Gospel Story Finder

For example, one young girl had great physical beauty. When she walked in a room of strangers, people stopped talking. They seemed in awe of her looks. Boys she didn’t know would stop her and ask for her telephone number. Attention and opportunities came to her just because of how she looked. She was popular and had friends. But in speaking with a Young Women leader, she confessed that her good looks sometimes made her uncomfortable. She explained that she didn’t know if people liked her for herself or because she was pretty. Sometimes friends were only friendly for a short time. She didn’t trust any of the young men who approached her because she felt they didn’t really want to get to know her; they just seemed to want to go out with her because of her looks. Instead of making her happy, her beauty made her feel insecure because she wondered if people would still like her if she weren’t beautiful.

Recently, I was planning to move from Mtwivilla Street into a new apartment in Ikonongo, few blocks away in my home country of Tanzania. A few days after I paid for the first month’s rent, I started hearing stories about thieves. The lady next door told me about how her cell phone had been stolen few days ago. The stories made me feel uncomfortable and I thought maybe it was not a good idea for me to move. Thoughts of fear kept on ringing in my mind, to the extent that they interrupted and ruined my daily scripture study.
After battling with this for some days, I chose to keep up with my schedule and continue with my study of the Doctrine and Covenants. While reading section three, my mind was caught up to verses 7 and 8 where the Lord admonished Joseph Smith after he gave the 116 manuscript pages to Martin Harris, and the pages were subsequently lost. We know that Joseph Smith greatly relied upon the assistance of his friend Martin Harris, and he was thus eager to meet his friend’s request. However, the Lord told Joseph Smith: “For behold, you should not have feared man more than God . . .

“You should have been faithful; and he would have extended his arm and supported you against all the fiery darts of the adversary; and he would have been with you in every time of trouble.”2
That assurance melted all my fears and I realized that I had wasted much of my precious time trying to think about what thieves can do to me in the new place instead of trusting in what the Lord can do for me. The clear thought came to me that all I needed was to do my part in locking the windows and the door at night, and then keep the Lord’s commandments and He would provide peace and protection in my new place.
I am glad I chose to read my scriptures. The solution to my concern was there waiting for me: to just act on the prophet’s invitation to read the scriptures every day. I am very grateful for the companionship of the Holy Ghost that enlightened my mind to understand that precious truth from the Doctrine and Covenants.
I finally moved, and all has been well as I have continued to do my part and let the Lord do His. The peace, calm and comfort that I receive from my daily scripture study keep me going and increase my faith in Heavenly Father and in His Son Jesus Christ.

Photographs courtesy of Kayleena N.
Kayleena N., 17, of Washington, USA, loves testimonies. She loves bearing her testimony, she loves listening as others share them, and now the testimonies from nearly 200 of her friends and relatives help keep her warm at night. “I feel really blessed that I know so many people who know the gospel is true,” Kayleena says.
For years, Kayleena has wanted to create a large patchwork quilt. However, she didn’t want merely a colorful blanket. She wanted an heirloom she could show to her children and grandchildren. And she wanted the whole thing tied together with testimonies.
After planning her design, Kayleena contacted friends and family to ask if they’d be willing to write their personal testimony on one of the 192 pastel squares of fabric she planned to use in the quilt. Her own testimony is on a square as well.
The final quilt required the help of many friends and over 200 hours of work. Yet she doesn’t regret a single minute. “It’s my favorite thing ever,” Kayleena says. “Anytime I’m not feeling happy, I can read the testimonies and it lifts me up. It’s more than a warm blanket. It’s a comfort to my soul.”

When Todd Budge was a young boy, his parents taught him how to seek the Lord’s will. Throughout his life, he has tried to apply that practice in every decision.
Years later, after he and his wife had settled into a home with five children, he felt spiritual impressions to leave his career in banking and finance. The change would require significant sacrifice for him to become established in a new career.
After much effort and preparation to change careers, Elder Budge met someone uniquely qualified to give him advice. This individual suggested that Elder Budge stay with his banking career, reminding him that he would have many opportunities to counsel and help people. “We need people with integrity in business,” the person told him.
Elder Budge considered that encounter to be a tender mercy from the Lord. “I think He wanted to know where my heart was,” he says. “Once the Lord knew my heart, He did not require the sacrifice, and I trusted that He could use me for His purposes without a career change.”
His career did allow him to be an influence for good in the business world, even to open doors to share the gospel in Japan.

One morning my office phone rang very early before the secretary had come in. As I picked it up, I recognized the soft voice of President Spencer W. Kimball on the other end of the line. After saying hello, I heard him in his faint voice say, “Marv, I have something I want to talk to you about. Do you mind if I come up to your office and visit?”

I said, “President Kimball, if you’d like to talk to me, I’ll be right down to your office. Would you like me to come?”

And he gently said, “Would you do that?”

Courteous, friendly, and willing to be the servant of all, it was his leadership style to never demand or use the influence of his mighty calling to take the lead in what people would do or how they would respond to him. I would have you know that on this occasion he could have said, “Marv, this is President Kimball. Come down to my office right away.” Certainly he had the power, authority, and right to ask me to meet with him under any and all circumstances, but instead, as I volunteered to come to his office, he simply said, “Would you be good enough to do that?” He had the kind of approach, humility, mildness, and love that would inspire all of us to sustain and support him and love him under all conditions.

Do you think that the Lord cares about the little decisions that you make? I know that He does. I saw it firsthand as a mission president. One young elder was a fine young man, who was good, but he had just a couple of little things that he was struggling with—he loved music, some of which was not missionary-oriented, and he loved his pillow, especially in the early morning hours. I invited him and his companion to come visit with me in the office. I had a great talk given by Elder David B. Haight on “exact obedience” that I wanted them to read and study together. Just a moment after they left my office to read the talk aloud together in another room, my telephone rang. As I answered it, I was stunned by the voice at the other end: “This is Elder So-and-so’s mother,”—of course, the very young man I was counseling with—“I just had a feeling that he needed some extra help. Is he okay?” she asked. I began to weep. I immediately called the missionaries to come back to my office. I told them what had just happened and then asked them, “Do you think the Lord knows you? Do you think the Lord cares about you? Do you think the little things matter to the Lord?” The Lord as much as reached out and spoke to him. He became a powerful missionary.

An example would be these next words that were spoken recently by the husband of just a little over one year of Jennifer Cracroft Lewis. Her funeral was held here in Provo several months ago. Though grieving over his wife of such a short season, Brother Lewis spoke at the funeral with composure as well as courage:
I have a testimony of this gospel. I know that the ordinances in the temple that I have partaken of with Jennifer are eternal. This gospel is so great that I will be with her again and I will hold her flesh again as she is resurrected. I have a testimony of this Church, and Jennifer has a testimony of this Church which she bore with me, that Jesus is the Christ. . . . He was resurrected as we will be.
He continued, saying,
One of our favorite songs, which we will now sing as a congregation, was “Called to Serve.” I believe, as the scriptures have pointed out, that Jennifer, one of the best missionaries I ever had a chance to witness, is called to further service. She has been called home to preach the gospel to those who have not yet received it. I ask that this song be sung with meaning.
Then, as invited, we all sang “Called to Serve.” Weeping and singing were several of Jennifer’s missionary companions and her mission president and his wife. I always love to hear that song sung, but I’ve never heard it sung like that before! Not far from here, on a new headstone, are these words: “Jennifer Cracroft Lewis, September 13, 1968–January 26, 1994, Called to Serve.”
This is emblematic of the strength I see and feel in so many of you. God’s work here does proceed—here and on the other side of the veil, where those like Jennifer continue to “build up” the kingdom.

Each year our players work as camp coaches for young players who love the sport and often have dreams of someday attending and playing soccer at BYU. Most of our players attended camps when they were younger, so they know how exciting it is for young campers to come and hang out with them for a week. In fact, I first met several of the current players on our team at camp when they were only ten or eleven years old.

One summer several years ago we had a young girl attend who was shy but also uncooperative, and she didn’t want to participate in the drills or games with her group. A couple of my players who were coaching her weren’t sure what to do with her. I mentioned that maybe they should just spend a little more time with her, get to know her, and sit with her at lunch or dinner. I told them that maybe she just needed a little extra love and attention.

The girls did a great job, and toward the end of the week she was much more engaged in the training and seemed to be having a lot of fun with her team.

A week or so after the camp, I received a thank-you note from her mom, explaining that this young girl had not wanted to come to camp. Her mom basically had made her attend. Obviously, this is one reason why she had gotten off to a rough start. Her mom went on to explain that her daughter loved soccer but was from an area where there weren’t any members who played, and she was slowly losing interest in attending her Young Women group, seminary, and even church on Sunday. It was becoming a battle for her parents to keep her moving in the right direction.

Her parents thought maybe it would be good for her to be around some members of the Church who also loved soccer. Her mom was quick to point out that her daughter’s experience at camp that week had been life changing. Her daughter had found new motivation, inspiration, and direction. She wanted to be like the campers and players on the team and go to BYU someday.

She continued to attend camp for several summers after that. Although she was never quite at a level to play college soccer, she was inspired at a young age to make good choices during her high school experience, and she ended up attending BYU.

As their family grew and matured in the gospel, they taught their two sons about the importance of going to the temple. (Their youngest son is currently serving a mission.) The Powells were thrilled that when their oldest son, Barat, got engaged, temple marriage was immediately part of the plan. Ishla, his fiancée, was a new member of the Church. “From the first day I met with the missionaries, I knew the gospel was true, and I loved it,” she says. She grew close to the current branch president’s family, the Isaacs, who had been introduced to the Church by the Powells.
At the time of her baptism, Barat had four months remaining on his mission. “The Isaacs kept saying he would be the right match for me, but I wanted to postpone marriage and serve a mission myself,” Ishla says. Even though the branch and mission presidents approved her missionary application, Ishla explains, “Suddenly and unexpectedly my mind was completely changed. I wanted to pray for marriage.”
When he returned from his mission, Barat was surprised when several people told him that Ishla would be right for him. A short time later they met briefly at the wedding of President Isaac’s daughter but never talked much. Indian society is quite formal about men and women getting acquainted, and both Barat and Ishla wanted to behave appropriately.
Three weeks later Ishla was praying and wondering what to do, and so was Barat. “The Lord showed me through so many ways that Barat was the right one,” Ishla says. “But I was very reserved. I prayed, ‘Lord, if this is the way, then show me how I can speak to him.’”
Barat says, “I had talked to several people about her, and they all had nothing but good to say. Suddenly I thought, ‘I need to talk to her right now,’ but I didn’t know how. I called President Isaac’s sister and asked if she thought it was all right to call.”
Ishla continues, “As I was praying, the branch president’s sister telephoned and said, ‘Barat wants to talk to you. Can I give him your number?’” Half an hour later they were talking. Barat says, “It was as if we had known each other for years.”
Ishla had learned about temple marriage at institute and knew she wouldn’t settle for anything less. Barat felt the same way. But they would have to save money to travel to the temple, and it meant many friends and family members, including Barat’s mother and father, wouldn’t have enough money to travel with them.
“It’s a long way to go, and traveling is very expensive, but we all agreed they should go,” Sathiadhas recalls. “We told them we would celebrate with them at the legal ceremony before they left, and we asked them to take lots of pictures after they were sealed. Then we would celebrate again when they returned.
“We are teaching the younger generation the importance of the temple,” Sathiadhas explains. “We encourage all people to go to the temple, and we wanted our children to go there too.” He says he is particularly pleased with the way Barat and Ishla respected their parents, the customs of their people, and their own agency.
“In India people refer to ‘arranged marriages’ and ‘love marriages,’” Barat says. “We feel we have both.” In fact, Barat and Ishla prefer to call their marriage a “guided marriage.” “We were brought together by our families and friends but also by the Spirit,” he says. “We hope the Spirit will always guide our marriage.”

How would you like to live in a schoolhouse? Minna and her family live in the countryside of southern Sweden. Their home used to be a schoolhouse many years ago. She says the best part is that the house has a room big enough for lots of people. In December, Minna’s family invites neighbors, friends, and family over for a special “sing-in.” About 80 people come to sing Christmas carols together! Then they enjoy treats before everyone goes back out into the cold Scandinavian winter weather.

And then there is Maddy. When her family stopped attending church, Maddy was confused and not certain what to do. She realized something significant was missing. So at age 13, Maddy began attending church alone. Even though being alone was sometimes hard and uncomfortable, she knew she could find the Savior at church and she wanted to be where He was. She said, “In church my soul felt like it was at home.”
Maddy held onto the fact that her family had been sealed together for eternity. She started bringing her younger brothers with her to church and studying scriptures with them at home. Eventually her mom began joining them. Maddy told her mom of her desire to serve a mission and asked if her mom could be ready to attend the temple with her.
Today Maddy is in the MTC. She is serving. She is witnessing of Christ. Her example helped lead both of her parents back to the temple and back to Christ.

When Wilford and his companion reached the mouth of the river, they had to walk through a swamp. The mud and water were knee deep, and every step was hard. Wilford was worried because his knee hurt a lot.
In the middle of the swamp, Wilford sat down on a log. “I can’t walk anymore,” he said.
“I can’t wait,” Henry said. “The sooner I get through this swamp, the sooner I can get to Memphis and take a steamboat home.”
“Aren’t you going to preach the gospel in Tennessee?” Wilford asked.
“No,” Henry said. “I miss my family, and I am worried about them.”
Henry walked away. Wilford sat on the log and watched his companion disappear into the trees. He was alone in the middle of an alligator-infested swamp, and he could not walk. So he prayed.
Wilford asked the Lord to heal his knee. Then he stood up and began to walk. His knee felt fine. With every step, he rejoiced and thanked Heavenly Father for healing his knee.

What would you do if you were really good at karate and other kids made fun of you? Would you use your skills to get back at them? Maybe teach them not to pick on you anymore?
Eleven-year-old Eduardo Dourado knows what he would do—nothing. Although some of his schoolmates make fun of him for keeping the standards of the Church, he chooses the right and refuses to fight. “I could beat them,” he says, “but I don’t want to hurt anyone. Sometimes I’ve had to protect myself, but I try other things first to keep from fighting.”
As Jesus taught, Eduardo ignores insults. But it isn’t always easy. Because he won’t swear and do other bad things, kids make fun of him. Sometimes he feels lonely. But he knows what Jesus wants him to do, and that is what he chooses to do.

Because of my suspicions and selfishness I was undecided about whether I wanted to try all of my mother’s ideas. But I soon learned that when people go on dates there are doors, cars, dances, meals, rooms to stand in, introductions, and movie theaters. There are times during each of these situations when someone needs to do something, and if no one does there is a silent awkwardness which makes you feel like a true klutz. I know.
I was at one of my first dances and somehow I’d gathered the courage to remove myself from the wall to ask someone to dance with me. The young lady I asked said, “Yes,” and suddenly I found myself out on the dance floor feeling rather uncomfortable. Fortunately, however, some of my friends had found partners also and joined us. As we danced, my friends and I made comments to one another and before I knew it, our talking had turned into a full-fledged conversation that excluded our partners. Immersed in the discussion, I became oblivious to the young lady I was dancing with and somehow drifted off of the dance floor without even realizing it. Back at the wall again I glanced out at those still dancing and, to my embarrassment, saw my partner out on the floor, alone. An uncomfortable feeling settled itself in my stomach. I wanted to do something, but I didn’t know what or how to even go about it in an awkward situation like this. So I did nothing. That night I decided that some of my mother’s ideas might be worth trying.

Brad wasn’t the only sixth grader who made life miserable for us younger students at school, but he was probably the biggest bully in the school. Once, he and some of his buddies grabbed my best friend, Trek, and stuffed him headfirst into a garbage can. I helped pull him out, of course. And Jesse had his lunch money stolen by Brad.
I tried to stay away from Brad and his gang, but one day during morning recess, I slipped up by going to the rest room. I tried to be smart about it, though. Before I took one step inside the rest room, I checked to see if it was empty. It was, so I figured I was in the clear. Then, as I was drying my hands and getting ready to sprint for the door, I heard a bunch of guys coming. I could tell by the way they were laughing and talking and bragging that they were sixth graders. Before I could move, the rest room door banged open and in walked Brad and three of his friends.
I knew the last thing I should do was act scared and worried, so I finished drying my hands and tossed the wadded-up paper towel into the trash barrel, ducked my head, and charged for the door, pretending that the sixth graders weren’t even there.
“Where’re you headed, kid?” Brad growled, stepping in front of me. His buddies started to laugh and lined up in front of the door so that there was no way I could get out. “What’s the idea, using the sixth grade rest room?”
“Huh?” I grunted, looking up and feeling my stomach twitch. “I didn’t know this was just for sixth—”
“Well, it is,” Brad growled, cutting me off. “This here’s just for sixth graders. Are you in sixth grade, kid?”
I tried to swallow, but my mouth felt as though it was filled with powder. “I’m in Miss Winder’s fifth grade class,” I managed to squeak just above a whisper. “But this is the only rest room anybody can use during recess,” I pointed out pleadingly.
“Well, if you use it,” Brad complained, “then don’t leave it in such a mess. You fifth graders are always trashing our rest room.”
“I didn’t mess anything up,” I croaked.
Ignoring me, Brad turned to his buddies, who were grinning and giggling. “Didn’t he leave this place trashed?”
“He sure did,” William said. He was a big, redheaded guy who always hung around with Brad. “Just look at all the trash on the floor.” He went to the trash barrel, reached in, pulled out a handful of soggy paper towels and threw them on the floor. The other two guys grabbed the trash barrel, tipped it upside down, and dumped everything onto the floor. Then all four of them kicked and scattered the trash about the rest room.
“Look at the huge mess this kid made,” Brad shouted. “In our rest room!” He turned to me. “Clean this place up, kid, before we tell the principal that you’re trashing the rest room. Now, get to work.”
For a moment I stood there with my mouth hanging open, not sure what I should do. I took a quick glance toward the door, wondering if I could make it out of there before Brad and his buddies caught me.
“Don’t even think about running, kid,” Brad threatened. “Even if you did get away, we’d catch you later.”
There wasn’t anything for me to do but clean the place up. The bell rang just as I threw the last handful of trash back into the barrel. Brad grabbed me by the front of my shirt, jerked me toward him, and muttered, “Don’t tell anybody about this, or you’ll be one real sorry kid—understand?” I quickly nodded. “Next time we won’t be so easy on you.” He gave me a quick, hard shove as he left with his buddies.
That afternoon as I made a sandwich in the kitchen with my younger brother, Lance, I muttered angrily, “I hate Brad! I wish I were about a foot taller and thirty pounds bigger—I’d bust him in the nose. He’d never bother me again, that’s for sure.” I shook my head and growled again, “Boy, I hate him!”
“Jay!” Mom came into the kitchen, frowning, “Is that any way to talk about someone?”
I whipped around, surprised. I hadn’t counted on Mom hearing what I was saying. She had a puzzled look on her face. “What could possibly make you say something like that about another person? You know that in our family we don’t say that we hate people.”
I ducked my head and stared at the butter knife I was holding. Then, remembering what had happened that morning in the rest room, I became angry all over again. “Well, as far as I’m concerned,” I snapped, “Brad isn’t anything but a big bully and a jerk, and I figure it’s OK to hate jerks and bullies.”
“Jay! I don’t know what this Brad did, but it still doesn’t give you any right to talk about him the way you are.”
It was hard to do, but I described for Mom and Lance everything that had happened to me that morning in the rest room.
Mom was quiet for a moment. Then she said firmly, “I think that I should give the principal a call.”
“No!” I shouted, feeling my stomach twist in knots. “Not the principal! Then everybody will think that I’m a big snitch. That would be worse than anything Brad could do to me. And Brad will do plenty more to me if he finds out you talked to Mr. Tanner.”
“Well, we need to do something. Meanwhile, I don’t want you saying that you hate Brad.”
“All right,” I muttered. “I won’t say it.” To myself, I added quietly, “I’ll just think it—because it’s the truth.”
Mom sat down at the table and clasped her hands. “What would the Savior want you to do, Jay?” she asked quietly.
“Oh, Mom,” I groaned. “What would Jesus want Brad to do? Does He want him to be a big bully?”
“Right now I’m worried more about you being full of hate and anger than I am about Brad being a bully.”
“Mom, I haven’t done anything to Brad,” I growled. “Why are you trying to make me feel like I’ve done something wrong?”
“Jay, if you have bad thoughts about this boy, some of that badness rubs off on you. The more you let yourself have hate and anger, the more you become angry and hateful.”
“So what do you expect me to do—forget that he’s a jerk?”
“Can you remember that Brad is a child of God too?”
“He’s not a very good one,” I snorted.
“When men were unkind to the Savior,” Mom asked, “what did He do? Did He hate them, call them names, and say that He wished He could bust them in the nose?”
I ducked my head, knowing that Mom was right, but I wasn’t in the mood to admit it, even to myself. I just wanted to get back at Brad some way.
“I think Jesus would try to forgive Brad.”
“Forgive him!” I almost choked. “If Brad wants me to forgive him, maybe he should at least come around and say he’s sorry. And I know that that’s never going to happen. He doesn’t feel sorry for anything he’s done to me or anyone else.”
“The soldiers who nailed Jesus to the cross didn’t say they were sorry for what they were doing. But Jesus still forgave them.”
I had no arguments left, but I was still angry.
I didn’t tell Mom that I was going to forgive Brad, because I didn’t plan to. I didn’t say that I hated him anymore, but I thought it plenty. Every time I saw him at school, I’d get angry all over again. In fact, I’d get so angry that my stomach would churn.
A few days later during lunch hour, I saw some kids writing with a bright red marker on one of the walls in the hall. They ran when they saw me. That afternoon Mr. Tanner called me down to his office.
When I got there, Brad was sitting outside it, scowling. He glared at me as I walked past him into the principal’s office. Mr. Tanner closed his door and sat behind his desk.
“Jay,” he began, leaning forward in his chair, “there was some vandalism done in the hall today at noon, and one of the teachers thought you might know something about it.”
I swallowed and nodded. “But I didn’t do it,” I added quickly.
Mr. Tanner smiled. “I believe you, Jay. I didn’t call you down here because I thought you were guilty. But I was wondering if you could help us find out who is.”
I twisted uneasily in my chair. “They were down the hall from me,” I explained slowly, “and they had their backs to me most of the time. I’m pretty sure they were sixth graders, but I don’t know all the sixth graders. I really don’t know who they were, Mr. Tanner.”
“Do you know some of the sixth graders, Jay? Do you know Bradford—I believe everybody calls him Brad.”
So that was why Brad was waiting in the office. Mr. Tanner figured he was one of the vandals. “Yeah, I know him.”
“Is he a friend of yours?”
I shook my head. “Definitely not!” I couldn’t keep the anger out of my voice.
“Have you had trouble with Brad before?”
I nodded.
Mr. Tanner took a deep breath and leaned back in his chair. “This is the kind of thing Brad has done before, Jay. I think he was in on this vandalism. I need you to tell me whether he was one of the boys in the hall today.”
Suddenly I thought of what had happened in the rest room a few days before. This was my chance to get even with Brad. Then I thought of what Mom had asked me: “What would Jesus want you to do?”
I shifted in my chair and looked across the desk at Mr. Tanner. “Brad wasn’t one of them,” I said quietly.
Mr. Tanner studied me a moment before speaking. “Are you sure, Jay? You don’t have to be afraid of him. I can make sure that he doesn’t bother you.”
“I’m sure, Mr. Tanner. I’d recognize Brad anyplace, even from behind. He wasn’t one of the guys there this afternoon.”
Mr. Tanner seemed a little disappointed. He had hoped that I could pin the vandalism on Brad. But I knew that I had done the right thing. As I walked past Brad to go back to class, he glared at me again. But somehow I didn’t feel angry anymore. It was as if a cold, hard lump had been pried from my insides and thrown away.
As I was getting ready to board my bus that afternoon, someone came up behind me and grabbed my arm. It was Brad. He didn’t have his buddies with him. “Mr. Tanner told me what you said,” he muttered.
“I just told the truth.”
He nodded. “Well, thanks.” He started to walk away, then stopped. “You don’t have to worry about anything happening in the rest room anymore.”
As I climbed onto the bus, I smiled. Brad was still the biggest bully at school, but I didn’t hate him anymore, and deep inside I felt better than I’d felt in a long time. I guess that’s what happens when you learn to forgive.

Lakeview Fifth Ward
At a Primary activity in the Lakeview Fifth Ward, Orem Utah Lakeview Stake, the children learned about the importance of family history and temple work. Then they all helped build a model of a temple. They painted 150 boxes white and used them for the temple foundation and walls. They made windows and an angel Moroni figure to put on top. The children even made flowers out of pipe cleaners to add to the beauty of their temple.

I was sitting in a church meeting one day and caught myself staring at the variety of shoes people were wearing in the chapel. I saw leather dress shoes, black boots, bright sandals, colorful heels, and sparkly flats.
And my favorite pair of shoes? Someone’s pink buckled shoes, complete with embroidered strawberries.
It was then that I remembered the story of Christ washing His disciples’ feet.
In the times of the New Testament, I imagine most people’s feet were dirty, seeing that many wore sandals on the dirt roads and didn’t have access to regular bathing. So washing someone’s filthy feet back then probably wasn’t the most enjoyable act of service.
Thinking about this, I opened my scriptures to John 13 and read the interactions between the Savior and His Apostles as He washed their feet. I found an appreciation for Peter’s response to the Savior when it was his turn to be served. Peter replied, “Thou shalt never wash my feet” (John 13:8).
Perhaps Peter’s reluctance had to do with his love and respect for the Savior. I can imagine that, as a devoted disciple, Peter felt it was wrong to receive such treatment from someone so divine.
I realized then that some of us seem to share Peter’s reluctance to receive the Savior’s help.
The colorful selection of shoes I saw in my ward that Sunday symbolized, for me, what we each bring to our Master.
Everyone is different.
We all come from different walks of life, bringing different struggles, different perspectives, different experiences, and different questions.
However, despite all our differences, we all come to church every Sunday to partake of the sacrament, to renew our covenants, and to allow the Savior to serve us as we repent and, by doing so, accept the gift of our Savior’s atoning sacrifice.
President Russell M. Nelson reminds us that “Jesus Christ … stands with open arms, hoping and willing to heal, forgive, cleanse, strengthen, purify, and sanctify us.”1
So why are we sometimes reluctant to invite His grace and mercy into our lives? And what can we learn from His act of service?
Maybe our reluctance to accept the Savior’s help comes from feelings like shame, unworthiness, or even just our own stubborn pride. President Nelson has taught that “too many people consider repentance as punishment—something to be avoided except in the most serious circumstances. But this feeling of being penalized is engendered by Satan. He tries to block us from looking to Jesus Christ.”2 When we sin, it can be easy to feel like we aren’t good enough or we have too many flaws to be cleansed by Jesus Christ. But this is where we can take a closer look at this specific act of service for His Apostles.
I believe that Christ washing His Apostles’ feet symbolized His great love for us and His willingness to clean the spiritual dirt from our lives. He was willing to humbly serve His Apostles by cleaning one of the dirtiest parts of their bodies. Just hours later, through His atoning sacrifice, He descended below all things so He could wash us clean from the dirtiest parts of our own lives and succor us (see Alma 7:11–12).
This act, along with all His teachings, helps us understand that as we come to Him with repentance in our hearts, accepting His offer of service, we can find healing and redemption through His divine power.
As Sister Amy A. Wright, First Counselor in the Primary General Presidency, recently taught, “Because of Christ, our decision to ‘go forth and change’ can also allow us to ‘go forth and heal,’ for He is the source of healing all that is broken in our lives.”3
After washing His beloved disciples’ feet, the Savior gave them an invitation: “Ye also ought to wash one another’s feet” (John 13:14). In other words, He told them to love and minister to others as He did.
Jesus Christ is our Master Healer and our Savior. As we follow Him, we can also offer love and service to our fellow brothers and sisters in need of healing.
President Thomas S. Monson (1927–2018) taught: “We are surrounded by those in need of our attention, our encouragement, our support, our comfort, our kindness—be they family members, friends, acquaintances, or strangers. We are the Lord’s hands here upon the earth, with the mandate to serve and to lift His children. He is dependent upon each of us.”4
It is my testimony that as we seek the Savior—especially as we renew our covenants on Sunday—we will see that He desires to wash us of our sins, our mistakes, and even our heartaches and sorrows. And we can extend His love to those around us.
We only need to accept His help by exercising “faith unto repentance” (Alma 34:17) and seeking his grace (see Ether 12:27).
We all face circumstances and challenges as different as the variety of shoes on our feet, but we are all in need of the same love and grace our Savior offers.
I am grateful that I can follow in His footsteps and serve those around me who are in need of healing. As I allow myself to be healed and cleansed by Him, He gives me strength to do unto others what He has done unto me.

One woman, Kelly, was so touched by the opportunity to buy items for teens and children that she told her member friend, “This idea is so unbelievably awesome! Everyone needs to know about these machines!” Kelly posted about the experience on her Facebook page. She became an incredible advocate for the Giving Machine initiative, prompting five families in her neighborhood to visit a Giving Machine kiosk, as well as family members in three different cities to visit their local Giving Machine kiosks.

Many faithful Latter-day Saints have demonstrated that they are “settled” in keeping their covenants with God and are forever changed. Let me tell you about three such individuals—Brother Banza Mucioko, Sister Banza Régine, and Brother Mbuyi Nkitabungi.

In 1977 the Banzas lived in Kinshasa in the country of Zaire, now known as the Democratic Republic of the Congo. They were highly respected in their Protestant church community. Because of their talents, their church arranged for their young family to go to Switzerland to study and provided a university scholarship.

While in Geneva, on the bus route to school, Brother Banza frequently saw a small meetinghouse with the name “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.” He wondered, “Does Jesus Christ have Saints now, in the latter days?” He eventually decided to go and see.

Brother and Sister Banza were greeted warmly at the branch. They asked some of the persistent questions they had about the nature of God, such as, “If God is a spirit, like the wind, how could we be created in His likeness? How could He sit on a throne?” They had never received a satisfactory answer until the missionaries explained restored doctrine in a brief lesson. When the missionaries left, the Banzas looked at each other and said, “Isn’t this the truth that we have heard?” They continued coming to church and meeting with the missionaries. They knew that baptism in the restored Church of Jesus Christ would have consequences. They would be stripped of their scholarships, their visas would be revoked, and they and their two young children would be required to leave Switzerland. They chose to be baptized and confirmed in October 1979.

Two weeks after their baptism, Brother and Sister Banza returned to Kinshasa as the first and second members of the Church in their country. The members of the Geneva Branch stayed in contact with them and helped them connect with Church leaders. The Banzas were encouraged to faithfully await the promised time when God would establish His Church in Zaire.

Meanwhile, another exchange student from Zaire, Brother Mbuyi, was studying in Belgium. He was baptized in 1980 in the Brussels Ward. Soon thereafter, he served a full-time mission to England. And God worked His miracles. Brother Mbuyi returned to Zaire as the third member of the Church in his country. With parental permission, Church meetings were held in his family home. In February 1986 a petition was made for official government recognition of the Church. The signatures of three citizens of Zaire were required. The three happy signatories of the petition were Brother Banza, Sister Banza, and Brother Mbuyi.

These stalwart members knew the truth when they heard it; they made a covenant at baptism that anchored them to the Savior. They metaphorically threw their old ways into a churning waterfall with no intention of retrieving them. The covenant path was never easy. Political turmoil, infrequent contact with Church leaders, and challenges inherent in building a community of Saints might have deterred less-committed individuals. But Brother and Sister Banza and Brother Mbuyi persevered in their faith. They were present at the dedication of the Kinshasa Temple, 33 years after they signed the petition that led to the official recognition of the Church in Zaire.

The Banzas are here in the Conference Center today. They are accompanied by their two sons, Junior and Phil, and daughters-in-law, Annie and Youyou. In 1986, Junior and Phil were the first two individuals baptized into the Church in Zaire. Brother Mbuyi is watching these proceedings from Kinshasa with his wife, Maguy, and their five children.

These pioneers understand the meaning and consequences of covenants through which they have been brought “to the knowledge of the Lord their God, and to rejoice in Jesus Christ their Redeemer.”

Grandpa and Grandma were coming! To 15-year-old Holly Walker of Calgary, Alberta, Canada, this was front-page news, bigger than a visit from the queen or a phone call from E. T.

Holly and her grandfather are pen pals. She writes to him often, sharing her triumphs and traumas, her dreams and goals. He answers her with letters full of encouragement and counsel. The two share many things—a love of horses and gardening, a zest for learning, and, above all, a devotion to family and the gospel.

Holly’s grandmother symbolizes for her the ideal of strong, wise, gracious womanhood. Holly has grown up using her grandmother’s life as a model and cooking old family recipes first created by her ingenuity. On the horizon of Holly’s young life, these two people loom like giants.

Now the time for the visit had come at last. Holly waited impatiently at the Calgary International Airport with her mother; two of her sisters and their husbands; and assorted cousins, nieces, and nephews. They sat and watched the control tower gather in jets and sort them back into the sky like a mailman sorting mail. Soon one of the incoming specks would grow into the plane carrying Grandma and Grandpa.

Grandpa’s plane floated down across the southern edge of Calgary, tracing with its shadow the broad blue sweep of the Bow River. The plane banked, leaning hard on its northern wing, pointing the wing tip like a finger at the tall shafts of glass and metal that clustered in an elbow of the river. Just behind the wing tip Grandpa could see a splash of color punctuated with turning circles. He knew the circles were Ferris wheels at the stampede grounds. The plane flew north now, shedding altitude rapidly. Through the eastern windows Grandpa glimpsed a fringe of houses and then only a green and yellow distance to the horizon. Westward lay a broad rug of city, green with trees and parks. At the city’s western edge hills rose in gentle swells that grew mile by mile till they crested in a vertical tidal wave of stone—the eastern ramparts of the Rocky Mountains. From this distance they looked like an abrupt wrinkle on a relief map. Then the city rushed up, and the bump of wheels on runway told Grandpa and Grandma that their visit had begun.

Like all good Calgarians, Holly loves the Stampede, and every year she and her family attend. And Stampede 1983 was going to be something special. This year Grandpa and Grandma would go with them! It had been a long time since her grandparents’ last visit, because Grandpa is a very busy man.

When Holly’s grandfather and grandmother appeared through the airport gates, everyone rushed to greet them. You probably would have recognized them too. Holly’s grandfather is President Ezra Taft Benson, President of the Council of the Twelve. There were hugging and kissing and the happy chatter that accompanies a reunion. Then they were all off to the beautiful home where Holly lives with her mother, Barbara Benson Walker, and her father, Robert Harris Walker, who is president of the Calgary Alberta Stake.

As they drove homeward, they enjoyed the special gentility that governs life here. Drivers obeyed the speed limit, respected the rights of others and merged and yielded with courtesy. They saw cyclists pedaling out to one of the islands on the Bow River and caught a glimpse of men in immaculate white shirts and trousers playing cricket on a manicured swatch of grass.

That evening, Holly went to the LDS dance, which is one of the highlights of social life for young Latter-day Saints in Calgary. After the dance, she brought home many of her friends to meet her grandfather, who received them with graciousness and humor. He made them all feel like old and valued friends, and they also felt the powerful witness of the Spirit that they were in the presence of a beloved servant of God.

The Bensons were only able to be in town a few days, but the family made the most of the days they had. Holly treasured the opportunity more than any gift she could conceive of. Her family was the most important thing in her life, and her grandfather and grandmother were the honored patriarch and matriarch of the family. She loved to sit talking with them, enjoying the stories and counsel as much as a gourmet might enjoy a delicious meal. She listened spellbound as President Benson told her stories of his experiences as a Scoutmaster when he was a young man. It was obvious that he had taken that calling just as seriously as he does his present assignment.

Holly showed her grandfather her journal. This was almost the same as reviewing her whole life since she had last seen him, because she keeps a world-class journal. It included not only a written account of her experiences but also clippings and programs and articles and drawings and photographs and bits of fabric and many other artifacts of her life. Her descendants will be able to know their ancestor very well indeed. Through this journal President Benson was able to be a real participant in her life.

Music has always been an important part of family get-togethers, and Holly played the piano while President and Sister Benson sang. Later they walked and talked and relaxed in the well-tended yard which Holly’s green thumb had helped to prosper. Then Holly showed her proud grandpa a bedroom full of trophies and awards and shared her written goals for the coming year. For another girl, a girl with fewer trophies and fewer accomplishments, the list might have seemed pie-in-the-sky nonsense, but this young lady was up to the challenge. She has been student-body president of her junior high school, seminary president, and captain of the school basketball and volleyball teams. She is a very talented pianist, having won first place in her age group at the Calgary Kiwanis Music Festival several years in a row. She also accompanies her mother, who is a soprano soloist. Two years running Holly won the top academic and athletic award at her school. She has also won awards as a dancer, singer, and composer. These are only a few of her many accomplishments to date, and only a beginning of what she plans to achieve.

Her 1983 goals run several pages in length. They include an ambitious, capacity-stretching list of self-commitments in the areas of spirituality, academics, reading, journal keeping, photography, athletics, self-improvement, music, service, and missionary work. As an example, the sports goals include specific and challenging commitments in basketball, waterskiing, tennis, jogging, swimming, hiking, racquetball, windsurfing, trampoline, and golf.

Monday evening the family went to the chuck wagon races at the Calgary Stampede. President Benson watched with the keen eye of a lifelong horseman as the chuck wagon teams careened around the track in a cloud of dust and tangle of wagons, horses, and outriders. A constant stream of LDS Scouts who were visiting from the nearby international jamboree came to shake the Apostle’s hand, and he graciously turned away from the spectacle to greet them warmly. Afterward there was a stage show honoring Canada, and then the night became noon as fireworks blossomed in new constellations overhead. The family laughed and joked and cheered. The best part of the evening was just being together.

As with all happy events, the visit passed too quickly, but it was long enough to deepen Holly’s love for her grandparents even more. “It is great having my grandparents here. I love them and admire them both very much. They have always been and will always be great examples to me. I feel very blessed to be their granddaughter and to be so close to them. I hope that I will never let them down.

“I remember going down in the summers or at conference time to visit them. I always love to hear their stories of when they were my age or younger. Their experiences seem to really relate to me and the things I’m interested in. I love them so much. I think the greatest thing they’ve shown me is to have love in the family, and we certainly do. My family and my relatives are my closest friends. I’d much rather be with them than with anyone else.”

As her grandparents’ visit drew to a close, Holly was happy to know that every parting with those she loved would someday be followed by a reunion, and that someday there would be a reunion to be followed by no partings. Her grandfather and grandmother were hers eternally, and as beautiful as the summer is in Calgary, that knowledge was still more beautiful.