Gospel Story Finder

Special education students and their buddies skate each Friday afternoon at the Bountiful Ice Rink, which is half a block from their school.

A buddy encouraged Trent to skate, and the ice immediately captivated him. As he progressed, Trent became a skating buddy to others. When one child was too timid to try, Trent said, “Come on. If I can do it, you can too.” He flashed his smile and soon had the boy gliding easily on the ice.

Following completion of the second project, Bishop Abdul Rollings-Kamara of Peckham Ward, received an email from the volunteers programmes manager of Thames Reach. She informed him that the volunteers had been nominated for a Volunteer Hero Award and had won. This was in recognition of the work they had undertaken. This certainly came as a surprise to everyone. A certificate of achievement was subsequently awarded, along with a gift voucher. These were presented by Bill Tidnam, chief executive officer of Thames Reach, on 24 October 2020.
Through their service, the volunteers have exemplified the Rise and Reach motto to ‘go and do’, by going out and doing good for their community. Although their service was unconditional, they received a wonderful and unexpected award.
Bishop Rollings-Kamara used the voucher to purchase foodstuff which he donated to Pecan Foodbank. Pecan is a charitable organisation that is based in Peckham, Southwark, South London. They work to support the community practically and emotionally by offering a range of interventions, including, careers service, women’s service, family works (which works to support parents into employment) and the foodbank.

Ten years ago, a young man from the village of 'Utulau, Tongatapu shared this experience in his admission essay: "One of the experiences that helped define me as a person happened when my family served a mission in the Ha'apai group in 1983. My mom and sister left us to go to Tongatapu and my Dad left us on the following day to go to another island for a church purpose. We stayed at home and what we ate everyday was a paper bag of sugar and a small tin of milo. After three days they were finished and I was crying because of hunger. My two elder brothers, one was nine and one was seven years old at the time, tried to comfort me by swinging me on a "heke" inside the house, but it was unsuccessful. They were crying as I was crying. My brothers prayed and asked Heavenly Father to help us. My eldest brother asked my other brother to go and check whether there was some sugar stuck to the paper bag so that I may lick it. The three of us will never forget that moment when my brother showed us that both were full of sugar and milo. Before we used it, we knelt down and thanked Heavenly Father for what He had done for us. This experience always reminds us that when we do God's will He will guide us, and second, I must trust Him and rely on Him in everything I do. My father was worried to leave us alone at home but he knows that he must go and do God's will. Because he did God's will, God took care of us and showed us a miracle which we will not forget. I must trust Him and rely on Him in everything I do. I know for sure that everything He gave us He always prepares a way for us to do."

They sent Donath to the Rwandan capital of Kigali where he had an uncle he could stay with. They hoped that he would take some time to think about his decisions. He got a job and settled into the area with his uncle’s family. One Sunday, his uncle asked him if he would like to attend church with him and his family. “I asked him what church and he said, ‘The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.’” He told his uncle he had never heard of this church but would like to attend.
He noticed how friendly the Church members were in the Kigali 3rd Branch. He wasn’t used to that type of church experience. “The opening hymn was number 136, I still remember the number, ‘I Know that My Redeemer Lives.’ It had a tremendous impact on me, I really didn’t hear or understand much else at the meeting. I had to find someone who could tell me what that song meant.”
He began meeting with the missionaries and having discussions with his uncle and began to recognize the truth of the gospel. He had moved back with his family, and going to church was very difficult because they lived nearly 10 hours away from the Kigali Branch. He was able to attend church a couple of times per month and made the decision to be baptized. He was baptized in the Kigali 3rd Branch, Kigali District in 2018.

The summer of 1870 was a good time to live in the valley of the Great Salt Lake and to be 16 years old! The pioneers’ original settlement was becoming a bustling city, and there was work for anyone willing and able.
That is just what young Robert Hemphill Gillespie was. Bob had gained a reputation for being good with horses and cattle and for being a hard worker.
Bob already had a fine horse and the necessary gear for it—a big accomplishment for such a young man, especially one who had been on his own with no home or parents since he was nine. He had proven himself to be trustworthy and dependable, and people liked to hire him.
One fine June day, Bob accepted a job that required him to cross 100 miles (160 kilometers) of the Great Salt Lake desert. Today people can cross this desert in a car in less than two hours. But on that day more than 130 years ago, it took many hours on a horse. Friends told Bob to be sure and take along some water, so he filled a canteen and set off.
Bob had never crossed a desert before, and he didn’t realize the danger of needing water and having no place to get it. He drank all the water he had before he had covered even half the distance. When he and his horse really began to suffer, Bob figured they still had about 60 miles (98 kilometers) to go.
He thought, “Oh, if I had only saved some of the water! It was warm, but it was wet! If I hadn’t hung the canteen on my shoulder where it was so handy, I might have a little left now!”
He thought of all those swallows of water he had taken when he was not in real need as he was now! In desperate hope, he turned the canteen upside down above his mouth once more. The water really was gone! Fear made him urge his horse to go faster—for a while. Then he noticed that his horse was sweating, and he slowed down.
Soon Bob’s tongue was so swollen he couldn’t close his mouth. His horse was suffering too. “We have to have water!” Bob said to himself.
Just then he saw a small cabin a short distance off the trail. A cabin meant there would be water! He immediately turned in that direction. When he reached the cabin, he found it deserted. There was a deep hole in the ground nearby, and there appeared to be water at the bottom. Bob climbed inside. There was a little water! But there were also dead birds, a dead rabbit, and maggots! The water was bad. Sorrowing, Bob climbed out, mounted his horse, and returned to the trail.
Then he remembered his mother teaching him to pray when he was a small child. He had not prayed in a long time, but he decided to try. Looking around for a suitable place, he left the trail again. He found a large, low place, dismounted, knelt, and began to pray, pleading for water: “Please send me a drink, Lord. Yes, and a drink for my poor horse too! My fine, good horse! Please, Lord!”
Bob thought of rain. “God, canst Thou send rain, please?” he prayed. “Please forgive me, Lord, but we need a drink. Please make it rain. I thank Thee, Lord. Amen.”
After his prayer Bob felt a little better. He climbed back on his horse and rode on, still filled with thoughts of the heat, his thirst, and his horse’s thirst.
Recalling that he had asked for rain, Bob began to scan the sky for clouds. All he could see was one tiny cloud, far to the southwest. He watched that cloud closely, wondering and thinking. After a while he noticed a little wind coming toward him from the direction of that little cloud. Could it be drifting his way? It seemed larger now too. “Yes, Lord,” he said aloud, “I prayed for rain.”
Soon a drop of rain hit his hand. Another hit his saddle, another hit the horse, and then one hit his hand again. Suddenly there came a rain shower from that one little cloud! Within a few minutes, water was rushing down the trail and into a little ravine beside the trail, reaching almost to the horse’s knees! The horse bowed his head and drank. Bob dismounted, got down on his belly, and gratefully drank his fill of the muddy water. Then he refilled his canteen. Refreshed, he and his horse continued on their way.
After riding just a short distance, Bob found that the trail and the ground all around him were hot, dry, and dusty once again. It was then that Bob fully realized what had happened. Halting his horse, he again dismounted and knelt on the dusty trail. Again he prayed with a full heart: “I thank Thee, Lord, for making rain come from a small cloud in the desert so my horse and I could have a drink.”
From that day until Bob died at the age of 86, he told this experience many times to his children and grandchildren. They never tired of hearing it, and they have passed it on to their children and grandchildren.
The most thrilling moment every time Bob told the story was when he bore his testimony: “Now, children, don’t ever let anyone convince you that the Lord can’t answer your prayer, for I know that He can!”

“What is this yucky stuff?”
My little brother’s honest question reflected what our turned-up noses asked when Mom put the lima bean and corn dish on the table.
“Succotash,” Mom replied. “The Pilgrims survived on it. They got the recipe from local Indians but decided to leave out the dog meat. So did I. We also have corn bread and pumpkin pie. Want some?”
So this is what Sylvester the Cat means when he says “Sufferin’ succotash,” I thought. It makes a lot more sense to me now. Poking my fork into the concoction I wondered why Mom had suddenly gone pioneer with the food storage.
It didn’t take long to find out. Dad announced that he had lost his job, and we would be living on our food storage for a while. I envisioned weeks of whole wheat porridge, fried rice, and bean or lentil soup.
Our next family home evening was kind of scary when Dad and Mom went over our expenses and explained that all cash and savings would have to go for the house payment and utilities. Tears came to my kindergarten brother’s eyes when it was announced that no extra things could be purchased. He looked down at his shoes and whispered, “I guess I can’t get a book club book, huh?”
I didn’t dare ask if I would have to miss the prom and the band trip. I was afraid of the answer, so I just looked at my shoes too.
The only fun part of the evening was planning that month’s menus. It was comforting to see lots of home-canned fruits and vegetables on Mom’s storage list. Green beans, peaches, pear sauce, and apple sauce made me take a grateful look back at our family’s bumpy road to self-sufficiency.
All this was good training for dealing with my dad’s unemployment. Our help in tending the garden, in canning, and in eating what Mom cooked all helped get us through. I was even able to go to the prom and to go on our band trip to Lake Okiboji.

“Oh, Paige, that’s not what it means at all.” The timer above the stove started beeping. “Just a minute, honey. I need to punch down the bread dough.” Mom lifted the towel covering the bowl of dough. “Oh, no!”
“What happened, Mom?”
“The dough didn’t rise. I can’t make bread out of it now.” Mom drummed her fingers on the countertop, then smiled. “The dough should work for scones.” Paige’s mother placed a pan on the stove, filled it with oil, and began heating it.
Paige smiled for the first time since coming home. “I’m glad the dough didn’t rise. Scones taste better than bread.”
“You know, I worked hard on that bread dough,” Mom said as she flattened small balls of dough into circles and gently placed them in the hot oil. “I followed the recipe, and I tried to make the best bread dough I could. I had faith that it would rise. But it didn’t. Does that mean that I just didn’t have enough faith?”
“I don’t think so,” Paige said. “And something better came from it.”
“Sometimes Heavenly Father has plans for us that are different from what we think we want. Even if we work hard and have faith, He doesn’t always bless us in the way we think that we want Him to.”
“But being a munchkin isn’t better than being Dorothy.”
“You need to try faith again, Paige.”
“What do you mean?”
“You need to have faith that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ know things that you don’t, that They know what will be best for you in the long run. Do you think that you can have that kind of faith?”
“I’ll try.”
“Good.” Mom set a piping hot scone onto a plate, dropped a glob of butter and dribbled honey onto it, and set it before Paige. “Would you like the first scone?”
“Yes!”

Emma sat at the big oak table surrounded by her family. It was the first of December.
“OK,” Dad said, “it’s time to discuss our individual Christmas projects. Who can tell me the rules?”
“We each do a project that doesn’t cost any money,” Ben said.
“It can’t be a material item,” Mom added.
“And most important of all, it has to bring the spirit of Christmas to someone,” Jane finished. “I’m going to baby-sit for Sister Wells so that she can get her Christmas baking done.”
Mom beamed. “An excellent project. How about you, Ben?”
“I think I’ll wrap presents for Project Merry Christmas. It’s a city program that collects gifts for the poor.”
Dad nodded. “Good plan, Son. As for me, I’ll be practicing my Ho Ho Hos, because I’m going to take the part of Santa in some local preschool plays.”
Mom eyed Dad’s tummy and winked. “It looks like you’ll need only one pillow this year. I’m going to play Christmas music at the Golden Days Nursing Home, and Kayla will help me rehearse by not crying—I hope. That leaves you, Emma.”
Emma squirmed. “I don’t know yet.”
Dad gave her a hug. “That’s all right,” he said. “But try to decide soon. Christmas comes quickly, and you shouldn’t do anything out of desperation. That wouldn’t mean as much.”
Emma tried and tried to think of something that she could do, but no good ideas came. If I were a teenager like Ben and Jane, I could do lots of cool projects, she thought. But what can a little kid do?
A week passed, and Emma still didn’t have a plan. She wanted to make someone happy by helping in some way, but her mind always drew a blank.
In church on Sunday, Emma noticed Sister Dugan interpreting for Brother Drake, who was deaf. Emma watched in wonder as Sister Dugan’s fingers flashed and danced, weaving invisible words out of thin air. She liked the hand motions and wished she knew what they meant. In an instant she had a plan.
For the next couple of weeks, Emma worked hard. Her mom took her to the library to check out books, then she practiced for hours with Sister Dugan.
On a clear, crisp December evening a few days before Christmas, Emma and her family drove to Brother Drake’s house. Before leaving the car, Emma asked her family to say a prayer with her. Then they all got out, bundled in winter coats and hats. Only Emma did not wear mittens. She flexed her fingers and watched her breath in the cold air. Dad rang the doorbell, and they were soon greeted by Brother Drake and his hearing dog.
“‘Silent night! Holy night!’” they sang. “‘All is calm, all is bright …’”* Emma’s fingers formed the words in American Sign Language—awkwardly at first but with growing confidence. When she signed the words heavenly peace, all fear left her, and her fingers felt warm and loose. She was no longer just moving them in memorized patterns, but really singing the story of the Savior’s birth. She felt this same peace as they sang “Away in a Manger.”
When they had finished, Brother Drake wiped a tear from his eye and beckoned the family inside. While they drank eggnog, he grabbed a pen and pad of paper. “Thank you for those beautiful songs,” he wrote. “I have never had Christmas carolers before. You have brought the spirit of Christmas into my home and given me an unforgettable gift.”
Emma’s heart felt as if it had grown a thousand times bigger. She said a silent prayer thanking Heavenly Father for the wonderful Christmas spirit. “Merry Christmas,” she signed carefully. “Merry Christmas and heavenly peace.”

When I was 20 years old and investigating the Church in Ulan-Ude, Russia, my brother and I sang in a music competition. I prayed that our music would touch the judges’ hearts. My prayer was answered when two of the judges were touched in such a way that they cried during our performance. And I was thrilled when we won second place and received a cash prize.
After my brother and I had divided the prize money, I remembered what I had learned about tithing—that the Lord’s 10 percent should be paid to the branch president. My family was having financial problems, and they argued that I shouldn’t pay 10 percent to God.
But one of the branch members showed me how to put my money in a tithing envelope. And I felt happy when I gave my first tithing to the branch president, believing that Heavenly Father would not let my family die for lack of money to buy food.
That evening, a friend of my mother’s came to our home. She wanted to help us and gave us more money than I had paid. That experience helped me very much. I was baptized six weeks later and am now serving a full-time mission.
I know that our happiness and well-being are influenced by how honest we are in paying our tithing. And my family now has the same opinion too!
Sister Marita Ivanova, Russia Samara Mission

My mother, my elder and my younger sisters all got baptized when I was on my mission. We lived with my mother for 10 years without my father’s love, and my sisters and I had our mother by our side all the time. I had all the love for my father despite the fact that he had distanced himself from us for 10 years. When I was on a mission, I knew I shouldn’t change the lives of others while my family perished, so I did everything I could to get back in touch with my father.
As I got in touch with my father, I knew I had a huge responsibility to introduce him to the missionaries. I attended his first meeting with the missionaries through a WhatsApp video call, but the first time, the missionaries and I faced a lot of criticism and backbiting. My father didn’t believe that there can be a true church of God in the world today. I asked my mission president for a favor to go to the temple. On my way to the temple, I prayed and fasted for my father.
Two months after I returned from my mission, on August 5 and 6, 2023, I was privileged to baptize and confirm my father and today we are all members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints through prayer, fasting and meditation in the holy house of the Lord. Today all the members of my family are with me, and we share the same faith and the same gospel of Christ.

In San Antonio, Texas, I met a man who had married a faithful Latter-day Saint girl. He was not a member of the Church, so they made an agreement that they would not discuss or argue about religion. His wife was true to her commitment, but shortly after they were married the missionaries came calling. He remained true to his commitment and didn't argue or complain, and the missionaries just kept coming. He went through so many sets of missionaries he lost count. Three years went by, but he still remained indifferent to the gospel. He was a good man; he was just not willing to expend the faith necessary to believe. One evening he came home from work, and his wife said, "The missionaries are coming tonight." He thought to himself, "Oh, no. Not again! Haven't I been through this enough already?" But that night was different. There was an older stake missionary with the elders, and as they began the lesson he said to this man, "John, It's time you joined the Church. You need to make the decision now!" He heard himself saying, "I know; you're right. It is time." As he said those words, he felt a powerful confirmation of the Spirit and knew it was true. He said to me, "I really didn't know until that moment, but then I knew with a confirmation that I could not deny." His one step of faith into darkness opened the door to the confirming Spirit.

Q. So the gospel helps you with your composing?
A. Musicians don’t just write notes; we write feelings. And there aren’t any deeper or more spiritual feelings than what is inspired by the gospel. Since I joined the Church after my senior year in high school, everything has become more meaningful to me.
Plus the gospel gives me balance in my life. As important as music is, it’s not the most important thing. Once upon a time, the glitz and glamour of the business got to me, and I started worshipping the wrong things. I began to be depressed all the time and didn’t do a good job in my music. But I went through a reawakening and was able to put things back into perspective.
Q. What caused your reawakening?
A. A number of things, but part of it was my family. I have two daughters, and both were born with spina bifida, which basically means they’re paralyzed from the knees down. When Kristin was born nine years ago, she helped me realize some very important things. She was happy. I became aware that although she’d probably never perform great physical feats, she had everything she needed to be happy in this life and to return to our Heavenly Father. So I asked myself, “What are you doing, Brother Bestor? Why are you going for the fame and fortune of the world? You don’t need all that.”

Recently, due to a job change, my wife, youngest two sons, and I moved from the United States to England. What an adventure!
Unsure of what to expect, we found a quaint, comfortable home to lease in a quiet neighborhood that is perfect for us. The house is cozy and gives us a peaceful place to live, laugh, and learn together. Everything about it is just right … except the refrigerator.
“It’s the size of a shoebox!” was only a slight exaggeration from our youngest son. “I’ve seen bigger fridges in dorm rooms” was an accurate comment. This keep-your-food-cold baby is a whopping 2.5 feet (.75 m) tall and 1.6 feet (.5 m) wide—with only 44 liters of space. It took me a while to recognize what that meant.
For an active household of four people, we eat a lot of food each week. So it was an adjustment to adapt to a fridge the size of a laundry basket.
The nearest grocery store is 1.2 miles (2 km) away. It’s a pleasant walk through the neighborhood. To go to the store and back is generally a commitment of just over an hour.
At first, the novelty of walking to the store was intriguing. Finding the way and seeing the sights provided a chance to experience the area. That interest quickly wore down, and replenishing our fridge became a “One, two, three, not it!” activity.
For some time, I found myself making this trek with minor irritation. Grumble. Grumble. “We didn’t have to do this when we had a fridge the size of a Cadillac!”
My attitude changed one fateful week.
Monday, we needed milk. Before heading to the store, I asked my youngest son if he wanted to go with me. To my delight (and moderate surprise), he agreed. We spent that hour walking and talking. I learned things from him about a video game he likes that I never even thought to ask about. We had a great time together.
Tuesday, I forgot to get apples the day before. Our second youngest son was just finishing a task, and I caught him off guard: “I’m just headed to the store. Want to come?” Sure enough, he agreed! That hour went by very quickly as we walked together while discussing a well-known artist and his career path along with my son’s similar interests and artistic journey. Best time spent all day.
Wednesday, we all had a craving for ice cream—but no ice cream. Solution? A family walk to the store. Talking as we walked there and back as a family was definitely a wholesome recreational activity.
Thursday, we were out of eggs (plus we needed bamboo skewers for a school project). “Well, Son, it is your project, but I’ll come with you to the store as long as you help me remember to get the eggs.” This time, an hour spent telling math jokes and learning what was happening at school was exactly what I needed.
Saturday, the day to get ready for Sunday, my sweetheart kindly agreed to a “shopping date” that morning. So we went off to the store for the usual: milk, bread, fruit, a meal for Sunday, and a few treats. Our walk together was a highlight of the week for me. Being with my wonderful wife while sharing thoughts and ideas about our family, the future, and our lives was a treasure.
After the week of the five trips to the store, my perspective changed quite a bit. I managed to see the blessing of time spent together with my family doing the small, simple things of life. As a result, great things have been brought to pass. (See Alma 37:6.)
I have a closer connection with my sons, and my relationship with my wife has grown stronger. The necessity of these trips has given me focused time to walk and talk with my family. That opportunity always existed, but I did not think to take advantage of that precious time until forced to by the inconvenience of a small fridge.
We have loved it here in the United Kingdom with wonderful people, historic sites, lovely places, and a chance-of-a-lifetime to experience this part of the world. At times we still miss our van-sized refrigerator in the United States. However, our family has grown closer together as we find the positive through our challenges—as small as they may be.
I never thought I would say this, but I am grateful for small refrigerators!
The author lives in Gloucester, England.

Life sent me a hurricane of sorrow in December 2016. Our oldest grandchild, Derek, stopped breathing, and his parents rushed him to the hospital. With a measure of confidence, I asked Heavenly Father to bless little Derek. As I was praying, the Spirit gently impressed on my mind, “Little Derek has returned home to heaven.”
Photograph courtesy of Cordon family
Wait, what? Despite my reeling shock, an instant “peace of God” (Philippians 4:7) came to my heart and mind.
The week after Derek’s passing, I was scheduled to do ministering visits at a children’s hospital. I felt overwhelmed and didn’t think I could walk back into those medical sights, sounds, and smells. But as I checked in, a sweet peace came over me. The Lord knew my willingness even though I was hurting, and He orchestrated an extra dose of love for me. I was guided to visit a young child fighting cancer. He had written on his whiteboard: “Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding” (Proverbs 3:5).
To this day, that scripture is a reminder that Heavenly Father knows and loves me. I still have a hole in my heart for Derek—and will until I see him again. But until then, I gain solace in the Lord and keep moving forward.

In tournament golf competition, there is a rule that a contestant must be disqualified if he signs an incorrect scorecard or turns his card in without signing it. A famous golfer named Gary Player did that once and was eliminated from a prestigious tournament. He was asked if someone in the scoring tent couldn’t have reminded him to sign his name on the score card.
“My friend,” Player replied, “there are responsibilities in life. You cannot shove your responsibilities onto the shoulders of someone else. This was my responsibility. I failed to do it, so I must suffer the consequences.”

Like most priests, Steven P. was looking forward to sleeping in during his summer vacation. But then his bishop invited every temple-worthy member in the ward to do as many proxy ordinances in the temple during the summer as their circumstances would allow. Steven’s whole family decided to go to the temple early on two or three mornings each week.
Waking up at 5:00 a.m. was challenging at first, but after several trips “it became like clockwork,” Steven says. And he kept going back. By the end of summer, Steven had performed over 400 baptisms and confirmations. “It made me feel good to go to the temple to be baptized and confirmed for those who aren’t able to do it.”
For Steven, being with his family was an important part of going to the temple. “I feel the Spirit a lot stronger when I am with people I am familiar with,” Steven says. “We’re pretty close as a family as it is.” After attending the temple together frequently, “I feel we got closer as a family.”

It was in the spring of 1989 when I realised I was a daughter of our Heavenly Father, and that He loved me and I loved Him.
I was a teenager making dubious choices, but I had been raised to believe in God and I knew I needed Him. I prayed for him to help me, and within days of that prayer I met a young man who would share the truth with me.
On our first date, he began to tell me about Joseph Smith and the Restoration. He gave me a copy of the Book of Mormon. I began to read the book and knew instantly that it was true; it just felt right, and I couldn’t stop reading it.
He departed on his mission, and I spent the next few months learning and accepting the principles of the gospel. My parents could see the positive changes in me but did not want me to join the Church. I fasted to gain their permission to get baptised. Receiving their blessing was the only thing holding me back from taking my Saviour’s name upon me. Three weeks after that fast, and surrounded by friends and family, I was baptised a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

When I was a young man, I spent summers working on my Uncle Bill’s farm. Each year we would spend weeks getting our old John Deere 95 Hillside Combine in working order to harvest our grain. The 95 Hillside was old even back then; I was pretty sure that the model just before it was pulled by horses. It was a tremendous effort to get the combine ready each season. One year, my uncle was able to purchase a used Massey Ferguson Combine. The Massey Ferguson was still old but newer than the 95 Hillside and it featured a cab, which I was very excited about.

One morning, my uncle asked me to drive up to the field and start cutting grain with the new combine. I was thrilled! As a newly licensed teenager, any excuse to drive, let alone run the combine, was exciting. Upon arriving at the combine, I went through a mental checklist of things my uncle had taught me, and within a few minutes, I was off and running. It was exhilarating until at the top of a hill I heard a loud clang from the engine. I quickly looked around the combine, and gauges and everything seemed to be okay, so I decided to ease the combine off the hill before checking what had happened. By the time I reached the bottom of the hill, however, the combine was overheating. I started to panic. I had once observed my father let an engine run after climbing a hill to help it cool off so I decided not to turn the engine off. While sitting there I realized I was in the middle of a tall growth of grain. My uncle’s warning to never park a hot vehicle in a field pierced my thoughts and escalated my panic. I jumped out of the combine and rolled around on the ground to flatten the grain around the combine. Then I jumped back into the combine praying that the engine had cooled down. It had not. Panicked, I ran back to the pickup and drove to a neighbor’s field to ask for help. When I explained the situation to my neighbor, he just looked at me and said, “Well, did you turn it off?” I didn’t say anything, I just backed away jumped in the pickup, and drove as fast as I could back to the combine. When I arrived, the combine was sputtering and cackling. I quickly turned the engine off. At that moment, I had the thought that I should open the hood and see what had happened to the engine. I opened the hood to discover that the fan pulley had broken. No amount of letting the engine run would have cooled it down. Suddenly the weight of what I had done pressed down on me. For those of you who are unfamiliar with farm economics, losing a combine is a big deal. I was defeated; a wave of emotion hit me as I thought about how I would explain this to my uncle.

As I pulled up to the driveway, my uncle came out to meet me. I took a shaky breath and, with my head down, explained what had happened. I ended with the comment, “I guess you’ll never want me to run your equipment again.” He paused for a moment, looked at me, and said, “Well, you’re a better operator now than you were this morning.” I was taken back. I thought maybe he doesn’t understand how bad it is, but to his credit, he never said anything more about it, even when we had to pull out the old John Deere 95 to finish the harvest.

After that moment my feelings towards my uncle changed. I had always been a good worker; I was obedient and did my duty, but the mercy my uncle had shown to me was beyond my understanding. He could have crushed me in that moment by validating all the negative thoughts I was having about myself—how stupid I had been, how I had known better, how broken I felt inside—but instead he built me up and used this experience to help me grow. After that, I would wake up at 4 AM and get dressed, then lay in bed until I heard his footsteps on the floor above. Then I would race up the stairs to meet him by the door because I never wanted a day to start without him knowing how grateful I was and how much I loved him. My uncle’s mercy had switched my obedience from doing “chores” to working because I loved him.

This experience has helped me contextualize God’s love for me, because if my uncle could forgive me for ruining the combine, then I could start to understand how a loving Heavenly Father could forgive me of my combine big failures. I could start to get a glimpse of His willingness to work with me on the sins that so easily beset me.[3] And while I don’t understand how He could offer up His Only Begotten Son for me,[4] the fact that He did has changed the way I keep His commandments. I pray each day because I never want a day to go by that I don’t express my love for Him. I pour out my heart unto Him in my weakness because I need God in my life. Understanding God’s mercy and love for me, getting a glimpse of what Christ suffered for me, changes my obedience from compliance and duty to love and service. I cleave unto God because I love Him.

Several years ago, while preparing for a business trip, I began to experience chest pain. Out of concern, my wife decided to accompany me. On the first leg of our flight, the pain intensified to the point that it was difficult for me to breathe. When we landed, we left the airport and went to the local hospital, where, after multiple tests, the attending physician declared us safe to continue our travel.
We returned to the airport and boarded a flight to our final destination. As we were descending, the pilot came on the intercom and asked me to identify myself. The flight attendant approached, said they had just received an emergency call, and told me there was an ambulance waiting at the airport to take me to the hospital.
We boarded the ambulance and were rushed to the local emergency room. There we were met by two anxious doctors who explained that I had been misdiagnosed and actually had a serious pulmonary embolism, or blood clot, in my lung, which required immediate medical attention. The doctors informed us that many patients do not survive this condition. Knowing we were far from home and not sure if we were prepared for such life-altering events, the doctors said that if there was anything in our lives that we needed to consider, now was the time.
I remember well how almost instantaneously in that anxious moment, my entire perspective changed. What seemed so important just moments earlier was now of little interest. My mind raced away from the comfort and cares of this life to an eternal perspective—thoughts of family, children, my wife, and ultimately an assessment of my own life.
How were we doing as a family and individually? Were we living our lives consistent with the covenants we had made and the Lord’s expectations, or had we perhaps unintentionally allowed the cares of the world to distract us from those things which matter most?
I would invite you to consider an important lesson learned from this experience: to step back from the world and assess your life. Or in the words of the doctor, if there is anything in your life you need to consider, now is the time.

I also went to Philadelphia, Mississippi, as I had been prompted. There, on the Choctaw reservation, I learned the story of the Nanah-weya. Archaeologists think that the Choctaw are probably of Mayan descent—from Central America—because their language, customs, and culture are similar to those of the Mayans. Choctaw legends tell of their migration from their old lands, where they had been persecuted. A prophet had told them of a land waiting for them, where they would be safe. Two brothers, Chataw and Chickasaw, led the people out of the old land.
The people followed the “leaning pole,” a sacred pole placed in front of the leaders’ camp each night. Some legends say that a sacred medicine bag was tied to the pole. Each morning, the people traveled in the direction the pole leaned. They carried their ancestors’ bones with them.
When they reached the area that is now Northern Mississippi, there was a tremendous rainstorm. The people thought that in the morning they would find the sacred pole flat on the ground because of the rain. Instead, the pole stood straight, its shaft buried deep in the mud.
That is where the people stayed. In the new land they held a great council to decide what to do with their ancestors’ bones. The decision they made was to build a large mound and bury them there. This mound, called the Nanah-weya, means “leaning mountain,” or “mother mound.”