Gospel Story Finder

Many years ago, as a bishop in a large and diverse ward of over a thousand members located in downtown Salt Lake City, I faced numerous challenges.

One Sunday afternoon I received a phone call from the proprietor of a drugstore located within our ward boundaries. He indicated that earlier that morning, a young boy had come into his store and had purchased an ice-cream sundae from the soda fountain. He had paid for the purchase with money he took from an envelope, and then when he left, he had forgotten the envelope. When the proprietor had a chance to examine it, he found that it was a fast-offering envelope with the name and telephone number of our ward printed on it. As he described to me the boy who had been in his store, I immediately identified the individual—a young deacon from our ward who came from a less-active family.

My first reaction was one of shock and disappointment to think that any of our deacons would take fast-offering funds intended for those in need and would go to a store on a Sunday and buy a treat with the money. I determined to visit the boy that afternoon in order to teach him about the sacred funds of the Church and his duty as a deacon to gather and to protect those funds.

As I drove to the home, I offered a silent prayer for direction in what I should say to compose the situation. I arrived and knocked on the door. It was opened by the boy’s mother, and I was invited into the living room. Although the room was barely lighted, I could see how small and run-down it was. The few pieces of furniture were threadbare. The mother herself looked worn out.

My indignation at her son’s actions that morning disappeared from my thoughts as I realized that here was a family in real need. I felt impressed to ask the mother if there was any food in the house. Tearfully she admitted that there was none. She told me that her husband had been out of work for some time and that they were in desperate need not only of food but also of money with which to pay the rent so that they wouldn’t be evicted from the tiny house.

I never did bring up the matter of the fast-offering donations, for I realized that the boy had most likely been desperately hungry when he stopped at the drugstore. Rather, I immediately arranged for assistance for the family, that they might have food to eat and a roof over their heads. In addition, with the help of the priesthood leaders in the ward, we were able to arrange employment for the husband so that he could provide for his family in the future.

“Breathe deeply and exhale slowly,” his mother had said on their way to church. That’s what he did now. Then he breathed in again and tried letting the air out in short spurts.
“Why am I so scared? I’m not. I can’t be. I’ve got to get it together.”
He fingered his Book of Mormon and then pulled out the worn paper. He unfolded it carefully because the creases looked ready to tear.
“Brothers and Sisters, I’m happy to have this opportunity to speak” wasn’t a very original way to begin. He folded the talk, stuck it in his pocket, then took it out of his pocket and put it back into the front of his Book of Mormon. What was that joke about seeing a Nephite? Maybe he should begin with that instead.
“Brothers and Sisters, have you ever seen a Nephite? Well, if you could see behind the pulpit, you’d really see a good one. My knees are really trying to knock each other down!” No, his father would never tell a joke like that. He’d just stick to the words on the paper. It would be better not to take any chances.
He took out his hanky and wiped his hands. Why wouldn’t they stop trembling? He just had to stop his body from shaking or his voice would shake too.
“Brothers and Sisters, I’m happy to be here today. I’m happy to have this opportunity. When the bishop, my dad, asked me to speak, I …” Dumb! Why hadn’t he thought of a better introduction?
It’d been three years since he’d spoken in front of people. Three whole years! Since that time he had always avoided it somehow. But the memory of his last experience had dimmed with time, and he wanted to learn to get up in front of people, so he’d said yes. Now the memory of that former talk seemed painfully fresh again. There he was, struggling and stuttering. He could remember that talk even now. But back then, when he’d seen all those faces, the talk he’d memorized had vanished. It had simply evaporated. “But I didn’t have my notes with me that day,” he thought. “That was my downfall. I hadn’t taken my notes because I wanted to look super-intelligent. Besides, Dad never uses any. But now I’ve got notes, so there won’t be any problem.” If there would be no problem, he wondered, why was he so scared?
Announcements over, his dad sat down a few seats from Jack and cleared his throat. Jack looked at his dad’s profile so much like his own. “But that’s where the similarity ends,” Jack thought. “Dad’s such a powerful speaker.” His father’s talks were always rich with experiences and stories. “I don’t have one story in this talk,” Jack thought. “Everyone will fall asleep. Well, better if they do.”
His father, sensing Jack’s gaze, looked over, smiled, and nodded. Jack smiled back, tried to swallow the frog in his throat, and took out his notes again. “If I were more of a ‘chip off the old block,’ I wouldn’t be worrying like this.” But then he made a tight fist. “I don’t need to be just like Dad. I don’t need to be outgoing and dynamic. I can be just as good as myself.”
He lowered his head and wiped the perspiration from his forehead. It wouldn’t do to have the wetness fog up his glasses. Then a thought came to Jack that made him shudder. He pushed his toes hard against the soles of his shoes. “What if I break down? What if I break down and cry or something? Cry, out of pure fright. No, I wouldn’t do that. I know I wouldn’t. Brothers and Sisters, I’m happy. …” It would just take eight and a half minutes. For eight and a half minutes he could surely control himself. “Maybe my voice will crack a time or two in those eight and a half minutes, but I don’t think I’ll really break down, at least I hope …”
Sister Carlson was leading the sacrament hymn now, and Jack opened the hymn book and thumbed through it for the hymn. He hadn’t heard the page number. When he had finally looked in the index and found “Come, Follow Me,” he joined in on the last verse. But something was wrong with his voice. It wasn’t clear and deep. It was hoarse and timid. “I don’t have a voice. How can I give a talk without a voice?” He cleared his throat, coughed, and then tried to sing again. This time he was relieved to hear his voice clearing up a little.
“The Word of Wisdom is important for us to follow because …” The words to his talk were flowing through his mind now, but not in order. They were all jumbled. He sang a few more words and then breathed deeply in and out again.
After the sacrament Jack saw his father shuffle a few papers, smile over at him, and walk to the podium. “This is it,” Jack thought. “Dad’s going to introduce the speakers now and I’m first. At least it’ll be over within eight and a half minutes from now.”
His father’s rich, bass voice echoed through the chapel. Dynamic, a powerful speaker. The congregation was staring up at the podium. In a moment he, Jack Miller, would be up there with everyone staring at him, expecting so much. There was a thickness in his chest and a slight pain. A heart attack. Maybe he’d have a heart attack.
“I can’t get up there! I can’t do it! I don’t even think my legs will hold me when I stand up. I think I’m going to be very sick any minute. I’ve got to tell Dad I can’t. I … no, I’ve got to do it. I’ve just got to.” It didn’t make any sense. Where was his great self-image? This morning in front of the mirror, he’d read his talk without a single error. He’d even used his hands, and he’d been in perfect control.
“We have a little problem tonight, Brothers and Sisters,” his father was saying. “It seems we were unwise in calling as our main speakers Brother and Sister Emery. We hope our asking them to speak didn’t start Sister Emery’s labor, but whatever the cause, a little spirit seems very anxious to join our ward family. I just received a note that the Emerys are at the hospital right now.” Everyone chuckled. Everyone except Jack. “Therefore, his father turned and smiled at him. “We’ll tell our youth speaker, my son Jack, that he can have all the time he wants. I’m sure he’s happy about that.” The congregation chuckled again as Jack felt the heat rushing to his head. He had been so concerned about his own talk that he hadn’t even noticed that the Emerys were missing. “There goes the eight and a half minutes,” he thought.
“Then maybe we’ll ask a few members of the ward here tonight to say a few words,” his dad continued. “But before my son speaks, I’d like to say a few words about something I’ve been thinking about quite a bit lately—the priesthood.” His father confidently placed one hand on the pulpit and put the other in his pocket.
Jack put his head in his hands. Oh no, this couldn’t be. He’d have to follow his dad. This was even worse than he’d thought. “Now I know I can’t do it,” he cried to himself. But what was his father saying?
“In our family we have someone who has used his power of the priesthood and magnified it. But then, even when he was small he believed in the power of the priesthood.” The warmth rushed to Jack’s head again as he realized his father was talking about him. “I have a special story about Jack that’s important to our family, and I’d like to share it with you. It’s special because …”
Jack looked up to see why his dad was pausing so long. He saw that his dad had taken his hand out of his pocket and was grasping the podium.
“It’s special because …”
“Not that story, Dad. Please. You can’t ever get through it.” Jack was writhing in his seat now, but not for himself. He knew the story well. His dad had blessed him after the automobile accident, and it had saved his life. But his dad had never tried telling it in public. Why now?
“My boy was only three, but he asked for a blessing …” Bishop Miller’s voice was coming out in spurts and his fingers were turning white. This time the pause was longer. “You’ll … you’ll have to excuse me. I shouldn’t try to tell this story. I …” Two more times he began the story, but emotion overcame him. Two more times he stopped, each time pausing longer than before. “I’m sorry … I … The doctors had said …” His father stood at the podium silently now, unable to control his voice. Jack sat behind him on the edge of his seat, grasping the arm rests. He had only one thought: “I’ve got to help Dad.”
As if all emotion had transferred itself, Jack felt curiously calm as he stood up straight and walked the few steps to the pulpit. There he put his arm around his father. “Bishop, I mean, Dad, let me finish the story for you.” His father turned to him in surprise, the tears still trickling from underneath his glasses. Then he nodded with relief and sat down.
It was strange how courageous he felt as he told the story that was so important to their family. Some of the members of the congregation wiped their eyes at its finish. But, now, it was Jack’s turn to pause. What would he say now? Speaking on the Word of Wisdom just didn’t seem appropriate anymore. He opened his Book of Mormon to his notes and stared at them. Then he looked above them to a scripture he’d underlined on that page of his Book of Mormon: “I, Nephi, having been born of goodly parents.” (1 Ne. 1:1.) Immediately he read the scripture aloud for he knew now what he would talk about. He looked down into their faces. There was Sister Jackson, the Wade family, and good old Brother Price, their home teacher. There were the Smiths and the Jacksons, and there was his own family, with his mother beaming at him. He became excited to tell them all. He wanted to tell them his feelings.
“Sometimes, to tell you the truth, I’ve been a bit rebellious about having a father who is bishop,” Jack said. “Everyone expects so much. But now I, Jack Miller, having been born of goodly parents, would like to tell you what it means to have a dad like mine who honors his priesthood and loves others.” He looked back at his father who was smiling widely. “This is my chance to get even with him for all the stories he’s told about me and others in his talks.” The congregation laughed, and Jack heard his father’s deep chuckle behind him.
He confidently placed one hand on the podium and the other in his pocket as he continued. His voice echoed through the microphone with a mellow, subtle power. The Spirit warmed within him and he, Jack Miller, became a speaker.

Did you know that the Church has been recording publications and manuals for the blind since the late 1950s? Six years ago, David Shaw, the sound designer at LDS Motion Picture Studios, thought visually-impaired children and youth should hear the Friend and New Era read by people their own ages. Now anyone can listen to these magazines read aloud online. The New Era spoke with Hayley (17), McKay (15), and Abby Newell (13) about their experiences recording articles each month.

Elder M. Russell Ballard of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles recently told members and missionaries in Europe that they live and work among “fine people who need the values and teachings of the gospel, and when they are taught well, they will embrace its truths.”
Aware that some missionaries serving in Europe fear they are not likely to baptize, Elder Ballard declared, “With faith and courage, we can find those who will embrace the gospel. No missionary should go with any preconceived notion that teaching and baptizing are beyond the realm of possibility. … They should go into the mission field believing they can build the Church.”
During a visit that began on August 17, 2006, Elder Ballard conducted seminars with the 50 mission presidents from the Europe West, Europe East, and Europe Central Areas, challenging the notion that Europeans won’t join the Church. Seminars were held in Birmingham, England; St. Petersburg, Russia; and Dresden, Germany. He also addressed many missionaries and members in these areas, as well as other members meeting in Ukraine, Armenia, and Switzerland.
“Members need to draw close to full-time missionaries and learn ways to share the gospel with more people,” he said. “Members should encourage missionaries to go with faith, knowing they can find the honest in heart, to teach and baptize them.”
Accompanying Elder Ballard were Elder Earl C. Tingey of the Presidency of the Seventy and Elder Jon M. Huntsman Sr., Area Seventy. Elder Dennis B. Neuenschwander of the Seventy also accompanied Elder Ballard in the Europe East Area.
“Missionaries are working hard,” said Elder Tingey. “They are well schooled. They are teaching and serving as directed in Preach My Gospel. New members are grasping their religion, as demonstrated by traveling long distances to attend the member meetings.”

I grew up in California as a teenager during a time when evil influences, such as drugs and bad music, became increasingly popular. Because of the knowledge I had been blessed to receive, I chose not to participate in those things. I was preparing to become a missionary and serve the Lord. In the mission field, the knowledge that I was serving the Lord strengthened my determination to work hard in building His kingdom. Laboring as a missionary is perhaps one of the greatest ways to learn and obtain spiritual knowledge.

For Example
In the early days of the Church, an elder found himself with the responsibility of giving a sermon to a large group of people gathered to hear a “Mormon” preacher. The situation wouldn’t have been that bad, but as Brigham Young explained, “[The elder] had never been able to say he knew that Joseph Smith was a Prophet.” The elder wanted to just say a prayer and conclude the meeting. But the building was so full, people were hanging through the open windows from outside to listen. There was no graceful way out for the elder except to speak.
He braved his way to the podium, and “as soon as he got ‘Joseph’ out, ‘is a Prophet’ was the next; and from that, his tongue was loosened, and he continued talking until near sundown,” Brigham Young reported. “The Lord pours out his Spirit upon a man when he testifies that which the Lord gives him to testify of” (Joseph Fielding McConkie, Seeking the Spirit, Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Co., 1978, pp. 4–5).

Lester and his mother were in their backyard, raking leaves. Actually, Lester’s mother was raking leaves. Lester was leaning on his rake.
“Lester,” Mother said as she continued to add leaves to her large leaf pile, “when I was a little girl—”
“I know, I know—don’t tell me, Mother.” Lester loved to tease his mother. “When you were a little girl, you didn’t have three maple trees in your backyard—you had three thousand, so there were zillions of leaves all over the place. But you never stopped raking. Not even for a minute. Not even if it started to rain. Nope, you didn’t stop until every single leaf was in your pile.”
Lester’s mother smiled. “Three thousand maple trees! Goodness, Lester, I didn’t grow up in the woods! No, what I was going to tell you was that when I was a little girl, I used to love jumping into leaf piles.”
“What? Didn’t that mess the leaf piles up?”
“Well, I suppose it did,” Mother said. “But it was sure a lot of fun!”
“Fun?” Was this the same mother who ordered him to stay away from mud puddles and who wouldn’t let him bring worms into the house? Was she teasing him?
“Yes, fun. Why don’t you give it a try?”
“All right.” Lester shrugged, trotted over to his mother’s leaf pile, and took a half-hearted leap.
Scrunch! Crackle! Crunch! The leaf pile had become a king-size, autumn-scented pillow!
Lester giggled. His mother was right. Jumping into leaf piles was a lot of fun. In fact, it was so much fun that Lester kept jumping, and jumping, and jumping, until Mother, who’d jumped in a couple of times herself, stopped and said, “Say, Lester, when I was a little girl—”
“I know, I know—don’t tell me, Mother. When you were a little girl, the instant your mother told you to stop jumping into the leaf pile, you picked up your rake and started raking all over again. And you never stopped. Not even for a second. Not even when a hurricane blew through and you had to chase your leaves all over town. Nope, you didn’t stop until you were absolutely sure that every single one of those leaves was in your pile.”
Lester’s mother smiled. “A hurricane! Goodness, Lester, I didn’t grow up on the coast! No, what I was going to tell you was that when I was a little girl, I used to love making leaf houses.”
“What?” Lester scratched his head. “Didn’t that mess the leaf piles up?”
Lester’s mother laughed. “Well, I suppose it did,” she said. “But it was sure a lot of fun!”
“Fun?” Where in the world was the mother who scolded him for playing with his food, the one who nearly hit the ceiling the last time he tried out one of his original cake recipes? Why, she hadn’t even let him put his mustard-marshmallow delight into the oven! She must be teasing him!
“Yes, fun. Watch.”
Then, as Lester looked on in amazement, Mother began to rearrange her leaf pile. Before he knew it, the leaf pile had completely vanished, and his mother was standing in the center of four leaf-walls. Oh, the walls were no more than a foot high and a foot wide, but Mother seemed satisfied. “Well, Lester,” she asked, “what do you think of the house?”
“Hmmmm,” Lester said. “I’ve never seen a leaf house before, so I suppose it’s OK. Aren’t you going to invite me in?”
“Why, how thoughtless of me!” Mother quickly raked an opening in the wall closest to Lester. “I thought someone was at the front door,” she declared, smiling. “Won’t you come in?”
“Thank you.” Lester entered the leaf house.
“Could I offer you something to drink?”
“Oh, yes,” Lester said. “I’d love a chocolate milk shake. But where are you going to make it? I don’t see a kitchen.”
“A kitchen!” Mother said. “Why, Lester, you’re absolutely right. I don’t have a kitchen. Would you like to help me make one?”
Lester raced out the front door of the leaf house and grabbed his rake. Then he and Mother began to add on to the leaf house. They raked a kitchen, a dining room, a living room, two bedrooms, two bathrooms, a front porch, and a back door.
The leaf house sprawled across the entire backyard. Lester had never raked so hard or so long in his life. “This is really some kind of place!” he said as he drank his imaginary milk shake. “Don’t you think so, Mother?”
“Lester, Lester,” replied his mother, who was leaning on her rake, “did I ever tell you that when I was a little girl—”
“I know, I know—don’t tell me, Mother. When you were a little girl, right after you finished building your leaf house, you started tearing it down. You had to, because in your heart you knew that those leaves didn’t belong all over your yard. They belonged in a nice, neat pile. So once again you began to rake. And you raked, and you raked, and you raked. You never stopped. Not even when it was after midnight and the worst blizzard of all time howled into your town, and two hundred polar bears wandered into your backyard and started fooling around with your leaves and you had to tell them to cut it out, because there was no way you were going to let perfect strangers mess things up, and the polar bears started blubbering, but you didn’t give a hoot, you just told them to scram and kept right on raking until every single leaf was in your pile.”
Lester was out of breath.
Mother smiled. “Two hundred polar bears! Goodness, Lester, I didn’t grow up that close to the North Pole! No, what I was going to tell you was that when I was a little girl and it started to get dark and I started to get hungry, I’d rake shut the front door of my leaf house and head for the backdoor of my brick house.”
“You’d just leave your leaf house?” Lester said, his eyes as big as full moons.
“Yes—I always liked to play in my leaf house the next day.”
“Wow!”
“Well, of course,” Mother said, “there was that one year when the strongest winds ever to blow across the face of the earth carried off one of my leaf houses while I was sound asleep. I couldn’t find a trace of it the next morning, even though I looked everywhere. But,” she chuckled, “other than that time, I always enjoyed playing in my leaf house the following day.”
Lester grinned. “You know, Mother, I think that I might have liked playing with you when you were little.”
“Why, thank you, Lester.”
Lester and Mother shut the front door of their leaf house, put their rakes away, and walked in the back door of their other house, where their dinner just happened to be in the oven.

Fletcher and the Great Big Dog by Jane Kopper Hilleary When a great big dog stands in Fletcher’s way, he turns and pedals away. The dog follows him wherever he goes, and he gets lost. When it starts to rain, Fletcher tries to find his way home. This time the great big dog doesn’t follow him, so Fletcher wisely decides to follow the dog.

When I joined the missionary preparation class, things didn’t go smoothly. I was battling personal conflicts and worried that I wouldn’t make a difference as a missionary. I felt more anxious every day.
I struggled with these feelings for a while and prayed to know if I really was good enough to serve.
One day, as I checked my email, I opened a message from ComeuntoChrist.org. There, in big, bold letters, were the words “You Are Enough!”
These words pierced my heart, and I felt comforted. My prayers had been answered! I realized that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ are fully aware of our circumstances and can answer our prayers in the most personal ways.

Jacob pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket that read,
Please take good care of Henry.
My mother wouldn’t let me take him with me.
Benne
That morning Jacob had found the note taped to the bare wall of his room when his family arrived at their new home. While the furniture was being carried in, Jacob looked everywhere in the house, in the yard, and even out around the cholla and prickly pear cacti growing outside the fence beyond the mesquite trees. But he didn’t see a sign of any pet.
After supper Jacob got two bowls and put leftovers and bones in one and some fresh cold water in the other and set them outside the back door.
“Henry! Henry!” he called in every direction into the cooling desert air, but there was no answer and no pet came running to eat. He watched until the sunset had faded and bright stars twinkled through the purple and gray of the night, but no pet came.
“I guess Henry is lost,” he told his mother, “or maybe he ran away.”
That night Jacob woke up to the sound of a coyote calling from the mesa out in the distance. He sat up to see if he could see it from his window. But all he could see was the moonlight reflection, glimmering off the desert sand. Then Jacob thought he caught a glimpse of something moving in the corner of his room.
“Henry?” he called and crawled to the foot of his bed to see what it was.
Jacob’s eyes grew larger and larger. He rubbed them hard and then looked again. There in the corner was a snake. He could see its yellow markings in the moonlight against its black body. It was just swallowing the last of a small mouse and was too busy to notice Jacob.
Jacob watched as the end of the mouse’s tail disappeared inside the snake’s mouth, then he saw the bulgy, black and yellow snake crawl slowly into a knothole in the baseboard.
The next morning what Jacob had seen seemed like only a dream, and he forgot about it in all the excitement of his first day at school.
After school one of the boys in his class introduced himself. “My name’s Tom. You moved into the house out near Chacho Mesa, didn’t you? I went past there yesterday with my father and saw you. We live about half a mile farther on.”
“Did you know a boy named Benne who used to live there?” Jacob asked.
“Sure.”
“I’m afraid that his pet, Henry, is lost. There was a note asking me to take care of him, but I can’t find him.”
“Oh, haven’t you met Henry yet?” Tom asked with mock innocence. “He’s probably hiding till he gets used to your family. I’ll bet he’s around there somewhere,” Tom added, suppressing a smile. “My father’s planning to stop and get acquainted with your family tonight. I’ll come with him and help you hunt for Henry then.”
Tom and his father arrived right after supper, carrying a plate heaped with chocolate chip cookies. After Jacob and Tom each ate one, they took two more and headed outside.
“Henry’s really hard to find when he wants to be,” Tom said. “There’s an old pack rat’s nest out here that Henry sometimes checks out to see if it’s occupied. Let’s start looking there.”
Tom wove his way in and out of cedar clumps, barrel cacti, and grasses that grew in thin tufts. Here and there he had to step over lechuguilla spines. “Watch out for those!” he warned Jacob. “They’ll slice into even the toughest shoes.”
Soon they reached a large mound of dirt piled around the base of a creosote bush. Bits of foil and shotgun casings and colorful pieces of plastic and metal were poking out here and there from the dirt. Up and down the sides of the mound ran four-toed tracks and long grooves made by something being dragged up its sides.
“It looks like a new pack rat has taken over this place,” Tom said. “If Henry had been here lately, it would have been empty. Let’s go.”
From behind a yucca, a roadrunner darted, then strutted off ahead of the boys, stopping now and again to raise and lower its tail.
“Is Henry a dog?” Jacob finally asked.
“No,” answered Tom briskly.
“If Henry’s not a dog, then he must be a cat?” persisted Jacob.
Tom laughed. “Benne really didn’t tell you in the note who Henry is, did he?” he said incredulously.
“No, who is he?”
“Henry’s a pet snake.”
“A snake!” Then Jacob remembered. “What kind of snake? What does he look like?”
“He’s a king snake. He’s black with yellow markings that look sort of like a chain on his body. He can catch a rat or mouse better than a cat. I already have a pet snake, or I would have taken him home with me when Benne moved away.”
Then Jacob told Tom what had happened the night before. It didn’t seem at all like a dream now.
“That sounds like Henry all right. If he comes out before I go home, I’ll introduce him to you and let him know you’re his new friend. He trusts me already.”
The boys went into Jacob’s room and looked into the knothole.
“I can’t see him in there, but he’s probably awake by now,” Tom said. “He usually sleeps all day and comes out to eat about this time.”
The boys played two games of checkers before a black and yellow head with two bright eyes poked out of the knothole, and the snake crawled into the room.
“There you are, Henry,” Tom said and he picked up the snake. “Meet Jacob. He just moved in here.”
Tom placed the snake in Jacob’s hands. Henry looked at Jacob with unblinking eyes.
“Look,” Jacob said as he walked into the living room to show his mom and dad. “We’ve found Henry.”
“So this is what you were telling us about,” Jacob’s dad said to Tom’s father.
“A pet snake!” Jacob’s mother exclaimed. “That will take a little getting used to. But if he’s as friendly and as good at keeping the mice away as you say, I guess he can stay.”
Henry looked around at Tom and Jacob and their parents, flicked out his tongue, and laid his head down on the coil his body had made in Jacob’s hands and went to sleep.

I love to work out. I did gymnastics my whole life. But I had to stop because I had several injuries. It was difficult for me to stop because I went from exercising many hours a week to zero hours a week. I couldn’t exercise the way I used to, so I decided to try running. I love to run through the city. Running also helps to reduce my stress.

I recall a few years ago I was supervising the missions in western Europe. We needed a mission president with a certain language proficiency. Several names were brought forward, but none of them seemed to be right. Then one of the Brethren remembered that he had met a man—I think it was in Korea—several years before. He was a member of the church who was in the customs service. Somehow just the mention of that name and the Spirit confirmed it. He was called, because of the time pressures, by telephone to preside over the mission. I visited him a few weeks later. He was living in Washington D.C. He was within reach of the number one office in his category. His lifetime had been spent progressing through the ranks, thinking that perhaps one day he would stand at the head of that division. His senior officer had indicated that because of a health problem he would retire early and that this man was being recommended for that position. It was just at that time that the telephone call came.

I wanted to get acquainted with him and was invited to stay overnight. He brought me a message from his superior. The message was this: “Tell that Brother Packer of yours that you’re no missionary; I’ve worked with you for 30 years, and you haven’t converted me. Tell them they’re making a mistake. And you’re making a mistake. You’re a fool.” (I’m leaving out one word.) “If you will give up your retirement and all that you’ve worked for—why? Why would you do it?”
Simple answer: He’d been called. We live to know, in this church, that the response to a call does not depend on the testimony and witness of the one who delivers the call. It depends, rather, on the testimony and witness of the one who receives it.

It was very interesting. We were looking for a man who spoke French. It was not until after he was in the mission field, and we had some opportunities and responsibilities relating to some of the problems of some members we had in Spain, that we discovered that he wrote and spoke Spanish fluently. I suppose if we’d searched through the Church for a man who spoke French, spoke Spanish, and had some diplomatic experience, particularly as it related to customs work, we would have gone afar in the world and not found him. Yet, it was through the “chance” memory of one of the Brethren that he’d met a man a few years before in Korea who spoke French that found him.

Recently, I was at home with my 4-year-old daughter, Romana, and we were both in my bedroom. I left the bedroom and went to the living room, leaving her alone in the bedroom. A few minutes later, I called out to her: “Romana, you are alone in the bedroom, come to the living room to be with me and your dolls.”
Without hesitating, she replied: “Mom, I am not alone, God is with me! We are never alone, remember?” I was so touched to hear my little girl saying those words. A few days earlier, during our family study, my husband and I had taught our children that our Heavenly Father and our Savior are always with us, despite our weaknesses and challenges. We are never alone!

“So, I’m supposed to … what?”
I had listened. Really, I had. The instructor had checked my harness, had shown me exactly how to release the rope, had even looked me right in the eyes and said, “I will NOT let you fall!”
But at that crucial moment, there I stood: shaking and sweating, as I looked over my shoulder and down … way down, knowing
I had to take that first step.
Off a cliff.

I’ll never forget the lesson I learned a few years ago. It was a lesson of how to show, not just teach, the gospel message. At the time, I was serving in the Sweden Stockholm Mission in a town not far from Stockholm.
One rainy day, while my companion and I were riding the bus home for lunch, we met a young lady who had been an exchange student in the United States. She told us that her name was Anna and that she was attending the university in town. We asked her about her beliefs and found that she was very active in another church. She said that she would never change but accepted our invitation to hear more about our beliefs.
During the weeks that followed, we taught her several discussions and had some wonderful spiritual experiences. She read from the Book of Mormon and prayed for answers to her questions. She felt that it was right, but because of her previous religious ties, she had a hard time accepting the challenge to be baptized.
That Thanksgiving we had planned a small “feast” for our investigators and some member friends. As the word spread, our small feast became a large gathering. Of course Anna was invited, along with others that my companion and I had grown very close to.
Before the blessing on the food, I took the time to explain the significance of Thanksgiving and why we celebrate it. I also explained to the guests just how much my companion and I loved and appreciated each one of them. I thanked them for the kindness they had always shown us.
The rest of the night went rather well. There were musical numbers by members and nonmembers alike and many other fun activities. I couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed, however. It had taken much more of our time than I had expected, and I wondered if the time could have been better spent.
Later that next week, I received a notice of transfer, but before I left, Anna wrote a short letter and gave it to me. I have translated a portion of that letter:
“I also want to thank you for letting me come to your Thanksgiving party. It was quite an experience for me in two ways—partly because I got to eat American food and partly because I got to see the warmth that exists between you and your friends. It will be of great importance for me in my decisions concerning your teachings.”

When Etienne Marakavi arrived in South Africa at the age of 25, he had no family, no home, and very little money.
Having lost his parents and survived many civil war atrocities in the Democratic Republic of the Congo, he left the country by himself on foot. At 19 years old, he began an epic journey, travelling from country to country in pursuit of a new home. He stayed in refugee camps along the way, relying on donated food and shelter to survive.
Eventually, Etienne found himself in Norway. There, he had the life-changing experience of meeting the missionaries and joining The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. But a fruitless attempt to gain asylum status meant that after some time, he was forced to leave. “I went to Rwanda, Uganda, and then Kenya,” said Etienne, “where I was advised to leave the country. Then I moved to Tanzania, where I was told the country does not accept asylum seekers. I moved to Malawi, where I unsuccessfully tried to apply for asylum, and I had to leave due to the harsh conditions of life. I managed to slip through Mozambique, where I got mugged and robbed.” He made it to Tongogara, a refugee camp in Zimbabwe. But the conditions in the camp were extremely harsh and “hopeless,” said Etienne, so he left again—this time bound for South African shores.
Because he had found the Church, he had something he didn’t previously: a testimony. But his temporal circumstances were dire.
“I had every expectation of being homeless for several years,” says Etienne.
And in the beginning, he was. He joined a group of homeless people on the streets of a small border town called Musina and lived on discarded food to stay alive.
But some months later he managed to travel to Johannesburg. There, he gradually started finding menial jobs. Now, a few years later, he pays his own rent, has completed his high-school certificate, recently finished the Church-sponsored distance-learning “Pathway” programme, and is now registered with BYU–Idaho to earn a degree in computer science. He has also remained active and faithful in the Church, currently serving as the ward assistant clerk.
Etienne shares the three biggest things he learned about self-reliance in this extraordinary journey, and his answers show an understanding that self-reliance permeates every part of our lives. “People should not confuse the topic of self-reliance with self-sufficiency,” he says. “I firmly believe that self-reliance involves both spiritual and temporal aspects of people’s lives.”
His three personal lessons are:
“What I first learned about the principle of self-reliance is to always rely on the Lord through the basic routines such as morning prayers and daily scripture studies while I am trying to achieve the goals that I set out,” says Etienne. “Self-reliance in this case means to have faith in the Lord and at that time I am exercising the free agency that the Lord bestowed upon me”.
“The second thing I learned is the ability to seek help that will impact your life positively in the long run both temporally and spiritually,” says Etienne. “In other words, you better learn to ask people to teach you how to fish, rather than constantly asking people to give you the fish.”
When he first arrived in South Africa, Etienne remembers the struggle of meeting basic financial obligations. “It was really very difficult,” he said. But as he battled through these challenges and asked for help when he needed it, he always kept in mind his end goal: “finding a job so that I could take care of myself.”
“The third thing that I learned about self-reliance is the ability to help others to become in their turn self-reliant,” says Etienne. “We all are gifted in one way or another, and we can use our gifts to help and bless others so that they too, in their turn, can even help many more. By empowering our fellow beings, we learn and enrich our lives in the process.”
Above all, Etienne’s faith in the Lord helps him maintain perspective through the tough times. “I think my trials are small compared to what Joseph Smith and the early Church pioneers went through,” he says. “In the trying moments, I always try to remember the words that God told the Prophet Joseph Smith while he was in Liberty Jail, as recorded in Doctrine and Covenants 122:
“If thou art called to pass through tribulation; if thou art in perils among false brethren; if thou art in perils among robbers; if thou art in perils by land or by sea; . . .
“. . . And above all, if the very jaws of hell shall gape open the mouth wide after thee, know thou, my son, that all these things shall give thee experience, and shall be for thy good. . . .
“. . . Therefore, fear not what man can do, for God shall be with you forever and ever” (verses 5, 7, 9).

Lucy can’t always tell others what she is feeling, but she wants people to feel loved and happy. And her paintings do that!
Lucy was born with a syndrome that makes her muscles not work together well. It makes it hard for her to swallow and talk. Lucy rides a special bike and goes on hikes with her family to get stronger.

Christmas was a very exciting time for my brothers and me! Our parents would take us to see the decorative lights in Cape Town, which were always very impressive; there was always a Primary party celebrating Christmas and the birth of the Saviour—and our schools closed over the “Festive Season,” YEAH!
For weeks we would construct a letter to Father Christmas. We would write and rewrite the letter every time we saw something in the shops that we wanted. We would each state that we had been good boys and really needed the item we had put down for him to bring. We would give Dad the letter to mail, addressed to “Father Christmas, North Pole.” My dad worked in the post office, so we thought that if he posted it, it would get there much sooner.
We were chased to bed early on Christmas Eve as ‘Father Christmas will not visit us with presents,’ Mom said, if we were still awake. But first, we had to put out something for him to drink and eat. It was amazing to me how there were no presents under the tree when we went to bed but when we awoke, the presents had magically appeared and of course, Mom and Dad knew nothing about it.

“My dad was a real farmer, and he had 32 hectares that he farmed, although we lived in town. Dad and I used to spend a lot of time together, and we understood each other very well. He felt obedience was the most important principle. He never questioned any instruction or guidance that was given by Church leaders. He obeyed any directive they gave, and he instilled that desire to obey in his family. I remember Dad as being a strong disciplinarian, but he always tempered his discipline with love and concern. Once when he spanked me, he cried. But he felt that he had to spank me in order to teach me obedience. I remember thinking then that it hurt him worse than it hurt me.”

Late in 2012 President Thomas S. Monson traveled to Germany to meet with members of the Church in Hamburg, Berlin, Munich, and Frankfurt, Germany, and to exhort them to follow Jesus Christ.
“He taught forgiveness by forgiving,” he told members in Frankfurt. “He taught compassion by being compassionate. He taught devotion by giving of Himself.”