Gospel Story Finder

by Kim R. Burningham
When the teenagers of the Bountiful 29th Ward speak of their grandparents, the listener could get confused. True, they might be referring to their mother’s parents or their father’s parents, but they might also be talking about their “adopted” grandparents.
The bishopric youth committee of the ward decided to embark on what has turned out to be an exciting service project. Near the ward are two care centers where a large number of aging patients reside. Some of the patients have no family, or if they do, the family lives some distance away from the care center and is unable to visit often. It was decided that if every young person in the ward were to adopt one of the patients as a “grandparent,” the young people could provide some much-needed companionship for the lonely patients.
Youth in the ward try to visit their “grandparents” at least once a week. Sometimes they play chess with them or read to them. Often they just talk. The grandparents love to reminisce, and they are happy for the new friends. When Kim Bailey and Julie Bradford were visiting with Billy, a semiretarded patient at the care center, he looked up at them and said simply, “Do you mind if I like you?” Julie and Kim found that it was easy to be friends.
Members of the Beehive class and several of the other girls have quilted lap blankets for their grandparents. Shelley Moss took the quilt to her grandmother for a Christmas present. “When she received it we all cried, and it made the whole adopt-a-grandparent program worthwhile. Now every time I go to Della, my quilt is folded nicely on the edge of the bed.”
Kathleen Kirkham, president of the Mia Maid class, explained that “many of our class members are at the point where they don’t have to go to visit their grandparents, but they want to go.”
Tuevo Jones, a priest, said that “although it may seem a bit of a bother, I always walk out of the care center with a better feeling than when I went in.”

I think of two women, once the closest of friends. The one, through an accident of which she was innocent, became in effect a party to the death of a child of the other. It is difficult to say which of those women suffered the most over the death of that child. The one who was not the mother, but who was involved in the accident that led to the fatality, has grieved and wept these many years, not only for the child who was lost and for her part in the tragic situation, but perhaps even more over the unforgiving spirit of the mother who lost the child. It is understandable why the bereft mother, mourning over the loss of her baby, felt bitter. But long since there should have been a realization on her part that her friend was innocent, that she too has wept, and that there should have been an outpouring of love toward her rather than recrimination. An absence of charity has cankered the soul of that woman, destroyed her happiness, brought only misery to her days and sorrow to her nights.

In conclusion let me share with you some of the feelings of a prospective elder who has recently come into full Church activity. He writes: “Returning to church activity after years of absence would have been impossible without a lot of help. I’ll always be grateful for that evening when my elders quorum president came to my home and said, ‘Roger, starting next Sunday evening we are having two other couples over to our home once a week to talk about some important gospel principles. We would be pleased if you and Pat would join us.’

“I know it took courage for him to invite us, but that was an important beginning. That was the first time anyone had ever asked me to get back into Church activity. In those fireside meetings my wife and I learned things about the gospel that we had never understood before. When testimonies were expressed, we felt feelings that had been dulled by many years of inactivity.

“As we started having family prayers together, we felt a special spirit enter into our home. Before long I became so anxious to learn about the gospel that I found myself reading the scriptures on the bus going to and from work and even during my noon hour.”

His letter then tells of the great joy he and his wife felt when they went to the temple, where they and their children were sealed together for time and for all eternity. And now they are helping prepare their three sons for missionary service.

Just about everybody at the Air Force Academy knows who Jake Oldham is. It’s hard not to.
Jake was the Top Graduate, number one in his class for combined academic, athletic, and military scores. In his four years at the academy, with a double major in premedicine and mechanical engineering, he maintained a 3.969 grade-point average.
Jake earned a spot in the drum and bugle corps. He was number one at the academy in his weight division in boxing and placed third at nationals. And he was one of four group commanders (a leader of 1,000 cadets). No wonder he got a standing ovation at the awards ceremony.
Jake spent graduation week meeting generals and VIPs. His photo was on the front page of the Colorado Springs Gazette Telegraph. He sat in the first chair of 916 chairs at graduation. His name was added to the 100-year honor roll.
Despite all these accolades, Jake earned a reputation as a modest, polite young man. “He always showed a profound respect for others,” said John Hasler, director of the Colorado Springs LDS Institute. “He always stood up when you entered the room. He always shook your hand and looked you in the eyes. It was more than just being polite. He made each person feel important.” One military officer described him as “a perfect poster boy for the Air Force Academy.”
Jake graduated in May 1996. He is now studying medicine at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minnesota, on his way to becoming a military doctor.
That’s quite a list of accomplishments, particularly for someone who once resigned from the academy with no guarantee he’d be allowed to return. A lot of people at the academy know that story about Jake Oldham, too.
Jake accepted a call from the Lord, signed by a living prophet, to serve full-time in the Japan Sapporo Mission of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. That meant resigning, leaving the lofty realms of the academy for the even higher heights of the mission field.
“I prayed about it a lot,” says Jake, who comes from Kaysville, Utah. “I knew it was what I needed to do. Some things are important enough that, no matter how difficult, they are worth doing.
“And my mission was a great experience. I have never spent two years, even at the academy, so focused on one thing—learning the gospel and teaching it.
“My mission not only gave me an opportunity to love the Japanese people and to share the gospel with them, but it also did a lot to help me understand myself and to strengthen my testimony.”
As his two-year mission came to a close, however, Jake had to face the reality that he might not be reappointed to the place cadets call “the hill.” “I had to apply all over again, compete with a new group of potential appointees, and try to communicate with the admissions officers clear from Japan. I was a bit apprehensive,” Jake explains.
Even though the process is tough, he was greeted with open arms. “I discovered that the academy is learning to respect returned missionaries. We come back as better leaders, better people, just better officer-candidates all-around. The things they teach us in the mission field about loving and helping people—those are traits that make anybody a better person.”

Knowing that I have covenanted to take upon myself the name of Christ gives me a sense of duty to follow Him, but it’s not always easy. One time at a group activity I saw a kid who didn’t have anyone to talk to. I felt like I should go talk with him. At first, I didn’t want to. I am not that great at putting myself out there to make friends. But remembering what Christ would do, I found the strength to make a new friend. As I was talking to him, I could feel the Spirit prompting me to ask questions and have fun.
Evan A., 16, Utah, USA

But all of this might never have been, had earlier sisters surrendered to their fears. Consider Kira Gulko’s story:
“I was 14,” she explains. “We weren’t practicing Jews, but we were of Jewish origin. For many years in our family, talking about Jesus Christ was forbidden. But when perestroika began, allowing greater freedom to look at new ideas, my parents started to explore different religions and philosophies. My mother was president of the international friendship club at the school where she teaches English. She found a letter from a teacher in Riverton, Utah, who was looking for pen pals. My mother’s class responded, and in return they got a big box of maybe 100 letters. Many of the students mentioned they were members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, but my mother didn’t know what that was.
“Then we were passing by the bridge near our house, and we saw a notice inviting people to attend The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints! My parents decided to go, first so Mom could answer her students’ questions, but also because they were looking for another religion themselves.
“That was in October 1991. After that, the missionaries started coming to our apartment. Soon my parents understood that Jesus Christ is their Savior. They also loved the doctrine of eternal families. We have a wonderful family, and I think that was an important principle to us. They also went to a baptism and felt the Spirit. In December they decided to be baptized themselves.
“I listened to all of the discussions, but I couldn’t understand why my parents decided to join this church. I was afraid they were crazy, that something had happened to their minds. But as I read the Book of Mormon, my testimony of its truthfulness grew stronger and stronger. The key to my conversion was when I realized I am truly loved by my Heavenly Father. I could feel this big love that’s around me and see it in my parents and in the members of the Church. That’s why I was baptized in February 1992. I knew it was right.”
Since then, Kira has helped to bring her friend Lena into the Church and has watched three of her four grandparents embrace the gospel. She has seen her mother help with the translation of the Book of Mormon into Ukrainian and seen her father called as a district president. She has spent several semesters at Brigham Young University, where she served as a student ward Relief Society president. Now attending a university in Kiev, she is watching what were once small branches grow into large ones.

I laughed at her. I couldn’t help it. She was so sweet and open and sincere. Even though she was four years younger than myself, she was probably the best friend I had ever had. She had introduced me to the gospel. She had changed my life. Lori was the only Mormon girl I’d ever known, and it seemed to me she was a pretty decent specimen of the ideal.
Last summer the library hired two new high school students, and Lori was one of them. Friendly and talkative, it didn’t take her long to establish herself on good terms with all the other workers or to make sure that everyone knew she was a Latter-day Saint. I had read about the Mormons and Brigham Young in the history books at school, but I didn’t really know anything. And I couldn’t understand why this girl made me feel suddenly so curious, so interested in something I had never even thought about before.
That was only a year ago. I marveled how one brief year could totally change a person’s life. Nothing was the same as it had been before I learned about the gospel and joined the Church. I was involved in different activities now and had different friends. I thought different thoughts and wanted different things. And I was happier, and more miserable, than I had ever been in my life.

Mom has been gone for quite a while now. We still miss her, and we think of her a lot. When we feel lonely, we get out the special book and read the little testimonies she left for us. I can just “hear” her saying something about an answer to prayers, or what wonderful blessings we receive. I’m glad we have those special memories.
Dad got each of us a journal so that we can write down all our own little testimonies. I have written a lot about the times I remember with Mom, but I am writing new little testimonies too.

Before working on my Virtue value project for Personal Progress, I had read the Book of Mormon many times, but I didn’t feel like I had a testimony of it. I would read the Book of Mormon, ask God if it was true, and feel OK about it, so I figured that was a good enough answer and would move on, never really taking more time on it. I thought since I had a testimony of everything else, that was good enough.
When I began to read the Book of Mormon for my Virtue value project, I really studied and tried to gain a testimony of it for myself. It came through finding that the Book of Mormon held messages for me! It held things that Heavenly Father needed me to know at that point in my life.
The Book of Mormon is for us. It helps us to be better and to have the Spirit more in our lives. I’m so grateful for this testimony I’ve gained. Now I can gladly say that I know the Book of Mormon is true!
Ashley H., Utah, USA

When we arrived at the Fort Hall Road, [Idaho], James Spicer, the man I was traveling with to California, was informed that several wagon trains had been attacked by Indians. He decided to change his plans and go through Utah.

“I’ll die brave,” I told him, naturally supposing the Mormons would kill me or worse.

Up to this time the members of our company were ignorant of my parentage. I decided I’d better tell Spicer.

“I have a father in Utah.”

“Who is it?”

“I’m not sure,” I answered. It was the truth. I didn’t know, but I knew there would be trouble.

“They’ll probably try to take me prisoner,” I said.

“We can’t take the Fort Hall Road,” he answered. “Too dangerous. We have to go through Utah.”

Spicer smiled. “You’ll be all right.” He climbed back into his wagon and started his team, turning them north toward the Utah trail.

It was a nightmare. We were too far out for me to turn back alone. The thing I had feared the most all of my life was coming true. I had grown up with a bitter prejudice and intense hatred toward the Mormons. The name was synonymous for me with that of an ugly and dangerous monster. Often in my dreams I had imagined I was captured by them, and in my waking moments I pictured to myself a life of captivity among them—caged like a wild beast.

I’d never seen a Mormon, and I couldn’t remember my father. What I knew about them I’d learned from my grandfather and his family. My father had left for Utah when I was only about 12 months old, leaving two wives (my mother, Clarissa, and her sister, Emily) and my brother Isaac and me with my grandfather, Alpheus Cutler. Only three women accompanied that first group. Most wives were left behind in the care of a trusted relative or friend and came to Utah during the next few years.

About two years later my mother died, and a few months afterward my Aunt Emily also died. My grandfather moved to Manti, Iowa, and established his own church there. He put himself in as its leader and called it “The True Church of Latter-day Saints.”

He denounced polygamy and the law of tithing. He taught his followers that Joseph Smith was a true prophet of God, but that Brigham Young was not his successor. He declared himself to be the true leader, holding the authority to carry on the latter-day work.

My brother Isaac and I were ill-treated by my grandfather’s family. We were persecuted and called names for being from a polygamist family. On even the slightest provocation they would threaten to send us to Utah, telling us the Mormons would soon settle [dispose of] us.

We were taught that if we stayed in the woods too long the Mormons would catch us and carry us off. More than once when gathering berries we were alarmed by some rustling noise in the underbrush. We would drop our baskets and run like frightened antelopes, never looking back until we were home.

In the spring of 1862 I was sent to Hamburg, Iowa, and stayed with my uncle Edwin Cutler for a week. While I was there he asked me if I would be interested in going to California with him. I told him I would be glad to go.

The trip went well until we passed the town of Julesburg, [Colorado] on the Platte River. I had slept a little longer than usual one morning and failed to get up before sunrise. My uncle shook me awake and told me he had not brought me along for him to wait on me, but for me to wait on him. He said he was glad to have me along as a servant.

A few days later my aunt asked me if I knew where my uncle was taking me.

“California,” I answered. “Where else?”

“He’s taking you to your father in Utah,” she said.

I decided to leave my uncle as soon as possible. When we reached Laramie, Wyoming, James Spicer, who had been traveling with our company for a short time, motioned me over to his wagon.

“I understand you don’t want to go to Utah,” he said.

I told him he was right. He said he was taking the Fort Hall Road that went around Utah and that he’d noticed my uncle had misused me on the trip. He told me I could travel with him if I wanted to.

Two days later my uncle came to me and said, “Abe, [Abraham] get the cattle together. There’s a company leaving this afternoon, and we can travel with them.” I told him I wasn’t going with him any farther, that I was going to California with Spicer.

After my uncle realized there was nothing he could do to keep me from going with Spicer, he told me he planned on telling every Mormon he saw that one of Heber C. Kimball’s lost boys was on the road behind him. I’d heard Heber C. Kimball was a Mormon leader, and this made me even more afraid to go to Utah.

Now I was traveling toward Utah. There was no turning back. I would meet my doom.

At the Green River Ferry, [Wyoming], there was more trouble. We met a Mormon, Lewis Robinson, and when he heard my story he asked me if I planned on seeing my father when I reached Salt Lake City.

“Not if I can help it,” I told him.

“Your father’s a good man,” he said. “He will be very pleased to see you. I’m leaving for Salt Lake City in the morning on horseback, and when I get there I’ll tell your father you’re coming.”

We didn’t encounter any more Mormons until we reached Silver Creek, near Parley’s Park, Utah. When we arrived there I learned that William H. Kimball lived at Parley’s Park. I was told that he was my half brother.

I was approaching a desperate situation. I decided to put on a bold front and to prepare for the worst. Feeling I might as well meet trouble head-on, I decided to pay my half brother a visit. I armed myself with a revolver and quid [a chewable sized piece] of tobacco and said my good-byes, believing it would be the last anyone would ever hear of me.

William recognized me from the description my uncle had given him.

“Hello Abe [Abraham],” he said. “Where did you come from?”

He seemed very glad to see me and asked me to come up to his house with him. I suspected this would be a trap. Keeping my hand close to my revolver at all times I was ready for action. In that house William introduced me to his family and to two more of my brothers, Charles and Solomon. I was invited to dinner. It was the first civilized meal I’d had in months. My relatives in Parley’s Park left a favorable impression on me. The only thing even close to torture they came up with was an attempt at questioning me to death.

It took us two more days to reach Salt Lake City. We camped at Emigration Square that night, and in spite of the good impression my relatives had made, I was still terrified of the Mormons. I expected to fall into their hands in the morning. All of my old fears of captivity and torture came back to me. It was a long night.

At noon Spicer asked me what I was going to do. “I don’t think things with your father will be anything like you’ve been told they will be,” he said. “It’s important to have a family.” Spicer hesitated. We had become good friends. “I’ll be at Fort Floyd for the winter, and if you come there or if you find me in California you’ll always have a home.”

We said good-bye to each other, both of us shedding tears. I stayed at the square as long as I dared, alone, watching Spicer’s outfit move down the road.

If I’d been called to mount the gallows I would have done it with less reluctance than when I went to meet my father. I didn’t dare talk to anyone, so instead of going down the sidewalk I walked up the middle of the road. I still believed it was a trap, that the Mormons wanted to catch me.

I crossed City Creek and stopped at a house to ask directions. I had decided my father must live in the area, so I asked for my half brother, Charles Kimball, instead. The woman who answered the door was Charles’s wife. She told me her husband was at his father’s barn, not far from there.

As I crossed the yard people were staring at me from windows and doorways. I must have looked a little odd. The clothes I was wearing, though they were my best, were old and worn: a hickory-colored shirt, white ducking pants eight inches too short, a pair of shoes and no stockings, and an old rimmed hat.

My brother was hitching horses to a wagon. He was surprised to see me.

“Abe, [Abraham] I was just going to look for you. I’ll unhitch and take you to father.”

I wished then the earth would open and swallow me up. When we got close to the house I saw a man I supposed was my father. I was very much afraid of him.

“Here’s your boy,” Charles said.

My father stood six foot one, and he had keen, piercing eyes, eyes that seemed to penetrate my thoughts. He spoke to me in a kind, fatherly voice. He tried to embrace me, but I wouldn’t have any of that. He told me he was glad to see me and asked me if I knew he was my father.

I told him I didn’t know and didn’t care, and I hoped he would let me go as soon as possible. He said I was free to go if I wanted to and then invited me into his house. He looked at me for quite a while without saying anything.

“Do you have any good clothes?” he asked, breaking the silence.

Katie, a Primary-age girl, taught us as we saw her influence on her family. She attended Primary and was drawn to the teachings of the gospel. With growing faith and testimony, Katie left a note on her parents’ pillow. She wrote that the gospel truths had found a “home in her heart.” She shared her longing to be close to her Heavenly Father, to be obedient to His commandments, and to have their family sealed in the temple. The simple testimony of their sweet daughter touched her parents’ hearts in a powerful way. Katie and her family did receive sacred temple ordinances that bound their family together forever. Katie’s believing heart and example of faith helped bring eternal blessings to her family. Could her sincere testimony and desire to follow the Lord’s plan lead us to see more clearly what really matters most?

A former missionary from Africa wrote a senior Church leader, apologising and seeking forgiveness for being offended by his teachings about a certain cultural tradition, which then led him to leave the Church. He humbly expressed: “Sadly, the fact that I took offense 15 years ago has made me pay an extremely heavy price. I lost so much—much more than I ever imagined. I am deeply embarrassed by the harm I may have caused along the way, but above all else I am pleased that I have found my way back.”

To respect his privacy, let’s call him Brother Brown. He was converted to the Church thirty years ago in Minnesota through the example of an LDS school-teacher whose passion for life, sensitivity to people, and later her ability to love him unconditionally prepared him for baptism. They married and had three daughters and a son. Then Sister Brown’s father died and her mother came to live with them.
One bitterly cold winter day, Brother Brown came home from work, announced that the family was going to move to a warmer climate, flew to Hawaii, found a job, and sent for his family.
Brother Brown’s ordeal of faith began on 17 March 1980. His wife, oldest daughter, and mother-in-law were killed when their car was hit head-on by a truck. Its twenty-five-year old driver had been drinking and had moved into the path of the oncoming traffic in anticipation of a left turn which was actually nearly 0.8 kilometer away. He was not injured.
Brother Brown received news of the tragedy by telephone from the police. Weeping and praying for strength, he went out into the street, saw two ward members driving by, and stopped them. He told them of the accident and asked for a special blessing to enable him to cope with the tragedy. That blessing gave him a direct and powerful assurance that the Lord loved him and would make him able to cope with his burden.
Brother Brown almost immediately began proving that promise. At the funeral, he chose to speak, trying to help us accept and deal with the loss and showing us the way by his example. I was nearly overcome by his desire to ease our pain when he was suffering the most.
The last speaker extended the spirit of Brother Brown’s address by calling on all who were present, particularly the grieving family, to fight against any feelings of anger which might arise against the unfortunate driver of the other vehicle.
Two days later, my neighbor faced the harrowing task of sorting the items left in the mangled car. It was an agonizing experience as he faced the awful devastation which had killed his loved ones and had to recall the accident for an insurance company report. Reliving some of the agony he had hoped to put behind him nearly overwhelmed him.
In his pain, that evening he found himself becoming angry at the driver of the truck. He prayed. The negative feelings were still there. But not wanting to succumb to that feeling, he determinedly got in his car and went to the young man’s house, sat down with him and said simply, “I’ve been praying for you—for myself—trying to resolve some feelings of anger that are beginning to gnaw at me.” The driver of the truck looked a little frightened and uncomfortable but said nothing as my neighbor talked with him. When Brother Brown asked him if they could pray together, he nodded reluctantly and knelt down. Brother Brown expressed the deepest feelings of his heart, in a prayer, broken by his struggle to control his sorrow, asking for the Lord to help both of them deal with their shared tragedy. The other man remained silent.
When they stood from the prayer, my neighbor noted that the young man’s face was tense and pale but rigidly expressionless. Brother Brown went to him, put both arms around him, and gently said, the relief of peace in his voice, “I love you. I forgive you. It’s going to be all right. And I won’t let you go until you can let out some of those feelings inside.” The young man stood silently, his face moving, then broke into sobs of agony as he wept out his own grief in Brother Brown’s arms. The man’s wife joined them in this circle of love and told my neighbor, “My husband has been so devastated by guilt that this is the first time since the accident that he’s been able to express himself.”
Brother Brown’s trial of faith is not over, of course. He still has many years of living without his loved ones ahead of him. He still has to cope every day. But this mission of love has helped him rebuild his life. And those who know him have learned in part what it means to rise to the “measure of the stature of the fulness of Christ.” (Eph. 4:13).

David ran down the sandy path holding the small sand grouse carefully in his hands. “Bird,” he whispered, “it’s all right. I’ll take care of you.”
The boy had found the sand grouse on the desert. Its wing was broken and the feathers fanned out when he let go of it, so he held it close to his chest with both hands.
David lived alone in a cave under the edge of a rock. Before he was old enough to remember him, his father had left. David often thought about his father, imagining him as a tall, strong man who would protect his son from the wolves, bring him food and firewood, and hold him close in the night when it was dark and when frightening sounds came from outside the cave.
David tried not to think about his mother. She hadn’t been gone as long, and her memory was still too close to his heart to remember without pain.
It was getting dark, and the tall palms stood out black against the red desert sky. David, alone with the sand grouse, could feel its tiny heart beating rapidly against his hands. He scraped up some cold ashes and bits of straw into a pillow on which to lay the hurt bird so that the softness came up and around and held its wing.
“Lie still now, bird,” he said. “I’ll fix your wing for you.”
David found a stick and some leather strips he’d been saving in a pouch. Every time he found a piece of wool or a strip of leather blowing on the desert, he’d carefully save it and tuck it into his pouch. Sometimes these bits and pieces were useful in unexpected ways.
As he wrapped a tiny piece of leather around the stick and the bird’s wing, he thought, Maybe this sand grouse can be mine, and I can be his. We can belong to each other.
After David finished wrapping the bird’s wing, he dropped some water into its open mouth. Its helpless eyes gazed at the boy as he worked.
Gently David put the bird down onto the soft straw pillow. He tied one end of a leather thong around the bird’s leg and the other end to his own wrist. Now, he thought, if it flutters about in the night or tries to fly, I can keep it from hurting itself.
David lay down on the dirt floor of the cave, curled up on his side so that he could see the bird. The sand grouse stared at him. David smiled and said, “Good night. I love you.”
During the night David awoke to a chattering noise. At first he couldn’t tell what it was. Then the string on his wrist tugged and pulled. The bird was silhouetted against the mouth of the cave, and there looked to be hundreds of birds outside. They were perching on the cactus, flying and darting about, and walking in the sand. David had never seen so many birds at once! The thong on his wrist tightened as his bird limped along, trying to reach the others.
The great flock of birds chattered and teased. They seemed to say, “Come along. Hurry and come with us.”
Walking over to the mouth of the cave, David called, “Sand grouse, you can’t go. You can’t fly yet.” Then the boy shivered at the cold and dampness in the cave. Every bird on the desert must be here! he thought. What does it mean?
David held the sand grouse close as he stepped out into the starlit night. At first all he could see were the birds circling and swooping. Then he saw a great light in the sky that was attracting the birds, and David knew where they were going. Suddenly he wanted to go with them.
David followed the birds over rocks and hills, down gullies and crevices, and on over the wind-whipped sand. Then their chattering stopped and all David could hear was the sound of his own feet and the beating, whirring wings.
David began to have a warm feeling inside that seemed to come from the lighted sky. He was hurrying to keep the birds in sight when, suddenly, he bumped into something and stopped.
“Say, there,” came a man’s deep voice. “What’s this?”
“Oh, sir, I’m sorry,” David said, looking up at the tall, smiling man before him. He wore a shepherd’s robe and held a wooden staff. A curly, dark beard went up close to the man’s kind eyes, and he was carrying a lamb.
“That’s all right, boy,” the shepherd said. “What’s that you have there? A sand grouse, is it?”
“Yes, sir, I found it on the ground with its wing broken. After I bound the wing with a thong, the bird’s friends came and wanted it to go with them. But I don’t know why we’re following them.”
“Come, walk with me,” the shepherd invited the boy. “I’ll tell you about this night.”
So David and the shepherd walked together on the desert under the bright light of that holy night, led by the birds. The shepherd told David he’d been watching the sheep when an angel came.
“An angel?” David asked in wonderment.
“Yes, an angel, who told us that a king had been born in the city of David.”
“A king?” David questioned, even more astonished.
“A king of all the world,” the shepherd replied. “I’m taking this lamb as a present for that kingly Baby.”
“A baby king,” David said, still hardly believing. “I’d like to give him something, too, but I have nothing to give.”
“That’s what I thought, but I did have this lamb,” said the shepherd.
“And I have only —” David stopped. Then he continued in a quieter voice. “I have only this sand grouse. It belongs to me and I belong to him.”
David thought about the sand grouse as he and the shepherd walked together until they came to a stable in the little town.
“The King wouldn’t be born here in a stable,” David said, “with hay all around Him and animals close by.”
“Yes,” the shepherd said, “the angel told us we would find Him in a manger.”
The great flock of birds that had been flying ahead of David and the shepherd settled in the trees near the stable.
They found the Babe lying in a bed of hay. As the shepherd stepped forward and put the lamb down beside Him, the mother smiled. Holding his friend, the sand grouse, David felt himself pulled forward by her smile.
The bird’s eyes had become black and shiny. David untied the thong from its wing. The sand grouse hopped a little, ruffled up its feathers, and moved both wings without any trouble. David untied the thong from his wrist and laid it aside.
The bird fluttered closer to the Baby and stood there. Its eyes shone, and it turned its head from side to side, looking first at the boy and then at the sleeping child.
“Good-bye, sand grouse,” David said. “Good-bye, my friend.”
He turned to where the shepherd was waiting for him at the edge of the heavenly light. As they went out into the dark streets of the city together, the shepherd put his hand gently on David’s shoulder. “It’s wonderful to think we have seen the King of the world,” he said.
“Yes,” David answered, although he felt happy and sad at the same time. When he thought of the Baby, a happiness ran through him, but when he thought of being all alone again, there was a hollow, hurting ache in his chest.
The shepherd said, “Your sand grouse seemed to feel as though it belonged there. Its wing was fine, and it looked happy.”
“I think it was proud to be standing next to the baby King,” David said, “and I’m glad. But it was the only thing I had of my own, and now I’m alone again.”
“Then come with me,” the shepherd suggested. “I’m alone, too, except for my sheep.”
David could hardly believe his ears. “You mean, I could go with you? Live with you?”
“And belong to me. Yes, and I would belong to you, David,” the shepherd said. “Do you need to go back to the cave for anything?”
“All I had was the sand grouse and I gave that to the King,” David answered. He was quiet for a moment. Then looking up into the kind eyes of the shepherd, he said, “And it was the best thing I’ve ever done.”

Her name was Maria, and she had lived in New York City for decades. She worked in a building a few blocks away from the towers. She told us that a few weeks before September 11, she had received a strong feeling that she should pray and ask if God was there. She said that up until that point in her life, she hadn’t prayed much and hadn’t really felt like she needed to. She didn’t feel an answer to her prayer until terrorists struck the towers on that fateful morning. Chaos and confusion ensued all around her, yet she suddenly felt calm. Maria told us that she felt this incredible peace and that, in spite of all the inexplicable destruction of the moment, she felt that God was there looking out for her.

Sometimes a daughter can rescue a parent in times of storm when she cares enough to help. I know a family with a dad who has had to move from job to job. In his kind of work, everyone is getting laid off. One day his turn came. He might have come home and called his wife into the other room and said, “My dear, we don’t have enough money to pay the bills, and I know how much Julie wants that expensive sweater. I told her we would try to get it for her. I don’t want to disappoint her. What am I going to do?” There might be some teenage daughters who would have said, “But all of the other kids get new things. We deserve it. Besides, Dad promised.”
But that wasn’t the way it happened. Dad came home. He didn’t have to say anything. Julie and her sister knew. Julie didn’t say, “Dad what are you going to do?” Her mom told me that she put her arm around his shoulder and said, “Oh Dad, we can help.” How do you think her dad felt? Do you have any idea how her mom must have felt?
Since that time Julie has been working two jobs, twelve hours a day, to pay for her tuition to college this fall. On the day her twelve-year-old brother would not be able to go to camp because he had no suitable pants to wear, Julie received her pay from both jobs. Her mom told me that she held out the money for her tithing, held back the portion she must save each week for her college tuition, and had enough left to take her brother shopping for the much needed pants. How do you think her brother felt? Do you have any idea how Julie must have felt?

Another motivation came when the ward sponsored a program called “Something Great in ’78,” and Allan decided to make a stained glass window as his “Something Great” project. (Each ward member was to choose a personal project to be accomplished during the year.) “We had a big dinner and everyone displayed their projects. My window was one of the displays,” he says. Now the window hangs in his room, filtering the sunlight as it enters.

The elected president of Edinburgh Napier Students Association, Edinburgh Napier University, hosted a discussion event for students and staff members. The topic for the webinar was, “Faith plays a role for good mental health.” The point was to make students learn to use their faith for hope, peaceful minds, and other aspects of life. I enjoyed participating in the event and invited two of our full-time missionaries to share their testimonies and to perform a dance as part of our contribution.
Below is my presentation:
“Thank you for the opportunity to both hear and participate this evening. One distinct principle that I believe as a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is that God speaks to us today, as we individually connect with Him through prayer and collectively as His children on earth through living prophets.
“The Old Testament tells us how God spoke to His children through living prophets such as Abraham, Isaiah, Noah, Daniel, and others. I believe that the doctrine of prophetic leadership has been restored.
“Every six months, there is a worldwide conference where our prophet and apostles address the world in my faith tradition. In the most recent conference, they taught and counselled on themes such as love your enemies, embrace the future with faith, finding joy in Christ, I believe in angels, let God prevail, and a new normal. All these addresses can be found on YouTube as well as the official Church website.
“Listening to this counsel helps me anchor my faith in Jesus Christ. I know that His sacrifice on my behalf can lift me from the darkest times. He is the Light of the World and calms my troubled soul.”
I was delighted to be asked to participate in this event along with members of many other faiths from across our country.
You can view the broadcast event at https://www.youtube.com/user/napierstudents.

It was late in the evening, and I had just begun to work on homework due the next day. The phone rang while I was in the middle of a particularly difficult calculus problem. The call was for my dad, as most of our calls have been since he was called as our ward bishop. I handed the phone to him and sat down again. I was so engrossed in my work that I was not aware of his conversation.
“Shallin,” my dad said, bringing me out of my deep concentration, “do you know anyone in the ward who speaks Spanish?”
“Nope,” I answered.
“Well, someone from the temple just called and asked if a Venezuelan girl who speaks only Spanish could do baptisms for the dead with our ward tomorrow night. They want me to find someone to translate for her,” he continued.
“I can’t think of anyone,” I said.
“Neither can I. Do you think you could help her?”
Immediately I started to explain that taking Spanish in high school did not exactly make me a fluent speaker. But before I could think of any more excuses, I remembered some of the wonderful experiences I have had at the temple. I did not even know the girl, but I imagined how anxious she must be to come to the temple and I knew I could not let her down.
“I’ll try,” I responded.
As we left for the temple the following day, I became really nervous. I could hardly remember any Spanish at all. I wanted so badly for this young woman to have a wonderful experience, and to feel the spirit of the House of the Lord. I said a silent prayer that she and I would be able to understand what was necessary and that her expectations would be met.
At the temple, a beautiful young woman waited for us, already dressed in white. She was calm and glowed with happiness. I explained to her in broken Spanish that I was a sorry excuse for a translator. She smiled and expressed her gratitude for my efforts. I offered one more silent prayer, and I immediately began to feel the powerful Spirit of the Lord.
In the baptismal chapel waiting for the rest of the group, I opened a set of scriptures. Not looking for anything particular I turned to Doctrine and Covenants 6:32: “Verily, verily, I say unto you, as I said unto my disciples, where two or three are gathered together in my name, as touching one thing, behold, there will I be in the midst of them—even so am I in the midst of you.”
Throughout the next hour, I felt the Spirit help us communicate. We laughed at my many mistakes, and she was patient with me as I tried to understand and answer her questions. When the temple trip was over, it was hard to say good-bye. We knew we had shared a small miracle.

I once learned a valuable lesson from a mission Relief Society president. In a conference, she announced some tightening up of procedures. A sister stood up and defiantly said, “Those rules can’t apply to us! You don’t understand us! We are an exception.”
That wonderful Relief Society president replied, “Dear sister, we’d like not to take care of the exception first. We will establish the rule first, and then we’ll see to the exception.” Many times I have borrowed from her wisdom, grateful for what she taught me.