Gospel Story Finder

Christopher stared out the window as the car zipped along the highway. The family was returning from a weekend of visiting relatives. The sun had gone down, and the view of the countryside was quickly disappearing.
“Are you warm enough?” Dad asked. “Do you want me to turn up the heat?”
“I’m OK. I have my blanket and my pillow back here.”
“Did you have a good time with your cousins?”
“Yeah!” Christopher answered. “That was an awesome snowman we built yesterday. I bet it won’t melt until spring!”
“You might be right,” Dad laughed.
“It was fun going to Primary with Joey today too. I asked his class my favorite article of faith question.”
Dad adjusted the rearview mirror so that he could see Christopher in the back seat. “What’s the question?”
“Do you know which article of faith you can see at the circus?”
“Which one?”
“The thirteenth. It says we believe in being honest, true, and chased by an elephant.”
Dad chuckled. “Who taught you that?”
“Sister Egbert. She finds good ways to help us memorize the articles of faith. The thirteenth is really long, so she asked us that question to help us learn it. And now I can say the whole thing.”
“Good for you! Do you know what it means?”
“Well, she explained all the big words. Mostly it just means that we believe in being nice to people and in doing good things.”
“That’s a pretty good explanation.” Dad glanced at Mom, asleep in the seat next to him. “Why don’t you try to get some sleep, too, Son. We won’t be home for about an hour.”
Christopher rested his cheek on the pillow against the side of the car, and pulled his blanket up to his chin. He was almost asleep when the car swerved sharply.
“What happened?” Mom asked, awakened by the jolt.
“A car just cut in front of us and went off the road,” Dad said, breathing deeply. “They barely missed us.”
“We should go back and see if they’re all right,” Christopher said.
“I’m sure they’re fine,” Dad told him. “I saw them come to a safe stop.” “We’ll call the highway patrol when we get to town,” Mom added.
“But what if they’re not all right?” Christopher asked. “What if they need help? We should help them.”
Dad looked at Mom. “He’s right—we should see if we can help.” At the next opportunity he headed back in the other direction.
Christopher pressed his face against the cool window, searching for the car. “There it is!” he shouted when it came into view.
Dad carefully pulled off the road behind it. “You two stay here,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”
Christopher felt uneasy as he watched his father disappear into the darkness. But after just a few minutes, he saw Dad returning with a big smile on his face.
Mom rolled down her window. “What happened?”
“Would you believe it—it’s Brother and Sister Egbert!”
“My Primary teacher?” Christopher shouted. “Is she all right?”
“They’re both fine,” Dad continued, “just a little shaken up. One of their tires blew, and they lost control of the car.” He asked Mom, “Would you move our car up so that the lights shine on their car better?”
Mom slid into the driver’s seat and pulled the car up so that the headlights shone on the flat tire that Dad and Brother Egbert were getting ready to change. Sister Egbert came back and climbed into the seat next to Christopher.
“Thank you so much for stopping,” she said with a shiver.
Christopher handed her his blanket.
“Christopher is the one you should thank,” Mom said. “He insisted that we make sure whoever it was, was all right.”
Sister Egbert turned to Christopher. “Thank you,” she said. “You were the answer to a prayer.”
“You’re the one who taught me that we believe in being nice to people and in doing good things. We were just following the thirteenth article of faith—‘being honest, true, chaste, benevolent, virtuous, and doing good to all men.’ “
“I’m proud of you for learning to say that article of faith,” Sister Egbert said. “But I’m more impressed that you know how to live it.”

Night was falling as we drove toward the flat-topped mountain where the old sheepherder lived. In the evening light, six ragged figures were silhouetted against the orange sky. They looked like scarecrows with hideous painted faces. Their shredded black robes blew in the wind. Tin cans hung from them, clanging dully. They were eerie and strange in the gathering dusk.
A little frightened by the mysterious figures, I said to my companion, “I’m not sure I want to go any further. Whoever made those weird things probably wouldn’t be receptive to anything we had to say.” Turning the truck around, I drove back across the wide open space that was the Navajo Indian Reservation. As missionaries in the Arizona Holbrook Mission, we wanted to share the gospel with everyone, but maybe that didn’t include the person who had made these strange, manlike figures.
During the next week, however, we felt prompted to visit the sheepherder. When we drove back, in daylight this time, we found him standing by an old tree, as motionless as one of the scarecrow men he had created. A wooden staff was in his hand, and he wore a long black coat. Silently, he watched us get out of our truck and approach. His hair was white. His eyes were calm. There was no expression on his wrinkled brown face.
My companion was a new missionary and couldn’t speak the Navajo language. I didn’t speak it very well. But I introduced us in Navajo with a phrase that means essentially, “Hi, who are you? We’re the missionaries.”
He looked at me. I think he was impressed that I knew enough Navajo to greet him. He answered me in English. “I’m Baptist. No hear you. I’m Baptist.”
His words were harsh, but we felt something else behind them—a kindness, a welcome that was louder than his words. We didn’t argue, but we went on talking with him and before long we had an appointment to come back and see him.
During the months that followed we visited the old shepherd often. He wandered far with his sheep and sometimes we had to drive to the top of a hill and scan the distant countryside to find him. Every visit was precious to us.
We had no place to sit and talk with him because his hut was too small. At first we would just sit on the back of our truck. When the weather was too cold, we would crowd together inside the cab. Our visits took a long time because I knew just a little Navajo, and he knew about the same amount of English. We learned together. I would point to a tree and identify it in English. He would point to the same tree and say the word in Navajo. We would both repeat the new word. Little by little I learned enough Navajo, and he learned enough English for us to communicate.
We gradually got to know him. We found out that his name was Peter Wolley. The name had been given to him when he served in the U.S. Army during World War II. After a number of visits, we began to teach him the gospel. I felt the influence of the Spirit very strongly as we talked. My Navajo was not fluent, yet at times I felt inspired to use certain Navajo words that I didn’t think I knew. Even though I couldn’t communicate clearly, he seemed to know the truth of the things I was telling him. He was a very traditional Navajo, and he taught us many of the Navajo ways. I learned not to be so inquisitive, because this is considered bad manners in the Navajo culture. When I stopped asking questions, and when he wanted to, he would tell us about his life.
He took us out to the river and his other favorite places. He showed us foxholes and where the coyotes had been. He taught us to herd sheep. He showed us how he built the tall, black-robed figures that had ended our first visit. They were not designed to terrify sister missionaries but to frighten away coyotes that might harm his flock.
He loved his sheep and would lead them for many kilometers each day in search of the best grass. He took the lambs inside the hut with him when the nights were cold. He was a very caring man.
He knew his sheep. He knew their names and he knew each of their ways. One day when we were searching for him and his flock, we saw one of his sheep separated from the rest. When we found the flock, I said, “Peter, one of your sheep is lost. We saw it over on the other side of the hill.”
He seemed remarkably calm about the news and said, “Oh I know. That’s Box. He’s the old one. He doesn’t have any teeth. He’s all right.” I was amazed. He knew all about that one particular sheep even though it was out of sight. Peter saw my surprise and smiled. He didn’t have any more teeth than Box.
I knew that I had really earned his trust when he began calling me his “tall white friend.” For a Navajo to address you as “my friend,” instead of by your name, is a big compliment. The “tall white” part referred to my height and my light blonde hair.
One time we made him a placemat. It was a piece of paper with the four steps of prayer on it. We had it covered in clear plastic, and he kept it on his little table. He loved that little placemat, and I think it was because he loved prayer. He had plenty of time to pray while he watched his sheep.
We taught Peter for seven months before I was transferred to another district. Some Navajo elders then taught him in his own language. He was receptive to their teaching and joined the Church. I am proud to have helped open the door for my good friend to receive the gospel.
Peter couldn’t go to church very often because there was no one to stay with the sheep. He lived ninety kilometers away from a church and had no truck. He couldn’t walk that far, and few could drive the 180 kilometers round trip over rough country to pick him up and to take him home. But I didn’t worry too much about him because Peter was a good man who lived a good life. I knew that his Heavenly Father knew where he was just as surely as Peter knew where to find old Box. Even alone on top of his distant mountain, he was within the fold.
I think of Peter as my teacher. He taught me most of the Navajo I know. He taught me about sheep and coyotes and patience and silence and pasture in barren places. Better still, he taught me about good shepherds who love and know each sheep, even the old one with no teeth who is seemingly lost and far from the rest of the flock.

There aren’t many members of the Church in Calci, but Judy doesn’t see that as a problem. Her gospel foundation remains unshaken. “A couple of friends have asked me about the Church,” she says. “I brought a friend with me to church, and she came and she liked it. Sometimes friends have made fun of me, or somebody in class heard that I attend a different church. But for the most part my friends are understanding, and they ask questions.”

Recently, I spoke with Merrie Miss girls about kind people in their lives.
Kate and Laura were best friends. The two of them also included others in their circle of friends. This group of girls planned a party, inviting all in the group except Kate. Laura, after becoming aware of what had happened, simply told the others that she would not be able to accept their invitation unless Kate was included. The kind, loyal act of a friend who followed God’s plan prevented pain and sorrow.

Marianne pulled her sweater around her as she walked home from church. She loved autumn. The air was cool and crisp, the trees had turned a beautiful orange and yellow, and the layer of snow on the top of the mountains reflected the sunlight.
Her older brother walked ahead; her mom was still in the meetinghouse library. Marianne knew that when she got home, her dad would be sitting in the family room, reading the newspaper, as he had every Sunday for as long as she could remember.
She sighed and looked down at the paper cup in her hand. Jesus often taught the gospel by talking about seeds. Today her CTR teacher had helped her and her classmates plant seeds and told them about Alma’s teachings about faith. Marianne knew that every time she looked at her little plant, she would remember that Jesus wanted her to plant His words in her heart and to always choose the right.
Right now, though, she was thinking about some different seeds—missionary seeds she had learned about a couple of weeks ago at the Primary activity. The Primary president had talked about the ones we plant when we talk to people who are not members of the Church.
Her father was not a member of the Church, and she wanted to help him gain a testimony. She thought about the things she did and said when she was with him. Sometimes she forgot to obey quickly, and sometimes she and her big brother fought. But she was trying her best to be a good example, and she prayed for her father all the time. Today she wondered if maybe there was something more she could be doing. She decided to ask her mom about it.
Right after school the next day, Marianne put on her warmest sweatshirt and went out in the front yard to help her mom plant tulip bulbs. The sun warmed her back, but her face and hands felt the bite of fall. Her mom hummed as she dug the holes, and Marianne put in the bulbs and covered them with the dark, cool dirt.
“I’m glad you came out to help me,” Mom said, smiling. “When these come up in the spring, they will be twice as beautiful because we planted them together.”
Marianne smiled back, then cleared her throat. “Mom, remember our Primary activity a few weeks ago?”
“The missionary activity?”
“Yes. We talked about setting a good example for our nonmember friends and about sharing our testimonies.”
“Those are good things to do.”
“Well, I wondered if there is something else I should be doing … you know, with Dad, so he can be a member too.”
Mom thought for a minute. “I think we’re doing all we can.”
“Well, then, when is he going to get baptized?”
“We just have to be patient, Marianne. Sometimes it takes a little time.”
Marianne felt confused. She had a strong testimony that the Church was true. If she could tell him and show him, why didn’t her dad see how right it was? She wrinkled her nose and looked at her mother for an explanation.
Mom smiled at her. “Marianne, go in my room and get my scriptures. We’ll see if we can find an answer there.”
It only took a minute to get the scriptures. Marianne sat on the porch step and handed the worn brown books to her mother.
Brushing the dirt off her hands, Mom carefully turned the pages. She handed the book to Marianne and said, “Read aloud from Matthew 13:3–8 [Matt. 13:3–8].”
“‘And he spake many things unto them in parables, saying, Behold, a sower went forth to sow;
“‘And when he sowed, some seeds fell by the way side, and the fowls came and devoured them up:
“‘Some fell upon stony places, where they had not much earth: and forthwith they sprung up, because they had no deepness of earth:
“‘And when the sun was up, they were scorched; and because they had no root, they withered away.
“‘And some fell among thorns; and the thorns sprung up, and choked them:
“‘But other fell into good ground, and brought forth fruit. …’”
“What do you think this parable is saying?” Mom asked.
“Well, it says that not all the seeds that were planted grew. Some didn’t have good soil, weeds choked some, and some were eaten by birds.” She paused a second, then, with a troubled look, asked, “Do you mean that you don’t think our seeds will grow? You don’t think that Dad will ever join the Church?” Tears started to gather in her eyes.
“No, Marianne. I do believe that your dad will join the Church. I just don’t know when. You see, the seeds we plant are very important, but so is the soil. The heart has to be ready to receive. Your dad has to do that for himself; no one can do it for him or force him.”
“But Dad is the best!”
“Yes, he is. He’s a great man.” Mom thought a minute as she returned to the flower bed, dug in the ground, and placed a tulip bulb in the hole. “Look at these bulbs we’re planting. They aren’t going to grow now. No matter how we care for them, these tulip bulbs have to lie in the soil all winter long if they are to be ready to grow in the spring. Do you understand?”
Marianne was silent for a moment. “I guess so. We have to set a good example, share our testimonies, and love Dad. Then we have to wait until the seeds are ready to grow, right?”
“Yes, that is right. And while we’re waiting, we continue to support him as the head of our home.”
“And we can still pray.”
“Yes, sweetheart, we always pray. Does that help you?”
“Yes. I feel much better.”
“Good. It looks like we’re just about done here. Let’s finish up and go fix a nice dinner to welcome Dad home from work.”
As Marianne was putting the last things on the table, Dad drove in the driveway. She ran to give him a hug. “Hi, Dad!”
“Hi, sweet pea. What have my two best girls been doing?”
The “two best girls” shared a look of understanding before Marianne took Dad’s hand, gave him a kiss on the cheek, and said, “Oh, just planting some seeds.”

Forgive me for a personal conclusion, which does not represent the terrible burdens so many of you carry but it is meant to be encouraging. Thirty years ago last month, a little family set out to cross the United States to attend graduate school—no money, an old car, every earthly possession they owned packed into less than half the space of the smallest U-Haul trailer available. Bidding their apprehensive parents farewell, they drove exactly 34 miles up the highway, at which point their beleaguered car erupted.
Pulling off the freeway onto a frontage road, the young father surveyed the steam, matched it with his own, then left his trusting wife and two innocent children—the youngest just three months old—to wait in the car while he walked the three miles or so to the southern Utah metropolis of Kanarraville, population then, I suppose, 65. Some water was secured at the edge of town, and a very kind citizen offered a drive back to the stranded family. The car was attended to and slowly—very slowly—driven back to St. George for inspection—U-Haul trailer and all.
After more than two hours of checking and rechecking, no immediate problem could be detected, so once again the journey was begun. In exactly the same amount of elapsed time at exactly the same location on that highway with exactly the same pyrotechnics from under the hood, the car exploded again. It could not have been 15 feet from the earlier collapse, probably not 5 feet from it! Obviously the most precise laws of automotive physics were at work.
Now feeling more foolish than angry, the chagrined young father once more left his trusting loved ones and started the long walk for help once again. This time the man providing the water said, “Either you or that fellow who looks just like you ought to get a new radiator for that car.” For the second time a kind neighbor offered a lift back to the same automobile and its anxious little occupants. He didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry at the plight of this young family.
“How far have you come?” he said. “Thirty-four miles,” I answered. “How much farther do you have to go?” “Twenty-six hundred miles,” I said. “Well, you might make that trip, and your wife and those two little kiddies might make that trip, but none of you are going to make it in that car.” He proved to be prophetic on all counts.
Just two weeks ago this weekend, I drove by that exact spot where the freeway turnoff leads to a frontage road, just three miles or so west of Kanarraville, Utah. That same beautiful and loyal wife, my dearest friend and greatest supporter for all these years, was curled up asleep in the seat beside me. The two children in the story, and the little brother who later joined them, have long since grown up and served missions, married perfectly, and are now raising children of their own. The automobile we were driving this time was modest but very pleasant and very safe. In fact, except for me and my lovely Pat situated so peacefully at my side, nothing of that moment two weeks ago was even remotely like the distressing circumstances of three decades earlier.
Yet in my mind’s eye, for just an instant, I thought perhaps I saw on that side road an old car with a devoted young wife and two little children making the best of a bad situation there. Just ahead of them I imagined that I saw a young fellow walking toward Kanarraville, with plenty of distance still ahead of him. His shoulders seemed to be slumping a little, the weight of a young father’s fear evident in his pace. In the scriptural phrase his hands did seem to “hang down.” In that imaginary instant, I couldn’t help calling out to him: “Don’t give up, boy. Don’t you quit. You keep walking. You keep trying. There is help and happiness ahead—a lot of it—30 years of it now, and still counting. You keep your chin up. It will be all right in the end. Trust God and believe in good things to come.”

Nirina J-Randriamiharisoa of Madagascar currently lives in France while she pursues her education. When she first arrived, she struggled with loneliness and homesickness. “I sought for solace through prayer, scripture reading, and the gentle whisperings of the Holy Spirit,” says Nirina. “These things brought me closer to Heavenly Father and the Savior, and I felt peace.”

In time Nirina made friends and participated in activities within and outside the Church and found happiness. But then some tragic news from home shook her world. “One morning I received a message telling me that my brother had died. I had no idea I could feel such sadness. In the days and weeks that followed, I struggled through moments of loneliness, anger, and despair. Doing even the most basic things became serious challenges.”

A few months later, a close friend also passed away. The added sorrow increased Nirina’s already-heavy burden. For just a moment Nirina considered not attending church, but then she remembered that the same things that had buoyed her in her earlier difficulties could bolster her now.

“As I had when I first moved to France, I sought comfort in prayer, scripture reading, and the Holy Ghost. Through this I discovered more strongly that the Spirit and the doctrine of eternal families can bring us comfort and that the Atonement of Jesus Christ has a real effect in our lives,” she says. “Whatever trials we face, there are no ‘dead ends’ with the Lord. His plan is a plan of happiness.”

Over time, I noticed that when I paid attention to the words of the covenants that the temple patrons were making, my own covenants started becoming more meaningful to me.
For one, I have always believed the truth that families can be eternal through the temple sealing. And helping patrons do work for their ancestors and seeing their deep love for their families inspired me to do my own family history work. I was able to do ordinances for my aunt and my grandmother who had passed away, and this made the blessings of those covenants become so precious to me.

My heart sank to the very bottom of my shoes. The words didn’t register at first, with my head pounding so hard. “What was that?” I stammered, all the while looking for an explanation.
“I said, did you cheat, Robbie?” The question came from one of my best friends, Darla. We’d grown up together and were now in our junior year of high school. Over the years we’d always talked about everything, but at this moment she was the last person in the world I wanted to talk to.
The day had started harmlessly enough. I got up, got dressed, went to school—all the usual things. Eventually it was time for French class to start. I’d forgotten it was a test day. I groaned inwardly as our teacher passed around the exams.
“Now class,” she said, “I have some things to do, but I expect you all to be finished when I get back.” With that, she left the classroom. Everyone in the class was silent as we struggled to pull knowledge from the dark recesses of our brains. It wasn’t working for me.
After some time, two friends sitting next to me glanced up from their papers and looked around. Josh and Justin, two guys I had always admired and wanted approval from, started comparing answers. They whispered back and forth, silently chuckling as they went through the questions.
Then it happened. Justin turned to me and asked, “What did you get for number six?” Almost without thinking, I started sharing my answers with them. An empty, guilty feeling lined my stomach, but I ignored it. I laughed along with them, pretending to be happy I had outsmarted the teacher and was going to get a good grade without studying.
After some time the teacher came back and collected the tests. She gave us some busy work and left the classroom again. Everyone started talking about the test they had just endured. Most of the class members weren’t very happy with how they had done, but Justin and Josh wore big smiles.
“I think we did just fine, didn’t we guys?” Josh said smugly. Justin laughed and nodded in agreement.
“What do you mean?” one of the other students asked.
“Oh, just that Justin, Rob, and I here pooled our resources. That test was a breeze with three doing it together!” The others didn’t say much but gave us dark looks and went back to their work. That is, all but one went back to it.
There I was, Darla in front of me, her question aimed right at my heart. What could I tell her? I had cheated on a lousy French exam just to please my friends. I could see the look on her face, as if she didn’t want to believe the possible answer. I respected Darla more than almost anyone. She wasn’t a member of the Church but was active in her church and had strong values. She knew I was a member of the Church and respected that. We agreed on a lot of issues and found strength in each other’s desire to do good. Usually.
“Yeah,” was all I could say, lamely.
“Oh, Robbie,” was all she said as she turned back to her work. I can’t describe how much the disappointment in her voice and on her face hurt me. I had compromised my standards just to fit in with a couple of guys and ended up disappointing someone I really admired. Guilt washed over me. I kept thinking I had hurt the image of the Church in her eyes. I apologized to her for what I’d done and talked to the teacher afterwards. She wasn’t pleased either, but we worked things out.
I’ll never forget that day. I now know it isn’t worth compromising your values just to please other people. Since then I’ve tried to be honest and am much happier with myself. Thankfully, I can say I haven’t repeated that mistake again. I’ve felt the difference in doing what’s popular and in doing what’s right, and I know what makes me happy.

Within the first few months of our marriage, my dear wife expressed her desire to study music. Intending to please her, I decided to orchestrate a big, heartfelt surprise for my sweetheart. I went to a musical instrument store and bought her a piano as a gift. I excitedly put the purchase receipt in a box with a beautiful bow and gave it to her, expecting an effusive reaction of gratitude for her extremely loving and attentive husband.
When she opened that little box and saw its contents, she lovingly looked at me and said, “Oh, my dear, you are wonderful! But let me ask you a question: Is this a gift or a debt?” After counseling together about the surprise, we decided to cancel the purchase. We were living on a student budget, as is the case with many young newlyweds. This experience helped me recognize the importance of the principle of full partnership in a marital relationship and how its application could help my wife and me to be of one heart and one mind.

The story is told of a king who was choosing between two drivers for his coach. He ordered each of them to drive his coach down a steep, winding road cut into a high cliff.
The first driver came down slowly, hugging the wall of the cliff. The second driver demonstrated great talent and ability. He raced down the mountain, with the coach so close at times that half the wheel was off the edge of the cliff.
The king was very thoughtful, then wisely chose the first man to drive his coach. It is best to stay on the safe side of things.

Let me begin with a legend. There is a story of a grandfather, a holy man, who, caring for his grandson, sent him out to play. Shortly the boy returned sobbing as if his heart would break. He explained, “I was playing hide-and-seek with my friends. I went and hid and waited but no one came for me. They all ran away.” The grandfather embraced him and said, “Now you know how God feels. He hides and no one comes for him.”

My last story comes from our missionary son, Elder Trevor Ram, who currently is serving in the India Bangalore Mission. I’ve changed the name of the investigator so as to protect his identity. I’ve replaced it with my husband’s name – Tulsi – instead. The story as told by Elder Ram:

“I have a great testimony of the Spirit’s power to bring peace to troubled hearts, even if the troubled one is me. Last night, we were teaching [Tulsi] and reviewing the baptismal interview questions with him. [Tulsi] is pretty much the man, so he came over to church on Sunday night in the pouring rain. Needless to say, he was drenched when he met us. Because he wanted to sit in the classroom without any fan or windows open, it became pretty stuffy and hot pretty quick in there. My stomach was upset and so that combined with the muggy atmosphere of the room made things pretty uncomfortable. Throughout the teaching, I was unable to follow much of what was going on because [Tulsi] speaks mostly in Tamil to Elder Raja which just added to the uncomfortable situation.

“Anyhow, the lesson went on and on and I just got more and more uncomfortable there. I was wondering when things were going to end but I could feel the Spirit withdrawing and that was not a good feeling, Silently, I prayed that I could just keep it together and get through the lesson.

“Just then, [Tulsi] asked a question. Elder Raja probably noticed my discomfort and translated the question so I could answer it. [Tulsi's] question was, approximately, if I make a mistake after three or four years of baptism, will I be able to come to Church? I bore my testimony of the Atonement and the Savior's willingness to forgive. As I did, I felt the Spirit come over me. I knew what I was saying was true and it made me feel good. The discomfort of the moment was pushed out and only the truth of the gospel really mattered right then. [Tulsi] seemed satisfied with the answer and within a few short minutes, we closed up and were on our way.

“This week, my testimony is that the Savior's teaching is true: those who seek to find themselves will lose themselves, but those who lose themselves in His service will find themselves happy and comforted and filled with goodwill. I had forgotten a bit that the thrill of doing missionary work doesn't come from seeing all the cool things India has to offer but from being blessed as I forget myself and serve as selflessly as possible. I'm grateful Heavenly Father took the time to reteach me that lesson again this week. He is unspeakably wonderful.”

Page 10: Have you ever felt afraid or lonely? Sister Neill F. Marriott, second counselor in the Young Women general presidency, shared what happened before her wedding. She was far from home and would be staying with a relative of her future husband whom she had never met. When she arrived at the relative’s home, Sister Marriott said, “The door opened … and Aunt Carol, without a word, reached out and took me into her arms.” That moment melted away her fears. “Love is making space in your life for someone else,” she said. Is there someone you can make room for?

While they were living in Florida an incident with a persistent bug taught him a lesson about keeping small sins out of our lives. He wrote: “One evening as my neighbor and I stood on the front steps, he noticed a little bug crossing my sidewalk. ‘You better spray your lawn,’ he warned. ‘There goes a mole cricket.’ I had sprayed the lawn with insecticide not too many weeks previously, and I hardly felt that I had the time or money to do it again so soon.

“In the light of the next morning, I examined my lawn closely. It was lush and beautifully green. I looked down into the grass to see if I could see any of the little bugs. I could see none. I remember thinking, Well, maybe that little mole cricket was just passing through my yard on the way to my neighbor’s yard.

“The story, however, has a sad ending. I came out the front door one morning, about 10 days after the conversation with my neighbor. Shockingly, as if it had happened overnight, brown spots covered my lawn. I ran to the garden store, bought the insecticide, and sprayed immediately, but it was too late. The lawn was ruined, and to return it to its former state required a new crop of sod, long hours of work, and large expense.

“My neighbor’s warning was central to my lawn’s welfare. He saw things I could not see. He knew something I did not know. He knew that mole crickets live underground and are active only at night, making my daytime examinations ineffective. He knew that mole crickets did not eat the leaves of the grass but rather found nourishment in the roots. He knew that these little inch-long creatures could eat a lot of roots before I would ever see the effect above the ground. I paid a dear price for my smug independence.

“We live in a wonderful day. The blessings of our generation are lush and beautifully green. With faith in the Savior and obedience to the commandments, our lives can be full of satisfaction and joy.

“Our challenges in choosing to serve the Lord are more subtle than those of former days. There are spiritual mole crickets that burrow under our protective walls and invade our delicate roots. Many of these insects of wickedness appear small, at times almost invisible. Yet if we do not combat them, they will do damage and attempt to destroy that which is most precious to us. …

“With the influences of evil that surround us, can we even imagine going out in the morning without kneeling and humbly asking together for the Lord’s protection? Or closing the day without kneeling together and acknowledging our accountability before Him and our thankfulness for His blessings? (“Debugging Your Life,” New Era, Aug. 2000, 4).

Emily sat listening. She liked the Andersons. Joe and his family weren’t members of the Church, but he was often doing something good for others. The kids in the neighborhood all liked him and called him Uncle Joe. He always had time to listen to troubles and never made light of an individual’s problem, no matter how small. In spite of how busy he was, Uncle Joe would often stop and play a game of softball if an extra player was needed, and Emily especially liked the way he could tell a story. His imaginative tales fascinated not only small children but teenagers as well. But one of the things that claimed priority in importance in Emily’s thoughts was how Uncle Joe had helped her and David and Lora make a tie rack for papa’s birthday after he had hired the three to pull weeds in his garden so they could purchase lumber for the gift.
After the Landins left, Emily closed the catalog, mumbled something about deciding to wait for a day or two before ordering the coat, and then hurried to the bedroom before anyone could question her further.
The next day Joe Anderson’s health was constantly on Emily’s mind. She caught snatches of conversation at school from his daughter who was two years younger than Emily. “People have been good. So many have given what they could, but there is not quite enough money. He is getting worse—his lungs …”
Papa and the neighbors helped with the Andersons’ chores and offered words of cheer, but few could contribute financially.
A few days later, when the Jamestons were gathered around the pump organ singing, Emily slipped unnoticed into the bedroom. For a long time she stood quietly thinking.
“Yes,” she whispered to herself, “if my papa were ill, I would want everyone who could to help him get well.” Then she took the small jar of coins from the drawer of the dresser and joined her family in the front room.
Going to mama and papa, Emily held out her hard-earned savings. “I’ve thought about it for a long time, and I’ve decided that I want you to give this money to the Andersons,” she said.
Lora pressed her hand quickly over her mouth to smother the cry of disbelief that sprang to her lips. She looked around. Wasn’t anyone going to stop Emily from giving her money away? Mama was just sitting there, sitting there smiling, and papa, what was papa doing? Was something the matter with his eyes? Why was he brushing his hand across them so vigorously?
Finally, Lora could stand the silence no longer. “Are you sure, Emily?” she burst out. “What about your coat? You’ve waited so long and worked so hard.”
“I’m sure,” Emily said. “At least I’m sure that it isn’t as important for me to have a new coat as it is for Uncle Joe to get well.”
Papa placed his hand on Emily’s shoulder. For a few seconds he was silent When he spoke, the tone of his voice was low and unnatural for he was touched by the courage his 14-year-old daughter had shown in deciding to part with her savings.
“You are very unselfish, Emily, and you are filled with sweet compassion for others.” He stopped and swallowed hard before he went on. “And since you have given this considerable thought and this is what you want to do, then I think it would be nice if you gave the Andersons the money yourself.”
The next morning mama brought in Aunt Hattie’s coat that she had been altering as a surprise and gave it to her daughter. Emily’s eyes portrayed a quick preview of a smile that was coming. If she couldn’t have a new coat, this was next best, and her happy expression mingled gratitude with admiration at mama’s insight.
Emily wore the coat that night to a special school program. She arrived a little early, and the prelude music was being played softly when two classmates, Nadine and Lucille, neared the bench that she was sitting on. Emily heard their voices as they approached, but she wasn’t prepared for the shock she received when she looked up to speak to them, for Lucille had on a new wrap. Emily caught her breath sharply as she recognized it as being the beautiful blue coat from the sale catalog.
The program became a blur as Emily kept looking at the coat she had wanted so much, and after the closing song, she slipped quickly out of the building and stood for a moment, her hand pressed tightly on the jar of coins concealed in her large patch pocket. As Nadine and Lucille came out they were laughing and whispering. They didn’t see Emily hidden by the shadows.
“Did you see Emily’s made-over coat?” Lucille asked her cousin in a low tone.
“Did I ever!” Nadine giggled. “I have never seen such an ugly mess in my entire life.”
“Did you see how it bagged and how it sagged?” Lucille pulled at the hem of her coat in an exaggerated gesture to emphasize her meaning.
The two girls burst out laughing as they walked away. Emily waited until they were out of sight; then she turned and ran toward home, her tears keeping fast tempo to her running steps. She kept her hand tightly gripped on the small jar in her pocket while the decision to give her money away stood on rocky ground.
When she came to the Andersons’ residence, she stopped abruptly. Joe was propped in a chair in front of the window, and he looked pale, even at a distance. She saw him cough harshly, and his wife hurry to his side. Emily thought of Sam and how Uncle Joe had come immediately to the rescue when he had been needed. After the coughing subsided, Emily opened the gate and went up the walk to the door.
As she left the Andersons’ home, the piercing stab of hurt that had come from Lucille and Nadine’s cruel words began to fade from her memory. Instead she recalled the mist that had come to Uncle Joe’s eyes when she had handed him the money and his raspy voice thanking her again and again.
The crisp December air was near freezing, but Emily stopped for a moment in the darkness before she reached the cabin and looked at her secondhand wrap. Then a soft smile touched her lips, for in a sense, the coins were serving their purpose after all. True they hadn’t been used to purchase a new coat, yet because of the giving, Emily was aware that something new and beautiful was hers, and it was wrapping her in a feeling of warmth she had never experienced before.
Her smile broadened, and she hugged her made-over coat closer around her as she hurried on.

Bear found a beautiful tree in the forest behind her house. She cut it down and put it up in her living room. The tree stood straight and tall.
Now, thought Bear, I need some decorations for this Christmas tree. Bear looked in her attic, in every one of her kitchen cupboards, in her cellar, and even in the bathroom, but she couldn’t find anything to use to decorate her tree. What’ll I do? she wondered. Tonight is Christmas Eve.
Bear decided to take a walk in the forest to help her think. On her walk she met Squirrel. “Hello, Squirrel. Tonight is Christmas Eve, and I haven’t any decorations for my Christmas tree.”
“Why, Bear, you could decorate with nuts. I’ll gather some and bring them to your house tonight.”
“What a grand idea,” said Bear. “Thank you!”
“You’re very welcome, Bear,” said Squirrel. He scurried off into the forest to get his prettiest nuts from his hiding places.
Bear smiled and started walking home. On her way she met Bird. “Hello, Bird. I put up a Christmas tree today, and Squirrel is going to help me decorate it with nuts.”
“That sounds wonderful,” said Bird. “I could bring some cranberries for your tree, too, if you like.”
“Great,” said Bear, “and thank you!”
“You’re welcome,” said Bird, and she flew off to get some cranberries.
As Bear continued home, she met Mouse. “Hello, Mouse. I’m happy today. Squirrel is going to share his nuts and Bird is going to bring cranberries so that we can decorate my Christmas tree.”
“That’s wonderful, Bear. I can bring bits of cheese for your tree,” Mouse said, then scampered off to string bits of cheese from his pantry.
Bear skipped home, smiling at the thought of how her tree would be decorated. She spent the rest of the day making lots of apple juice and honey cakes for her friends.
Word spread through the forest, and soon Rabbit, Mole, Toad, and Deer each had something pretty for Bear’s Christmas tree too. All the animals arrived at Bear’s house, carrying their decorations for the tree. Bear was surprised and happy when she saw so many friends. They sang Christmas carols as they decorated the tree.
“Your tree is beautiful!” they all exclaimed when it was finished.
“Our tree is beautiful,” said Bear as the animals sat around a huge table and feasted on the delicious honey cakes and apple juice. “A bit of this, a bit of that from each of you has made this tree beautiful. Thank you all.”
“Merry Christmas, Bear! Merry Christmas, everyone!” they chorused happily to each other.

As difficult as it may be, I would like to pay tribute today to a very noble soul who found the joy in living a life of service.
Our first meeting occurred 30 years ago. I was a newly appointed secretary to the stake MIA. She was a board member from one of the wards. My job was to call the roll at our stake leadership meeting. In those days when we had a standing roll call, I remember a particular evening when I was calling out the various wards. I had no difficulty in making an accurate count of the young men in attendance; then I started on the young women’s roll. Suddenly my eyes met a charming, beautiful young woman. I completely lost my ability to count. I confess to the Church Historian today that those records that are in the archives of the Church are not accurate for that particular meeting.
Eight months later I was kneeling at an altar in the house of the Lord, holding her hand, and hearing the most glorious words ever to be uttered on earth, “For time and all eternity.” I realized that I was receiving the greatest gift of God. I was being sealed in marriage by one having the authority to act for the Lord in uniting myself and my lovely companion together for time and all eternity, if I would but live worthy of her. We had only been married a few days before I found out I had married a woman with great empathy in her heart for her fellowmen. All of those wonderful aromas which came from the air around her kitchen were not all intended for me, for when she would find someone in need, she could not rest until she had made an effort to supply a relief.
I frequently found myself returning home from a busy day’s work, still under great pressures to complete an assignment before the following morning, only to find I had been committed to an act of compassionate service that night. As we would drive to our place of service, I would be mumbling under my breath, “Why me tonight? How will I ever get that job done before morning?” Then we would arrive at the place of service, and I would see the light in her eyes as she would perform her acts of mercy. I would see children dance with joy and parents weep with gratitude for her concern. On the way home I was mumbling a different tune. I was thanking the Lord for the privilege of being there that particular night.
She understood her role in the family organization. She was anxious to fill that which God had intended for her and had confidence and trust that I would fulfill the one designed for me. My responsibility was to be the provider and protector and builder of the home. Hers was to put beauty and love within its walls. When I married her, she was already an expert in her field. I still needed training in mine. During those early years, I am certain, she could have returned a much larger paycheck to the family than I was able to provide. However, when I came home one evening and announced that I had qualified for graduation from college, without even making it a matter of discussion, she marched in to her boss the following morning and resigned. Homemaking, to her, was the greatest of all occupations. Being a mother was the noblest of all calls. Her love and attention and concern for her children were so evident in our homes.
As a family we soon learned to live with the unexpected when an act of charity was involved. We had moved to California several years ago, and while we were preparing our finances to buy a home, we rented one which furnished us with appliances we needed. We had to store ours in our garage waiting for the purchase of a home. One evening in sacrament meeting she heard an earnest appeal from the bishop of our ward to assist those who had lost so much in a devastating flood a few miles from where we lived. As I drove home from work a few nights later, I saw a trailer in my driveway. There was a man tying my appliances on his trailer. I rushed into the house to see what was going on. And I was greeted with the words, “Oh, didn’t I tell you? After sacrament meeting last week, I informed the bishop if anyone needed our appliances for flood relief, they could have them.”
I always knew that if my wife found a stranger in our city at church on Sunday, I could find them in our extra bedroom when I returned home from my Church assignment that evening. A student looking for a room, a father being transferred to a new city, looking for a place for his family, a family returning from an overseas assignment, etc., were always welcome to stay with us until they could find a permanent place of residence.
Even through these multitude acts of kindness, her finest hours were yet to come. Five years ago our lives were shocked with an announcement that she had contracted a terminal disease. Her life expectancy could only be another six months to a year. She accepted this decision with a faith and courage I never expect to see equalled. As the doctor made this announcement to us, she turned to me and said with all the faith and peace that she could muster, “Don’t tell anyone about this. I don’t want it to change our way of life or have anyone treat us differently.” Now her life was filled with physical hardship. It seemed to only make her more sensitive for the physical needs of others. Her empathy for her fellowmen increased, for now she had a greater appreciation for need.
Three serious operations followed in very short order. There were only a few who knew about them and they were sworn to secrecy. Her pattern of life in the hospital was always the same. With her careful planning, she would attend church on Sunday, the operation would be performed early Monday morning. By Tuesday, she was trying to get out of bed. By Wednesday she would be up moving around, trying to regain her physical strength. Thursday would find her helping the nurses assist others who were in the hospital. Friday she would spend trying to convince the doctor that she was ready to go home. By Saturday morning the doctor would give up in despair and discharge her. Sunday she would be back in church looking radiant. No one would ever suspect that she had just gone through major surgery. After the meeting I would rush down to take her home to get her some needed rest. And as I would come close to her I would hear her say to someone else in need, “Now don’t worry about a thing. I’ll have dinner ready for you and at your home on Thursday night.”
She placed her illness entirely in the hands of the Lord, and he blessed her with enough strength to endure and just enough energy to live the kind of life she wanted to live. After a difficult night, I would plead with her to remain in bed. Her answer was always the same: “No, I am not going to start that.”
The Lord blessed her with four additional years that medical science could not promise her. How grateful we are for those years, for it was during this period that she was able to stand by my side as we were honored in these present positions. She was able to see, at least in some degree, what she had tried to make of me.
The Lord made it as convenient as possible in his timing to call her home. He waited until I had completed my traveling schedule for the year. And on the first Saturday I had been home in many months, he called her to leave mortality.
Her last acts were so typical of her. She was up preparing breakfast for her family. I heard her drop a dish and give a little moan. As I rushed from my study, thinking she had injured herself, I found that she was suffering from a stroke that was causing her to lose the use of her right arm. I quickly picked her up and carried her in to a little couch I had just recently convinced her that she should have near her kitchen so she could rest during the day.
There was terror in her eyes as the paralysis started to spread down her side. I told her I was going to rush a call to the doctor. She said, “First, give me a blessing.” As I laid my hands on her head that morning, the Lord in his great mercy let me know that her time had come. As I left the room to call the doctor after that blessing, she was literally fighting to move her right arm and her right leg. And the last words I heard her utter were, “I will not live as a half a person.”
Her next two hours, her last in mortality, were the only two I know of in her life that she was not carrying her full load and a little extra for someone else. The Lord in his mercy has let her pass through the veil and relieved her from her anxiety and pain. Now she is whole again, and I am certain paradise is a much more joyful place because she is there.
For the hundreds of messages of sympathy we have received, we express our appreciation. If we had taken time to classify them, I think we would have found that we could have sorted them in two piles that typified and characterized her in her life here on earth. The first pile that we would have sorted—as we heard from the eastern part of the United States—would be something like this: “She gave us our first Book of Mormon and was an inspiration to us. How grateful we are to have known her. We will always remember her gracious hospitality to our family on the day of our baptism. It was such a happy occasion to have dinner in your home on that particular day.”
She was deeply grateful for her membership in the church of Jesus Christ. It was the foundation on which her life had been built. It was her sustaining power, her hope for the eternities. She was anxious to share her witness of the mission of our Lord and Savior with others. A fundamental part of her storage program, which included, of course, the basics of wheat, canned goods, and other inventories, was a supply of a dozen copies of the Book of Mormon. She would count those just as religiously as she would count her other supplies and replenish them in the same order. She used to comment about her inventories: “When we use the food, the inventory is gone. When I make a gift of the Book of Mormon, I never stop receiving the benefit and enjoyment of that gift.”
The second group of letters would read in part this way: “Your wife and mother was my stake leader in Spiritual Living. For one year I met with her for forty-five minutes each month and she had a profound influence on my life. She will always be one of the truly unforgettable people I have known. To me she exemplified spiritual living. She understood the needs of others and sought diligently to supply those needs.”
The Lord has said to us, “Thou shalt live together in love, insomuch that thou shalt weep for the loss of them that die, and more especially for those that have not hope of a glorious resurrection.
“And it shall come to pass that those that die in me shall not taste of death, for it shall be sweet unto them.” (D&C 42:45–46.)
I understand this scripture now as never before. Even though there is great loneliness without her, her passing was sweet because of the way she had lived.
In tribute to her today, I recommend to you her way of life. I watched service consume pain. I witnessed faith destroy discouragement. I have seen courage magnify her beyond her natural abilities. I have observed love change the course of lives.
May God grant that her memory will bring satisfaction and fulfillment to your life, I humbly pray in the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.

John Stephen Akhwari, a marathon runner from Tanzania, competed in the 1968 Summer Olympics. As he was suffering along the way from fatigue, leg cramps, dehydration, and disorientation, “a voice called from within to go on, and so he went on” (The Last African Runner, Olympiad Series, written, directed, and produced by Bud Greenspan, Cappy Productions, 1976, videocassette). Exhausted and staggering, John Stephen Akhwari was the last man to enter the stadium, more than an hour after the winner of the marathon had completed the race. When asked why he would complete a race he could never win, Akhwari replied, “My country did not send me 5,000 miles to start the race; my country sent me to finish the race.”

We are not brought to earth just to be born into mortality. We came with a mission and a purpose—and that is to endure to the end.

I bear testimony that the Lord knows each of you. We are numbered and nourished to keep us in the right way (see Moroni 6:4). This has been evidenced to me again and again in my teaching experience at BYU. In religion classes that I have had the privilege of teaching from time to time, I have usually given a series of assignments called “achievements.” Depending on the particular achievement, students are required to teach a gospel principle to someone else or to improve their private religious lives in some way and then to write an account of their experience and what they learned. One achievement was based on Alma 32 and involved not procrastinating acting on a prompting. In pondering the assignment, one student was prompted to visit a friend she hadn’t seen in almost a year. She was tempted to ignore the prompting but decided to not procrastinate acting upon it. When she went to her friend’s house, she found her alone in a seriously ill and deteriorating condition. Emergency hospitalization was necessary, which led to the recovery of the friend. The Lord himself said, “For behold I know my sheep, and they are numbered” (3 Nephi 18:31).