Gospel Story Finder

Karl was born in 1907. He lived with his parents and a brother in a small town near Berlin, Germany. As a teenager Karl became interested in languages and wanted to study English and French. At fifteen years old he went to work as an apprentice in a factory that made eyeglasses. When he was seventeen he met two Mormon missionaries. His interest in the English language led him to take the English classes offered by the missionaries. In exchange for them teaching him English, Karl had to listen to the missionaries preach the gospel.

Karl and his mother joined the Church on July 30, 1924. His father joined in August of that year, but his brother never joined the Church. In 1928 Karl received a mission call to the German-Austrian Mission. While serving in Basel, Switzerland, he met a young woman, Alma, and after his mission he returned to that area to work. They fell in love, but jobs were scarce, so Karl returned to his hometown to start a farm with his father. Alma followed, and in December 1930 they were married. In 1940 Karl was drafted into the German army, leaving behind his wife and young daughter.

Back in Europe Karl’s faith and prayers helped him endure hardships during the war. His constant prayer was that he would not kill anyone or be killed but be permitted to return to his family. He described his ordeal as experiencing all the plagues. He told of having so many lice in his uniform that when he had the chance to be near a fire, he put his coat in it to kill the pests. One of his colleagues tried that same method, but it did not go as well for him. Instead of killing the lice, the heat acted as an incubator, and the lice multiplied to an unbearable level.

In May 1945 Karl learned that the war was over, but while he was trying to reach his home, he was captured by Russian soldiers. They sent him to a prison camp in Siberia. Lack of food, demanding work, illness, and harsh treatment by the guards took their toll on Karl’s health. After eight weeks he was so sick that his heart started to fail. He was sent to see the camp doctor, who used a dirty needle to give him a shot. Within a short time Karl had a serious infection.

During his captivity he pled with the Lord to keep him alive and strong enough to return to his family. Karl promised the Lord he would serve him for the rest of his life to the best of his ability.

In October 1945 a rumor went around the camp that most of the sick inmates in the prison camp would be sent back to their countries. In November the medical staff made a list of all the men who were to be sent home immediately. Karl’s name was not on that list. He called on the Lord, asking for His help. He was desperate to go home because he knew he would not live much longer in the prison camp. He asked the doctor to look through the list again. It still was not there. The doctor started looking through the lists for other countries and finally found Karl’s name on the Hungarian list. The doctor corrected the error, and Karl was put on a train for home.

The trip took two weeks. There were train cars full of prisoners returning to their homes. The prisoners were not given much food, so the strongest men would hunt for food when the train stopped. If the guards caught them, they were shot. Besides the limited food supply, it was cold. Every morning the guards would come to each train car and ask if there were any dead. Every morning there would be ten to twelve men who had died during the night.

Eventually Karl returned home, ill and emaciated. His wife and his mother nursed him back to health. Karl survived the war but faced additional struggles as a Church member in East Germany. Through guidance by the Spirit and protection from the Lord, he and his family escaped East Germany and eventually were led to Utah. Karl kept his promise to the Lord. He dedicated his life to the gospel and professionally spent many years working in various employment opportunities in the Church.

Recently, I read a fictional story about two brothers who lived on adjoining farms and fell into conflict. After having shared machinery, goods, and land for decades, their collaboration fell apart. It started with a small misunderstanding which grew into major differences, anger, and weeks of silence.
One morning, a carpenter who was looking for a few days of work knocked on the older brother’s door. “Is there anything I could help you with?” asked the carpenter with his toolbox under his arm.
The older brother said, “Yes! Look across the creek at that farm. That belongs to my younger brother. Last week he dug a wider passage for water and ended up creating a very wide creek between our farms. Please build me something so we don’t have to look at each other’s face from across the creek.”
The carpenter said “I think I understand the situation. I can help you.” With that, the carpenter went to work and spent all day measuring, sawing, and nailing.
At sunset, the elder brother returned to the creek as the carpenter had just finished his task. The brother never could have imagined what he saw. It was a bridge stretching from one side of the creek to the other! It looked beautiful! To his surprise, his younger brother crossed the bridge to meet him with a big smile and his arms wide open to hug him.
“You are really humble and kind, my brother. After all I have done and said to you, you still show that our relationship can never be broken! I am very sorry for my behavior,” the younger brother said as he hugged him.
They turned to see the carpenter hoist his toolbox onto his shoulder. “No, wait! Stay a few days. I have lots of other projects for you,” said the older brother.
“I’d love to stay,” the carpenter said, “but I have many other bridges to build!”

Paula says, “The standards I always saw my friend live were now mine. My friend’s testimony was now mine.” Not long after, Paula began to feel an intense desire to share with others what she had been given. When she had been a member for one year, she filled out her mission papers, met with her priesthood leaders, and received a call to serve in the Chile Santiago East Mission.
Valeria says, “As I watched my friend prepare to serve her mission, the Spirit touched my heart. I wanted to commit myself to serve God the way she was.”
“May I speak to you?” This time it was Valeria who had pulled Paula aside. “I’ve felt something special as you have been preparing to leave on your mission.”
Paula told her friend the same thing her friend had once told her: “It’s the Spirit telling you what you need to do.”
Valeria’s plans hadn’t included a full-time mission. She wasn’t quite sure how to proceed. “I can’t do it alone,” she told Paula.
“Don’t worry. I’ll help you,” her friend assured.
Later, when Valeria opened her call, she was surprised to be going to the same mission as her friend. Paula began serving in October 2002; Valeria joined her in February 2003.
During their missions they saw each other quite often at conferences and activities. They enjoyed catching up and sharing news from their separate areas. They never dreamed that in November 2003 they would be assigned as companions. Their friendship bloomed into a relationship that will last forever. They have gone from being friends to sisters in the gospel to missionary companions.
Sister Valeria Pontelli says, “At first I was afraid that working together might damage our friendship, but that fear faded the first day. This chance to work together has only strengthened our relationship, and our friendship has helped us in the work.”
Others agree. One woman, who used to be less active but has come back to church because of the efforts of these two missionaries, says, “You can’t help but love them because you can see the love they feel for each other and for everyone around them. They are my angels.”
It was hard for these two companions to say good-bye in March 2004, when Sister Paula Alvarez’s mission came to an end. She was nervous about returning to Argentina and all that the future might bring. These two sisters talked about her concerns as they walked to their appointments together. “I can’t do it alone,” said Sister Alvarez.
“Don’t worry,” came the familiar words from her companion, Sister Pontelli. “I’ll help you.”

I have experienced this for myself. As Brother Roberts said, I attribute much of my testimony to my experiences with the words of Christ here at BYU Hawaii. It was here, while a student at BYU Hawaii, that I received my witness that Jesus is the Christ, that the Book of Mormon is the word of God, that our Father in Heaven call prophets to lead this Church today. For me, this campus is truly hallowed ground. If I may, I would like to share with you a little of the story behind how I gained my personal spiritual witness through the process of feasting upon the words of Christ.

I was raised in the Church with weekly Family Home Evenings, daily family prayer, and so on. Like most young members of the Church, my testimony of the Gospel was initially completely dependent on the testimony of my parents and my leaders. I guess I can say that deep down inside, I knew that what they believed in was true because everything they believed in taught me to do good. Nonetheless, I did not have a firm personal testimony of the Gospel. My testimony was that of others, not of my own.

Following my graduation from high school, I began to attend BYU Hawaii. As I entered my second or third semester at BYU Hawaii, the reality that I was quickly approaching 19 years of age began to weigh heavily on my mind. I knew that worthy male priesthood holders normally begin their two-year mission service at that age. I had a decision to make, and I knew that I needed to know for myself that this Gospel was true in order to dedicate two-years of my life to the cause. Well, it just so happened that at that time, I was taking a course on the New Testament. My professor was a wonderful teacher by the name of Dr. Thornock. He used great skill in opening our understanding of the words of Paul and the other Apostles and leaders whose words grace the pages of the New Testament. I had done my part and had been studying the assigned scripture readings for the class. When we reached the book of James, Dr. Thornock emphasized the scripture James 1:5. He reminded us that this was the scripture that left a powerful impression on the Prophet Joseph Smith. This was the scripture that inspired the Prophet to seek an answer from God pertaining to which Church was true. It left an impact on me also. That same night when I was preparing to go to bed, I got an idea. I thought something along the line of "well, I have been studying the scriptures I have been assigned to read. . . . Maybe if I ask if these are true or not I will receive an answer too." So, as I knelt beside my bed and began my evening prayers I asked my Heavenly Father if what I had been studying was His truth. I did not know what to expect. To be honest with you, my expectations were rather low. It was not that I did not have faith in the Lord's ability to answer prayers, but rather that I questioned whether I had really done enough to qualify for an answer. However, upon asking the Lord that question, I began to feel something. As I knelt at the side of my bed the feeling began to envelope my entire. The feeling was so strong that I knew immediately it was not a creation of my mind. This feeling, this force, this impression, it was from God! I do not have the words to describe it. You may have experienced something similar and understand. The best description I can put in words is to say that it was a feeling of overwhelming power, a feeling of love, and it seemed to touch every part of my being. It was also an uplifting and edifying feeling. It made me want to shout for joy. Incredibly, it was familiar feeling. Somehow, I knew it was not the first time I had felt it. However, I could not remember ever experiencing such an impression so powerful in my entire life. But, it was so familiar. I can only ascertain that it was something I had experienced often in the preexistence. I knew it was from God, and I knew it was an answer to my prayer. I had received a powerful witness of the truthfulness of the New Testament. The Holy Ghost had spoken to my soul. I knew for the first time in this life with a surety that God lives! I knew that Jesus was the Christ because God had answered me through His Spirit. He had confirmed that the New Testament was His Word, and that book testifies over and over that Jesus is the Christ.

Such was Walter Stover of Salt Lake City. Born in Germany, Walter embraced the gospel message and came to America. He established his own business. He gave freely of his time and of his means.
Following World War II Walter Stover was called to return to his native land. He directed the Church in that nation and blessed the lives of all whom he met and with whom he served. With his own funds he constructed two chapels in Berlin—a beautiful city that had been so devastated by the conflict. He planned a gathering in Dresden for all the members of the Church from that nation and then chartered a train to bring them from all around the land so they could meet, partake of the sacrament, and bear witness of the goodness of God to them.
At the funeral services for Walter Stover, his son-in-law Thomas C. LeDuc said of him, “He had the ability to see Christ in every face he encountered, and he acted accordingly.”

Then take your children to tithing settlement with you, just as President Howard W. Hunter’s grandson was taken with his father several years ago. In that experience the bishop indicated his pleasure in young Brother Hunter’s wanting to pay a full tithing. In the process of receiving the coins, he asked the lad if he thought the gospel were true. As the boy handed over his full tithing of 14 cents, this seven-year-old said he guessed the gospel was true but “it sure costs a lot of money.” Well, the buildings, programs, and materials I have mentioned do have an attached cost. That is not an unimportant lesson for our children to learn in their youth.

I don’t like to admit this, but there were many times I found myself in a situation where I was stuck. It happened while driving tractors, trucks, motorbikes, and even while I was walking. When I found myself in this situation, I would call out to my father and say, “Dad, I’m stuck.” No matter what he may have been doing at that time, he would come and help me get unstuck. I knew I could always ask for and get help from my father when I needed it. The same is true for our Father in Heaven. We can always turn to Him to help us build and maintain our burning testimonies.

My dad is taking me to the movies on Sunday. Want to come?
Sorry, Laura. We can’t. We go to church on Sundays.
Oh. OK.
But thanks for asking us!
Can’t you come after church?
Well, Sunday is a holy day for us. We use it to remember Jesus Christ.
But do you want to come to a Church activity with us next week?
We’re going to do crafts! It’ll be fun.
OK! I’ll ask my dad.
At the activity …
I’m glad you could come.
Me too! Thanks for asking me.

Two elders in the Moses Lake area used an “ash approach” while spending the entire week helping nonmembers sweep ash from their homes. “We looked at the cleanup we did as missionary work,” said Elder Greg Bluth who with Elder Michael Ostler helped clean the ash from twelve homes. “People found out we were missionaries when they asked how much we charged, and we told them nothing. We talked about the gospel as much as possible.”

Acknowledging that their family has gone through some difficult times, Elder Gose and Sister Arouma Mata’utia recently shared why they are serving a second senior mission with The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
“We love the Lord, we want to obey our covenants of consecration, and we want our children and grandchildren to be blessed,” Arouma said.
When applying to serve as senior missionaries in Apia, Samoa, Arouma answered one of the questions, explaining, “I can walk about 15 minutes, and my husband can walk about 30 minutes before having to stop and rest, but we don’t need a wheelchair.”
Gose corrected her by stating, “I can walk an hour. Whatever the mission requires us to walk, we’ll walk. It doesn’t matter how far.”
Spend a little time with the Mata’utias and you will quickly learn that this is how they approach life. One step, one day at a time.
Gose and Arouma Mata’utia grew up in Samoa, married, and then raised their seven children, and three other children they call their own, in Australia. They also have 10 grandchildren. They say with big smiles, “Our children complete our joy.”
In 1993, they were involved in a severe car accident with six of their children. It took many months to recover from serious injuries, including brain injury, broken bones, and the loss of one of their children’s arms. They could not understand how something so terrible could happen to them, but they came to realise that they were “very blessed to survive.”
While still recovering, Gose accepted the request by Church leaders to be president of a Samoan branch in Canberra, Australia. He did that from his hospital bed for about a month, and then continued to serve as the branch president for 10 years.
After that life-changing accident, they both believed their lives were spared, and it strengthened their commitment to live the gospel. Arouma said, “We felt the need to give back to the Lord.”
They encountered more challenges when Gose suffered a stroke in 2015. After an extensive time recovering from that, their oldest daughter became sick and died three years later at the age of 38. At the time of her death, Arouma recalls, “Words came to me that Heavenly Father was telling me, ‘She is my daughter, too.’” They were comforted.
When contemplating whether to serve a senior mission, they describe their love of a scripture, Matthew 19:29, “And every one that hath forsaken houses, or brethren, or sisters, or father, or mother, or wife, or children, or lands, for my name’s sake, shall receive an hundredfold, and shall inherit everlasting life.”
Gose and Arouma decided to serve a senior mission for the Church of Jesus Christ after President Russell M. Nelson visited Australia and spoke about missionary service. They were called to serve in 2020 as welfare and self-reliance missionaries in the Australia Sydney Mission.
Although COVID affected the world during that time, they were able to continue their mission in Sydney. They learned to teach via video calls and taught English Connect as a pilot program.
Another daughter died from cancer in 2023, also at the age of 38. The Mata’utias remember her as especially faithful. Arouma said, “She desired and continually encouraged us to serve a second mission.”
They expressed gratitude to be returning to their homeland of Samoa to serve their second senior mission. Gose said, “We will leave it to the Lord, and He will bless us and our family.”

Since I lived in a small Arizona town with a predominantly Latter-day Saint population, missionaries and Church members often approached me about the Church. They frequently invited my children and me to attend church, read the scriptures, or both. I had no interest in accepting their invitations but politely thanked them for their interest in my family.
As I got to know the woman I would later marry, she told me she was a Latter-day Saint. I admired her spirituality and agreed to attend church with her after we married. True to my word, I started attending regularly and even enjoyed the atmosphere and camaraderie. But even though I studied the scriptures, attended church, and prayed alone and with my family, I still doubted God’s existence. No matter how hard I tried, I felt as though I couldn’t shake my agnostic roots. Because I felt no closer to God than when I had started, I declined all invitations to be baptized.
After I had attended church for six years, my father, who had been in the U.S. Army, passed away suddenly. My family and I wanted to have taps played at the grave site, and since I am a professional musician, I was asked to perform the song. I had performed at hundreds of grave site ceremonies, but because this was my father’s service, I knew it would be different for me. I also knew from my mother’s funeral that my heightened sense of emotion would affect my ability to play. I was determined not to let my emotions interfere with the music as they had during her service.
Minutes before the ceremony started, I nervously tried to warm up. Just a few practice notes had escaped my lips when I realized I was repeating my previous failure. Tears formed and I started to cry. My sobs impeded my breathing. How would I be able to perform?
I wasn’t concerned with accolades for myself, but I did want to honor my father. As I started to play, I found I couldn’t take a complete breath. It was uncharacteristic of me to ask for help, but at this point, I didn’t know what else to do. The first note that came out was weak. Inwardly I pleaded with my Heavenly Father: “Please.” As I played the second note, my lungs filled with air, and the sound rang out of my horn with a startling, beautiful tone. Throughout the rest of the piece, I played well beyond my ability. When I finished the last note, I was suddenly out of breath and choking for air through my tears.
As a musician, I am aware of my strengths and weaknesses. Simply put, I couldn’t have played that well even under the best of circumstances. It was obvious to me that Heavenly Father had answered my plea and blessed me with the strength and ability to honor my earthly father. I was given a special witness that Heavenly Father answers us in a manner that we can understand. His answer in my time of need helped me realize that He had always been eager to communicate with me.
After several months I cleared my agnostic hurdle and joined the Church. Although it was a leap of faith to be baptized, I knew that Heavenly Father would bless me. My experience while playing taps taught me that He will answer my prayers according to my needs and understanding.

I loved Christmas because we got to be together as a family. For example, we always went caroling on Christmas Eve. The year I remember best was the year my siblings scattered after we had sung at just a few houses. They had plans and other things they had to do, leaving just my parents, my brother Jeff, and me to finish the caroling. I was upset that we wouldn’t all be together as we had been in years past.
Still, caroling was fun, even with our smaller group. We were heading home when Jeff begged Dad to stop at the home of an older sister who used to be in our ward. But when we saw her dark house, Dad said, “Looks like no one is home.”
“I see a light on downstairs,” said Jeff as he jumped out of the car. Jeff rang the doorbell, pounded on the door, and then started rapping on the downstairs windows. My dad, certain that the neighbors would be suspicious, told Jeff to give up. Just then, the door opened, and there stood Jeff’s friend. Jeff ran up with a plate of goodies and gave her a hug.
The rest of us got out of the car. We hadn’t decided the songs to sing, so we asked her about her holiday plans. She said she was alone, but her youngest daughter was coming the next day. A smile spread across her face and she said, “Will you sing for me?”
“Sure,” we responded. Then my dad’s voice led out with “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen.” As we sang, I thought about the words, how Christ had saved us, and the comfort and joy of that thought.
“Thank you,” she said with tears in her eyes. “This is the best Christmas present I’ve received yet.” As we walked to the car, we could all feel the warmth of the Spirit. Jeff mentioned that this woman had been struggling lately, and he thanked my dad for picking out that song.
“It just came into my mind that it was the right song to sing,” said Dad. “Even though it’s not one we usually do.”
It was a testimony to me that the Lord knows each one of us and our problems, that we are not forgotten. By acting on the Spirit’s promptings, not only were we able to share the love the Savior has for her, but I was filled with his gift of love for me.

When I first met Josh, I fell for him—hard. In addition to his blue eyes and charm, he was different from any boy I had ever known. He was also the first boy to tell me I was funny and beautiful, the first boy to make me feel really important, and the first boy I loved.
Because Josh was not a Latter-day Saint and because we were both so young, my parents worried about us. My father was the bishop at the time, and every nightly conversation I had with him felt like a bishop’s interview. “You’re too young to date someone exclusively!” he would tell me. Josh and I weren’t allowed to see each other much outside of school, so we talked for hours on the phone. I could tell him things I’d never been able to tell anyone, and I shared my testimony with him, hoping he’d feel the Spirit and want to accept the gospel.
Josh had taken some of the missionary discussions before, and we talked about religion often, but I could tell he never really cared. I hoped he would join the Church and marry me. When I was a Beehive I placed my name in the cornerstone of the San Diego California Temple, promising to be sealed there, and I wanted Josh to be the one to help me keep that promise.
The stronger my relationship with Josh grew, the more my relationship with my parents deteriorated. Mom and Dad worried about me falling in love with someone who had closed the door to the Church. “He isn’t any more interested in the Church now than he was three months ago, Katie!” they would argue. I knew they were right, but I loved Josh so much I couldn’t admit it.
The day I received my patriarchal blessing I cried when the patriarch promised me: “Katie, in due time you will have the privilege of going to the house of the Lord, there to kneel at the altar of the holy temple to be sealed to your companion for time and all eternity.” As he revealed to me the joy my husband and I would have serving in the Church together and teaching our children about the Savior—things I wanted more than anything—I realized the man he was describing could not be Josh.
Over the next few days I wrestled with my feelings. I desperately wanted the promises of my patriarchal blessing, but I knew I wasn’t living in a way to receive them. In “due time” everything I ever wanted could be mine. All I had to do was be faithful and keep Heavenly Father’s commandments. It seemed so simple! But I discovered it was not.
Within a few weeks of receiving my blessing, I broke up with Josh. To this day, it is the hardest thing I have ever done. We were together so much that I had distanced myself from most of my friends. As a result, after our breakup I spent many school lunch hours alone and miserable, watching him in the distance and feeling sorry for myself. I didn’t believe I could ever love anyone as much as I loved him.
At night I sobbed to my Heavenly Father, asking Him why I had to endure this. Why couldn’t Josh and I just love each other and be happy? Although my choice hadn’t been easy, I knew it would be worth it.
I began school the next day with a resolve to make new friends. My patriarchal blessing directed me to surround myself with people who held the same standards I did, so I got to know the girls in my ward and stake. Those girls soon became my best friends.
After high school, I attended BYU and made some wonderful LDS friends. Chad was one of them. Chad returned from his mission a few weeks before I met him, and we soon became the best of friends. With him I started talking again, sharing my feelings. But our conversations were different. We could talk about our testimonies and beliefs without having a debate because Chad was a member of the Church with a strong testimony. I felt peace and comfort with Chad.
After a year and a half of friendship we began to date, and we were married two years ago in the San Diego California Temple, fulfilling the Beehive promise I had made so long ago. I cried during our sealing, as I did when I received my patriarchal blessing.
This was the man I could have joy serving in the Church with, the one who would help me teach our children about Jesus Christ. Looking back now, my relationship with Josh seems hollow compared to my relationship with Chad. Love isn’t how it appears in books and in the movies. Real love, the kind that lasts, is much deeper.

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.

People come to make that crucial choice for many reasons. At first one man we taught could not see the need to be baptized. After all, he had tried to be good all his life. He had committed no serious sin. He had been baptized as a child in another church. But then two things came to his mind. One was that the Savior was baptized out of obedience, having never sinned. The other is that he wanted to make the commitment to the Savior through the authority of the true priesthood, just as the Savior went to John to be baptized.
Another young man we taught chose to be baptized out of a heart broken by the sorrow he felt for his sins. As he came up out of the waters of baptism, he threw his arms around my neck, tears streaming down his cheeks, and said in my ear, “I’m clean. I’m clean.”
Their choices to make the covenant of baptism sprang from a common faith. They knew that if they would keep a covenant to obey the Savior’s commandments, He would keep His covenant with them to lead them toward eternal life. They were ready to come unto Him that they might be changed and led by Him and, in time, become like Him.

I don’t think I had ever even seen a homeless person until I moved to Puerto Rico with my family before my junior year of high school. Then the day after Christmas, the youth and leaders of my ward gathered at the church building to put together boxes of food to distribute to the homeless people who live on the streets of Old San Juan.
I had been to Old San Juan several times, but there weren’t any homeless people out during the day, or else I just hadn’t noticed them. When we arrived in the city, each of us set out with one box and the hope we would find someone who needed what we had to offer.
To my surprise, it wasn’t difficult. The first man we saw was selling little bags of tostones that his wife had made. When we asked him if he could use the food we had, he smiled and took it, thanking us until we were too far away to hear him. Before we left, he handed us a bag of his snacks to show his appreciation.
After giving away four of our boxes, we had only one box left. We got in the car and decided we would keep our eyes out for someone. It was getting late, and we needed to get back to the wardhouse.
As we were driving, one of the girls in the car told the driver to stop. “Do you see that guy over there?” she asked.
“Yeah, but he doesn’t look homeless.”
“I know, but I have seen him three times tonight, and he’s just been walking around.”
With that, she jumped out of the car and yelled, “Necesita comida?” or “Do you need food?”
The sweetest, most sincere smile I have ever seen came to his face as she handed him the box, covered with Christmas wrapping and filled with food.
A tear fell down his cheek as he said, “Feliz Navidad!” We could tell by his “Merry Christmas” greeting that one box filled with crackers, apples, and juice made a difference in his life.

“Roberto,” Mamá called. “Time for dinner!”
Roberto forgot all about the cars he was playing with and ran to the table. Papá and Carlos were already sitting in their places. Roberto could smell his favorite food, a steaming bowl of fideos. He climbed into his seat and reached for the slippery noodles.
“Roberto, did you forget something?” Papá asked.
Roberto slid down and raced to the bathroom. He washed his hands and dried them quickly. Mamá was just sitting down at the table when Roberto got back. He climbed up on the chair beside her and reached for the noodles again.
This time Mamá stopped him. “Roberto, have you forgotten something?” Roberto looked around. Everyone’s arms were folded, and Carlos was bowing his head. Roberto folded his arms and bowed his head too. Papá asked Carlos to pray.
Roberto heard Carlos thank Heavenly Father for the food, but then Roberto began to think about Mamá’s yummy fideos and he didn’t listen to the rest of the prayer. As soon as Carlos said “Amen,” Roberto grabbed the serving spoon. He piled the noodles on his plate until Mamá took the spoon away.
“Eat that much,” she said. “Then if you’re still hungry, you can have more.”
When he finished all the noodles on his plate, Roberto wasn’t hungry at all. He couldn’t eat one more bite, not even when Mamá brought out the flan she had made for dessert. He watched Carlos smile as he spooned the custard into his bowl. Roberto wished everyone would hurry and finish so that he could go back to his cars.
At last Papá leaned back and smiled at Mamá. “That was wonderful,” he said. “Thank you.”
“Yes, thank you, Mamá,” said Carlos.
“May I be excused?” Roberto asked.
Roberto played until bedtime. Carlos helped him make buildings and houses out of blocks. They made tunnels to drive their cars under. They were almost done making a city when Mamá announced, “Bedtime.”
After their prayers, Papá told Roberto and Carlos a story. It was a story from the Bible about when Jesus Christ helped ten men who were lepers. “Do you know what a leper is, Roberto?” Papá asked.
“A big cat!”
Papá laughed. “No, that’s a leopard. Lepers are people who are very sick—so sick that sometimes they have to go away and live by themselves. The Savior made the lepers well again so they could go home and live with their families. But only one of the men remembered to say thank you.”
“Oh,” Roberto said. “Why?”
“I don’t know why they didn’t thank Jesus. What do you think, Carlos?”
Carlos thought for a moment. “I think they were so happy to go home that they forgot all about it.”
Papá nodded. “And what do you think, Roberto?”
Roberto suddenly jumped out of his bed. “Just a minute,” he said. “I remembered something.” He ran downstairs.
Mamá was putting away the dinner dishes. She was surprised to see Roberto. “Aren’t you supposed to be in bed?”
“I have to tell you something first. You made my favorite food for me, but I forgot to say gracias (thank you).”
Mamá smiled. “You’re welcome. I like to do things for you, especially when you remember to say thank you.”
Roberto ran back upstairs to his bedroom. Carlos was listening to Papá finish the story. “Thank you for playing with me today,” Roberto told Carlos. “And thank you, Papá, for telling me stories about Jesus.”
“You’re welcome,” Papá said and turned off the light. “Good night, Roberto. Good night, Carlos.”
But Roberto didn’t go right to sleep. He lay still and thought of the many things he was thankful for. He felt happy, and he wished he could give Heavenly Father a hug. At last he slipped out of bed and said another prayer. This time he really meant it when he thanked Heavenly Father for fideos, and for Mamá, Papá, and Carlos. “And gracias,” he added, “for helping me remember to say gracias.”

My mother began teaching me at a young age this same important lesson, to forget my own problems by thinking of and helping others through theirs. On my first nervous day of kindergarten, my mother held my hand as we walked into the classroom. Across the room, sitting by herself was a little girl who was crying. “Oh Susie,” my mom said to me, “you must go and be her friend.” My mother let go of my hand and suddenly I forgot my own fears as I obediently set out to help someone else.

Students who attend this university are part of that plan to extend love to all the world in the form of service. Can we be the kind of individual in the story told of the World War I soldier who asked his officer if he might go out into the no-man’s-land between the trenches to bring in one of his comrades, who lay wounded.

“You can go,” said the officer, “but it’s not worth it. Your friend is probably dead, and you will throw your own life away trying to see him.”

But the man went anyway. Miraculously he managed to reach his friend, hoist him onto his shoulders, and bring him back to their company’s trench. As the two of them tumbled in together to the bottom of the trench, the officer checked the wounded soldier, then looked kindly at his friend.

“I told you it wouldn’t be worth it,” he said. “Your friend is dead, and you are wounded.”

“It was worth it, sir,” said the rescuer.

“How do you mean, worth it? I tell you, your friend is dead,” said the officer.

“Yes, sir,” the boy answered, “but it was worth it because when I got to him, he said, ‘I knew you’d come.’”

It was impossible to look off to where the horizon met the sky because there was no horizon. Storm clouds hovered so low and thick and were so close to the same color as the snow that the sky and the earth seemed frozen into a single sheet of ice. Even the shadows disappeared because the sun couldn’t break through to form them. The whole world was white—white on white on white—except for the occasional faded-charcoal spot of a fence post or the ghostly outline of a distant tree.
Luckily for the group of snowmobilers, they were with an experienced guide. Not only did he know the trails, he also knew the group wasn’t far from town and that they could afford to wait awhile for the weather to clear. He’d seen whiteout before, and he knew it wasn’t the best condition to travel in because anyone straying from the trail could slam unaware into holes, rivers, or buried stumps.
For the young men on the trail, LDS Explorer Scouts heading home after a full day of scenic delights and races out in open meadows, the lesson of the moment wasn’t lost. They were tired and eager to move on, but their guide and their leaders were also priesthood holders, and the young men were used to obeying their counsel. Soon the clouds thinned, and the path appeared clearly. The group moved on.