-old boy to him when he was serving his mission. I will call the young man John. My son had kept the note with others he had received while in the mission field. I began to read it and found that the contents included some news of the day that John felt would be of great interest to my son, including sports scores and such.

At the conclusion of the short letter, John stated how excited he was to serve his mission in five years. Many years had passed since that message was written, mailed, and received. When I finished reading it, I had a sad feeling, because I knew what John had chosen to do with his life in the ensuing years since he had written the note. John had attended his church meetings in his youth. However, during his teenage years he used his agency to make choices that led him on paths that took him in different directions than he had once intended. He never went on that mission that he had once been so excited to experience, and serious problems have plagued his life. He is now an adult and not active in the Church, but he is close to his family. His parents find comfort in the principle of repentance and pray that someday John may seek such in his life.

I once heard a stake president, in speaking to a group of young adults such as you, state that whenever he interviewed young men or young women who were having some serious problems in their lives, he most often came to the same sad conclusion: they had forgotten the covenants they made at baptism. Had they not done so, they most likely could have avoided their present situations. John forgot the promises he made when he was eight years old. When John was baptized, he made a covenant with his Heavenly Father—as we all did when we were baptized. We promised “to stand as witnesses of God at all times and in all things, and in all places that [we] may be in” (Mosiah 18:9). It is the Lord’s desire that each of us be a witness for and possess a sure and personal testimony of Him.

The Persian marketplace looked like a giant circus of brightly colored tents. It sounded like one too.
Jonas Hanway had come to Persia to buy wool to take back to England in his ships. But before he could begin trading with the wool merchants, a royal parade stopped everything.
“Make way for the Prince of Persia!” a courtier announced.
As the prince passed, the people bowed low as was their custom, but Jonas did not. He wanted to see everything that was happening. Four strong men were carrying the prince in a velvet-draped sedan chair. They held him on their shoulders high above the heads of the people. Over the prince’s head another servant held a strange shade to keep the sun away.
“What a wonderful idea!” exclaimed Jonas. He soon learned that the prince’s shade was called an umbrella.
How helpful it would be if everyone in Persia had an umbrella of his own, Jonas thought.
Soon Jonas had a number of umbrellas made to shield the sun’s rays from the heads of common persons. But when the prince heard about it, he ordered Jonas to come to the palace.
“You must stop making umbrellas,” commanded the prince. “I forbid it. Only princes and kings may carry an umbrella in Persia. It is a sign of royalty.”
The prince shook his finger angrily at Jonas and shouted even louder, “This is the way it has always been in Persia and this is the way it will stay. Take your umbrellas and go home!”
Jonas returned to his home in England, stored the umbrellas in his attic, and became so busy that he forgot about the prince.
Then one day as Jonas was leaving his home it began to rain. In minutes all the covered chairs and horse-drawn coaches were taken. Jonas was left wet and cold on his doorstep.
In those days riding in a covered chair called a sedan was an easy way to travel. Two or four men carried the chair between them on two long poles. When it rained everyone jumped in a sedan chair to keep dry.
All the people riding in chairs reminded Jonas of the Prince of Persia.
If an umbrella can keep the sun off the prince of Persia, maybe it will keep the rain off me! he thought.
Jonas ran to his attic and found an umbrella. Holding it over his head, he walked down the street.
“Look at that crazy man!” cried the children as he passed. Few Englishmen had ever seen an umbrella before.
Jonas carried his umbrella every time it rained. He gave umbrellas to his friends to carry too.
The chair men became angry. They tried to run over Jonas and some threw rocks at him.
But the people liked Jonas Hanway’s strange new idea. It was not long before many people in England were carrying umbrellas. And as the new idea spread to other parts of the world, the umbrella became known everywhere as man’s best friend—when it rains!

Sometimes I get upset about my disabilities, but I try not to show this. Usually I’m a happy person, and I just don’t show my frustrations to others.
When I was a teenager, however, there was a time when I was depressed.
I didn’t want to go to church. I asked God, “Why am I this way? Why can’t you make me better? Why don’t I have good relationships with others?” These questions discouraged me and made me feel really sad, and I didn’t know how I could change my situation, so I thought that maybe ending my life was the answer.
But then I thought about my mother and how she would react. I thought that she would probably feel really sorry and feel that she did something wrong or did not do enough to help me. That’s when I decided that I was going to live and keep going.
In the end, I feel that I’m a pretty happy person.