Gospel Story Finder

Solo(Deseret Book $5.95)by Patricia O’Brien King
While qualifying for her pilot’s license, Sherleen Jaussi is forced to crash-land her small plane. For five days her fate is unknown until, against incredible odds, ground searchers rescue her. This is the story of those five days as she fights heat, thirst, pain, and loneliness while her husband and five children cling to the hope that she is still alive.

Explorer Everett likes to dig for treasure. He pretends that sparkly rocks are gold coins. He pretends that sticks are dinosaur bones. Everett runs to show Mom what he found. Look out! Everett trips over a rock and hurts his knee. He feels very sad. Mom puts a bandage on his knee. “Let’s say a prayer,” Mom says. They pray that his knee will feel better. Now Explorer Everett is on the hunt again! As he looks for a treasure map, his knee starts to feel better. Everett feels happy. He knows that Heavenly Father and Jesus love him.

Ralph Foster Diston was born at Trimdon Grange, Durham, England, on the 24th of October 1912. His parents, Ralph and Elizabeth, were Latter-day Saints and he was brought up in the faith. In 1921, at age 8, he was baptised and confirmed. He had grown up as a member of the Sunderland branch, but by 1939 he had moved to Newcastle where he worshipped with the Saints. For employment he had worked at a colliery before joining the army. In 1933 he married Francis Bransby and in 1938 they had a son, Francis. He was an ordained Deacon.
During the Second World War he served as a Company Sergeant Major (CSM) in the Durham Light Infantry (DLI). Brother Diston is remembered for his extraordinary bravery and leadership, particularly during the Battle of the Mereth Line near Wadi Zigzaou, Tunisia, on the 21st of March 1943.
During this battle, Ralph was ordered to capture a redoubt (a fortification). He led his men through intense combat, showing a complete disregard for danger and demonstrated ‘magnificent leadership’. His actions included leading assaults on enemy fortified positions, clearing trenches, and rallying his men under heavy fire. After capturing the redoubt they secured 120 Italian prisoners. His courage and determination were instrumental in the DLI’s success, and he was awarded the Distinguished Conduct Medal, with commendations from General Bernard Montgomery.
Despite the overwhelming odds, Brother Diston continued to inspire his men. The next day, German tanks and infantry approached the redoubt on three fronts. His cool leadership helped his company hold their position until they ran out of ammunition, after which he guided them to safety. In a nearby anti-tank ditch they armed themselves with more ammunition and continued their defence.
After recovering from wounds he incurred during the defence, he continued his military service and was involved in the Allied Invasion of Sicily. In July 1943 he led his soldiers into battle and was involved in the Assault on Primosole Bridge which spanned the Simeo River near Catania. This time, however, there was a resolute German defence and he was injured during the assault. He died of his wounds on the 18th of July leaving behind a wife and young son.
Although Ralph was only 30 years old at the time of his death, he showed immense bravery and leadership. Brother Ralph Diston is buried at the Catania War Cemetery in Sicily, Italy. On the 22nd of August 1943, a one-minute’s silence was held in honour of Ralph in the Newcastle branch.

As for interpreting tongues, on an occasion when the Prophet was subpoenaed and was leaving to attend the trial, he was met at the door by a sister named Sarah Cleveland, who spoke to him. The Prophet listened intently. When she was through, he said, “You need not fear for me, as Sister Cleveland says I shall have my trial and be acquitted.”64 She had spoken in tongues and prophesied. He was tried, and he was acquitted.

Three years ago, Edward Pentreath was attending a large youth activity in England, where he lives, when he remembers feeling the Spirit in an overwhelming way.
“After the evening fireside, I went back to my room. I was praying, and suddenly I realized that this gospel is all true. I was so happy. All I could say was, ‘It’s true. I know it’s true.’ I remember calling a good friend of mine. When he picked up the phone, all he could hear was me saying, ‘It’s true! It’s so fantastic!’”
Now when Edward, a member of Ipswich England Stake, describes the feeling he had that night when the Holy Ghost testified of the truthfulness of the gospel, he describes it as a “warm shiver and a tingle which went through my body.” He has learned to recognize that feeling. He says he feels the Spirit often now that his friends are going on missions and as they have opportunities to bear their testimonies at camp, at youth conferences, or in church.

Some members of the Church have said to me, “Why should we keep a store of food on hand? If a real emergency came in this lawless world, a neighbor would simply come with his gun and take it from us. What would you do if a person came and demanded your food?” I replied that I would share whatever I had with him, and he wouldn’t have to use a gun to obtain that assistance either.

“I wouldn’t,” replied one man. “I have a gun, and I wouldn’t hesitate to use it to defend my family. Anyone would have to kill me first in order to get food away from me! After all, they bring their own misery on themselves by not being prepared!”

One important event in Kayli’s life happened before she was even walking and talking. While Kayli was still very young, her older sister Jenny met the missionaries in college and joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. After attending one year of college in Alaska, Jenny transferred to BYU–Idaho, where she met her husband, Matt. After graduation, Matt and Jenny moved to Texas.
When they took in the younger siblings, Matt and Jenny had two rules about religion: “The first was that they would attend church with us, as part of the family,” says Jenny. “The second rule was that Matt and I would never require them to be baptized or even to take the missionary lessons. That had to be their own choice.”
So, Kayli started attending church as well as midweek activities. At first, it didn’t really do much for her. “I attended, but I didn’t believe anything,” Kayli says. “I wasn’t really paying attention.”
However, she began to notice something unusual. “Every time I went to church or youth activities, I’d be happy.”
After a couple years of noticing this, Kayli was ready to meet a very special friend.
“I met my friend Maddie when we moved to another part of Texas the summer before 10th grade,” Kayli says. “She introduced herself and became such a great example to me.”
Kayli says that Maddie always seems upbeat and joyful, even when times get tough. As their friendship grew, Kayli looked forward to attending Church meetings and activities more.
“Maddie is such a good friend,” Kayli says.
Photographs by Aubrey Stock
Another big influence in Kayli’s life was seminary. Unlike when she first attended church, this time Kayli truly started paying close attention to what was being taught. “The reason why I started paying attention in seminary is that the people around me were really good at answering questions and participating. I wanted to be a part of that.”
The stars were aligning, as they say. Between studying the Book of Mormon in seminary, seeing the gospel bring happiness to her older sister, brother-in-law, and others in the ward, and making some key friendships, Kayli was ready to say yes when Maddie asked if she’d like to take the missionary lessons at her house.
From there, things moved quickly. Kayli and her younger sister—who was asked independently and by a different friend to take the lessons at that friend’s house—decided to be baptized on the same day.
“In Alaska, my happiness came from hanging out with my friends and trying to be popular,” Kayli says. “Now my happiness comes from the gospel. I’ve learned so much from the members here. I’ve learned that happiness and light come through Jesus Christ and Heavenly Father.”
Kayli’s testimony of the gospel grew, in large part, with a close study of the Book of Mormon in seminary. These days, the Book of Mormon is still just as important to her as ever. “The Book of Mormon is one of the main things that has been bringing me happiness,” she explains. “It’s changed me so much. I want others to feel that too and have been trying to share it.”
She carries the Book of Mormon with her everywhere she goes, including school. “There are so many things that kids at school do that drive the Spirit away, like using bad language or trying too hard to be popular,” Kayli says. “Keeping a Book of Mormon in my backpack helps me remember my goal: to keep the Spirit and share the positivity that the gospel brings us.”
She doesn’t know if her testimony would have had that chance to grow, though, if it hadn’t been for the faithful examples of Church members around her. “Members of the Church were a part of me being baptized,” she says. “Without their examples and spiritual light, I probably wouldn’t have noticed anything different in them and would have continued not paying attention to anything Church-related.”
Kayli and her siblings have definitely been through some hard times in the past. Yet Kayli has found hope for her future, and it’s a hope she wants to pass on to anybody else struggling through a hard time right now.
“Remember to press forward and keep focusing on the positive side of things,” Kayli says. “And if you’ve lost a loved one, remember that Heavenly Father has a plan for you and for others. We’ll be able to live with our families forever if we do what’s right.”

It was the day after Christmas, 1946, in Santa Clara, Utah. As a young nine-year-old boy, I asked my mother if I could take my Christmas gift, a new bow and arrow set, and go up on the hill behind our home to hunt for rabbits. It was late in the afternoon, and Mother was reluctant, but with my coaxing she agreed to let me go, but only if I was back home before dark.

As I reached the top of the hill, I put an arrow on the bow and started walking quietly through the sage and chaparral bushes, hoping to see a rabbit feeding at the base of the brush where the tender grass was still green.

I was startled by a large jackrabbit that jumped out from a sage bush right in front of me. I pulled back on the bow, taking a quick aim, and let the arrow fly at the fleeing, darting rabbit. The arrow missed, and the rabbit disappeared through the brush ahead.

I went to where I thought the arrow had hit the ground to retrieve it. Only three arrows came with the bow, and I didn’t want to lose this one. I looked where the arrow was supposed to be, but it wasn’t there. I looked all around the area where I was sure it landed, but I couldn’t find it.

The sun was setting in the west; I knew that it would be dark in about 30 minutes, and I didn’t want to be late getting home. I searched again the area where the arrow should have been, looking carefully under every bush, but it was not to be found.

Time was running out, and I needed to start for home to get there before dark. I decided to pray and ask Heavenly Father to help me find the arrow. I dropped to my knees, closed my eyes, and prayed to my Father in Heaven. I told Him I didn’t want to lose my new arrow, and I asked Him to show me where to find it.

While still on my knees, I opened my eyes, and there in the sagebrush immediately in front of me, at eye level, I saw the colored feathers of the arrow partly hidden by the branches. I grabbed the arrow and began to run for home, arriving there just before dark.

I will never forget that special experience. Our Heavenly Father had answered my prayer. That was the first time I had prayed for Him to help me, and He did! That evening I learned to have faith and trust in my Heavenly Father.

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, by virtue 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 reached 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 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 he was found.

This circle of grace marks off my testimony and in my life has been the symmetry that makes the crooked straight and the rough places smooth (see Luke 3:5). Nowhere is that process more apparent than in the transformations that led to the creation of my family. It is a common story; to me it is a miraculous story. I share it with you as a private parable.

Like most of you, early in my life I had designed a calendar of events. I believed that I with my agency was in control of what would happen and had no reason to believe that the chronology of high school, mission, marriage, degrees, children, and profession should be disrupted. But finding a wife proved to be somewhat problematic. I remember reading stories of Old Testament patriarchs who found wives at wells, and I used to hang around campus drinking fountains hoping a maiden would offer me a drink. And the years passed. Most of us have experienced, or will experience, what it feels like to be unable to bridge our dreams and our daily experience or to find that our best effort is insufficient. During what surely was the low point of these years, I had my own experience in that mist described in 3 Nephi. It seemed that the heavens were indifferent, that prayers went unanswered, that promises were not kept. If there is a circle of grace, I thought, then most certainly I am outside it.

Out of this darkness came an epiphany, a revelation so personal and poignant it seemed to me that the Savior himself had uttered it directly to me:
[My friend], fear not, let your [heart] be comforted; yea, rejoice evermore, and in everything give thanks;
Waiting patiently on the Lord, for your prayers have entered into the ears of the Lord of Sabaoth, and are recorded with this seal and testament—the Lord hath sworn and decreed that they shall be granted.
Therefore, he giveth this promise unto you, with an immutable covenant that they shall be fulfilled; and all things wherewith you have been afflicted shall work together for your good, and to my name’s glory. [D&C 98:1–3]
I had never felt language as emphatic as this. The words were given originally to the Prophet Joseph in 1833; this experience taught me how the scriptures are sources of personal and personalized revelation. God had heard my prayers. He not only heard them, but they were recorded with a seal and testament. All the Lord expected of me was to wait patiently on him. Reassured, I learned that for me, “waiting” was both quiet submission to God’s calendar and an active service: I was required to be God’s waiter. And I was expected to do all that I could to bring about the fulfillment of the promise, filling the empty spaces with faithful service when immediate results were not forthcoming. Three more years passed before the day—seven years ago this month—when I knelt with my wife at the temple’s altar. In her features I see grace. I suspect that waiting patiently is a lesson the Lord teaches all of us. What we wait for, and the duration of the waiting, varies for each of us. I can witness however, that the Promised Messiah fulfills his promises.

But at least as numerous as the stories of those who faltered are the stories of the quiet heroes who did not. Though not mentioned by name in the Doctrine and Covenants, Polly Knight, mother of the family who so faithfully stood by the Prophet, became the first Latter-day Saint laid to rest in Missouri and earned her place in Church history. Traveling to settle in Missouri, she became so ill that her son, Newel, was dispatched from the riverboat to buy lumber for her coffin. Despite her illness, she insisted on completing the journey and died soon after reaching the gathering place.
After burying his wife in Missouri, Joseph Knight recorded the following: “She was Burried in the woods a spot Chosen out By our selves. I was along By where she was Buried a few Days after and I found the pigs had Began to root where she was Burried. I Being verry unwell But I took my ax the next Day and went and Bilt a pen around it. It was the Last I done for her.”10 Her faithful sacrifice bears the Lord’s benediction. Soon after her death, the Lord told Joseph Smith, “Those that die shall rest from all their labors, and their works shall follow them; and they shall receive a crown in the mansions of my Father, which I have prepared for them” (D&C 59:2).

The next year, Iris was born. Lyle said, “I thought of a lot of things, but other people had tried them and they didn’t work. I was in over my head. But I’m always in over my head. I found out that there is another way to have a robot ‘see’ other than using big, huge, complex computers. It was to simplify things. All the robot needs to recognize is one object—the floor. Anything that’s not the floor must be an obstacle.”

This time, Lyle knew what he needed to do to succeed. He kept meticulous records. He perfected his presentation. And he made sure Iris was working at her best. He knew his information backward and forward.

While at the international competition in Louisville, Kentucky, disaster struck. Iris’s eye—the digital camera—was damaged in shipping. An hour before his presentation, Lyle had the camera apart, working on it. “As soon as something goes wrong, especially at the science fair, there is no time for sitting back and wondering. You have to do something and do it now. No sense getting angry. It’s a waste of time. When the eye broke, I started diagnosing it. How am I going to fix it? How am I going to change my display? That’s one thing my dad teaches. You can’t be a victim. It’s up to you to make sure things are going right for you. Is your teacher a jerk? It doesn’t matter. It’s up to you to get a grade. You can’t leave it up to somebody else or put the blame on somebody else.”

This time Lyle and Iris took some honors. He won the prestigious U.S. Army Gold Medal for Science and Engineering. And he took second prize in the fair’s engineering division.

I recall a few years ago we had a call from a stake president. He said, “I haven’t been able to resolve this situation. Would you be good enough to help us?” We arranged a time and met with a young man from Brigham Young University—265 pounds, an all-conference tackle—and his mom and his dad. This young man was a sophomore with two more years of football to play. His mom thought it would be nice if he played football, but his dad wanted him to go on a mission. The more interviews there were, the more confusion there was. After the usual greetings, I looked at the mother by the side of this football player big enough to pull a plow and said, “Do I understand right that you favor your son’s playing football?” She said, “Yes, I think I lean in that direction.” I looked at the father and said, “Am I right in assuming you would like to have your son go on a mission at this time?” He said, “Yes, I lean in that direction.” So I looked at the football player and said, “What would you like to do?” He said, “I’d like to go on a mission.” I said, “Why don’t you?” The interview was over and he went on a mission! I love those difficult situations! How much fun I could have had if I’d spent a half hour arguing about which comes first and when, how, and where.

Basketball is one of the most important things in the life of Roger Enrique Velasquez Paredes, who goes by Koki because it’s much easier to say when the clock is running down and the game is on the line.
Koki, a member of the Victoria Ward, Puno Peru Central Stake, is a starting forward on the Benson Jazz under-17 boys’ team, a community league team sponsored by Church members in Puno, Peru. Koki’s team went undefeated going into the championship game each of the last two seasons and took second both years.
His experience on the team has taught Koki not only a lot about basketball but also a lot about living the gospel and making seminary worthwhile.
“Seminary and basketball aren’t so different,” he says, then laughs. “I have to wake up early for both.”
Joking aside, Koki does see some important similarities between the game he loves and the gospel he lives: you have to listen to the coach, apply what he’s teaching, and not stop practicing what you’ve learned.
Koki says his coach is great, but it doesn’t matter how good your coach is if you don’t listen. Seminary is no different.
“In both basketball and seminary, I have a good coach,” Koki says. “But if I don’t listen, I don’t get any better.”
A coach tries to teach a player things that will make him or her better, like how to shoot. “The teacher is doing the same thing,” Koki says. Among other things, teachers try to help students succeed against their opponent in life. “They try to teach us how to leave the world and strengthen us against temptation.”
Koki has learned that just showing up, whether in basketball practice or at seminary and church, isn’t enough to make you better. You have to listen to the coach.
Koki tries to listen while the coach is explaining something new. But he has learned that if he really wants to understand what the coach is saying, he’ll have to put it into practice.
Putting something into practice, or applying it, is an important part of learning, Koki says. A coach can talk all day long about good shooting form and even demonstrate over and over, but until you practice doing what he says, you won’t have learned how to do it yourself.
“That’s how I learned about prayer,” Koki says. He had been taught that consistent personal prayer would invite the Lord’s help. “But it was only after I tried it that I found it was true.”
Putting gospel principles into practice gives the Holy Ghost an opportunity to testify to us that the principle is true.
“If we learn something new but don’t apply it, it’s like we never really learned it,” Koki says.
Koki listened when his coach taught about shooting, and he tried to apply what he learned. Now, in order to improve, Koki has to be diligent in practicing.
Diligence means dedication or persistence in applying what you’ve learned even in the face of opposition.
“I have to be dedicated,” Koki says. “If I stop training, my skills will get rusty.”
That’s an important lesson he learned after he couldn’t practice for a while because he broke his nose in a rough pickup game with some older players.
“If we don’t practice, we don’t just stop progressing—we lose ground,” Koki says. “It’s the same spiritually. If we pay attention and apply what we learn, we can learn more. If not, we lose what we have.”
Koki’s teammates have done their best to listen to the coach and apply what he’s taught them. They practice for hours to keep what they’ve learned.
They’ve also learned that after all of that, it is possible—and disappointing—to fall short of perfection. “We worked hard,” Koki says. “It was discouraging to lose the championship again.”
But while immediate perfection isn’t guaranteed, it would be impossible if they gave up trying. In the meantime, Koki has seen that there are many rewards, including improvement and progress, that come from trying.
Koki, who is serving as a ward missionary, has seen rewards for being diligent off the court as well. He helped organize movie nights, campouts, and sports activities in order to interest two young men in his ward who hadn’t attended church for some time. “At first we’d have to go get them, or they wouldn’t come,” he says. “Now they come on their own. It took a little time and a lot of visits, but they’re coming regularly now.”
Between playing basketball, going to seminary, and serving in the Church, Koki is learning what King Benjamin meant when he said we must be diligent to “win the prize” (Mosiah 4:27).
He’s also learning that both on the court and off, the rewards are worth the work.

“Gramps!” Esther Sue ran toward the white-haired man, then stopped short, afraid to hug him. This was hardly the hard-muscled giant she had visited every summer at the farm. He looked like a small, wrinkled, worn-out imitation. So instead of greeting him with the usual bear hug, Esther Sue took his hand and guided him to the comfortable overstuffed chair in a corner of the living room. At least his hands were the same—big and sandpapery yet gentle from years of tending the soil.
“I’ll fix some lunch,” Mama said. “Then you might take a little rest, Papa.”
“A rest?” Gramps sneered at the idea. “All my life I worked from sunup to sundown, and I never needed a nap. I’d feel like some baby, needing a rest.”
Esther Sue patted his hand. “But the train ride must have been awfully hard, Gramps. Maybe you need a rest just this once.”
“Maybe so, little Susie. Or maybe I’m just not good for anything, now that I’m old. Having to sell the farm—I might as well have cut off my right arm, it pained me so much.”
“I know. I’m going to miss it something awful too.” Esther Sue remembered the long, happy days of previous summers, helping Gramps weed the melons and snapping beans under the shade of the crab apple tree. Now they would both be stuck in the city for the entire summer.
As the weeks went by, Gramps looked older and older, more and more tired.
“He needs something to do,” Mama said. “And he misses the open spaces and green growing things. You take him to the park, Esther Sue.”
So almost every day after school, even though it was still damp and chilly, Esther Sue and Gramps walked to the park. They passed rows of tall apartment buildings, the old vacant lot full of trash and dead weeds, and Murphy’s Market and Deli. Then they came to Bradley Park, just an empty patch of winter-brown grass and leafless trees at this time of year. Sometimes on the way home, Gramps stopped at the market and bought a couple of apples. He’d hand one to Esther Sue, and they’d chomp on them the rest of the way to the apartment.
“They’re not like the ones back home,” Gramps would complain. “They’ve lost all their crunch.”
As the weeks passed, Gramps and Esther Sue started looking for signs of new life. The vacant lot turned green with new weeds that almost hid the empty cans and broken glass scattered there. Little weeds sprouted between the cracks in the sidewalk too. And leaves started to pop out on the bare branches of the trees in the park. But Gramps looked more sad, more tired, more stooped.
“Sorry, Gramps,” Esther Sue said one afternoon. “I can’t go to the park today. I have to write a paper for school. It’s going to be a tough one.”
“That’s OK, little Susie. My arthritis is acting up, anyway.”
Esther Sue knew that he didn’t really care about going to the park. After years of walking on good black farm soil, Gramps didn’t like asphalt, and now that spring had come, he wanted to plant, not just look at trees and grass. So when he asked about her homework assignment, she was glad to give him a chance to think about something besides the home he had had to leave.
“I have to write an essay, Gramps: ‘What I can do to save the earth.’ The trouble is, there isn’t much one kid in the middle of Chicago can do.”
“Let’s see. You and your mama take all the old newspapers and cans to the recycling place, and you always write on both sides of a paper before you throw it away. That helps.”
“Oh, Gramps, I know those things are important, but everyone will write about recycling. I want to do something different.”
“Different like what?”
“Well, I read this article about a whole class who went out and planted trees, hundreds of them, to help reseed a forest. But that was in the mountains out west. A city kid can’t do anything like that.”
“No, I don’t suppose they want any more trees in that park of yours.” Grandpa scratched his head as he thought. Then he jumped up. “Come on, we’re going for that walk.”
“But what about my paper?”
“Come on. The fresh air will get your brain working.”
Esther Sue dragged along behind Gramps. What was he thinking? Why did he have to go today? Didn’t he know how important her paper was? But Gramps hadn’t been so lively in a long time. He even whistled as he walked along. When they got to the vacant lot, he stopped. “This is it,” he said. “This is your paper.”
She gave Gramps a blank look. What did this dirty old lot have to do with saving the earth? Gramps just stood there, staring at some vision, expecting her to see it too.
“Is it trees, Gramps? Do you expect me to plant trees here. I don’t think—”
“Not trees, little Susie—a garden! A garden with snow peas and eggplants and fresh red tomatoes. Maybe even a few pansies to pretty the place up.”
“A garden here? Oh, Gramps, do you think we could?”
“I know about gardens. There’s plenty of space and enough sunlight. We’d have to clean it up and see about getting some water, but I think we could manage that.”
“We’ll have to find out who owns the land and get permission.”
“We can go to city hall tomorrow.”
“I don’t think we can farm the whole lot, Gramps. It’s pretty big.”
“We’ll invite the neighbors to help. I can teach them.” The old man stood almost as tall as he had in the fields at the farm. “Just think, garden-fresh vegetables for the city folks here!”
“Just think, a garden right here in the middle of Chicago!”
“A place to dig.”
“It will be a great paper.”
“It will be a good summer.”
“I can make a difference, right here in the middle of Chicago.”
Both of them whistled all the way home.

Edward Partridge was the first Presiding Bishop of the Restored Church. Born in 1793, he became dissatisfied with the religions of his day when he was in his twenties. And, in 1830, after investigating the Church, he was baptized by the Prophet Joseph Smith. The Prophet said of Edward, “he was a pattern of piety, and one of the Lord’s great men, known by his steadfastness and patient endurance to the end” (“History of Joseph Smith,” Times and Seasons, 15 Sept. 1843, vol. 4, 320).
Edward became the Presiding Bishop of the Church less than two months after his baptism, and he certainly needed the “patient endurance” mentioned by the Prophet Joseph. He and his family were harshly persecuted by the mobs in Missouri and then in Nauvoo. On one occasion he was dragged from his home and tarred and feathered by a mob of more than 200 men. But Bishop Partridge’s faith carried him through his trials.
The bishop died when he became very ill in Nauvoo. He was only 46. Of Edward Partridge, the Lord said, “his heart is pure before me, for he is like unto Nathanael of old, in whom there is no guile” (D&C 41:11). And in the Doctrine and Covenants we learn that the Lord received Edward Partridge unto himself (see D&C 124:19).

Helping others can make a difference. Here’s a story worth telling:
A man walking on an ocean beach noticed that a young man was reaching down, picking up small objects, and throwing them into the ocean. As he came closer, he called out, “Good morning! What you are doing?”
The young man paused, looked up, and replied “Throwing starfish into the ocean.”
“Why are you throwing starfish into the ocean?” asked the older man.
To this, the young man replied, “The sun is up and the tide is going out. If I don’t throw them in, they’ll die.”
Upon hearing this, the man said, “Young man, don’t you realize that there are miles and miles of beach and there are starfish along every mile? You cannot possibly make a difference!”
At this the young man bent down, picked up another starfish, and threw it into the ocean. As it landed in the water, he said, “It made a difference for that one.”

Elsie Power is one such sister, who writes: “I knew nothing about Zoom or technology and was afraid I might, press the wrong button but our bishop was there at the end of the phone, whenever needed, to walk me through the process. He is always available, and that is reassuring. I am now confident in using Zoom and enjoy meeting with the ward and now know how to contact my family members all over the world. It is a wonderful blessing and a friend who I once thought was my enemy.”

Jackie didn’t like Mrs. Baxter very much.
When Jackie and her friend Tara played in the street, Mrs. Baxter shouted at them to be quiet. She chased Tara’s kitten away with her newspaper. And when Jackie’s Frisbee landed in the grumpy neighbor’s window box, she wouldn’t give it back.
So when Jackie and Tara saw Mrs. Baxter come out of the grocery store and something flutter from her open purse, they didn’t run to pick it up for her.
“She’s mean,” Tara said.
“The meanest lady in town!” agreed Jackie. “She wouldn’t even listen when I said I was sorry that my Frisbee broke her flowers.”
They watched Mrs. Baxter put her sack of groceries on the hood of her car and rummage in her purse. She pulled out her keys, unlocked the car, put the groceries in the trunk, and drove away.
“She doesn’t know she dropped anything!” Tara exclaimed, watching the big black car turn the corner.
Jackie ran to see what Mrs. Baxter had dropped. “It’s a five-dollar bill!”
“Too bad for her!” Tara said. “Finders, keepers—losers, weepers!”
“We can’t keep it!” Jackie looked at her friend in surprise. “We saw her drop it. We have to give it back!”
“What about your Frisbee that she kept?” Tara said. “She owes you for a new one! It isn’t stealing!”
“Well …” Jackie looked at the five-dollar bill. Quickly she stuffed the money into her pocket. “I guess it wouldn’t be stealing if I get a new Frisbee with it. Come on, let’s look for one.”
There was a sports store nearby. The girls squeezed past a display of gleaming bikes and headed toward the Frisbees.
“I wish she’d dropped a five-hundred-dollar bill!” whispered Tara. “Then we could both get new bikes!”
That would really be stealing, Jackie thought. Keeping five dollars is a lot different from keeping five hundred dollars! Or is it? She tried to ignore the tight feeling in her stomach. Of course it wasn’t stealing—Mrs. Baxter owed it to her.
“How about this one?” Tara held up a brightly colored Frisbee.
Jackie put her hand in her pocket, twisting the five dollar bill around her fingers. She thought about her mom and dad. What would they think of her if she spent the money?
Tara was waiting for her answer. “I’m not going to buy a Frisbee,” Jackie said. “It’s Mrs. Baxter’s money.”
“Wait—”
Tara tried to say something, but Jackie didn’t listen. She knew that her friend was saying that it was stupid to give the money back.
Hurrying out of the store, Jackie unlocked her bike and rode off. As she turned into her street, she saw Mrs. Baxter climbing the two front steps to her apartment building, struggling to get out her key with one hand while still clutching the grocery sack.
Jackie hesitated. She’ll probably just yell at me, she thought. Maybe Tara’s right.
Mrs. Baxter was inside by the time Jackie set her bike down and walked slowly toward the door. As she passed the window box, she noticed the broken geraniums. They had been propped up on sticks and tied in place with green yarn. Mrs. Baxter may not like children and kittens, but she loves her flowers.
Jackie stared at the doorbell. Slowly she lifted her finger and pushed. Was that thumping sound her heart pounding, or was it Mrs. Baxter’s footsteps? It was Tara running up the path to stand beside her. Jackie smiled at her friend.
The door opened two inches and Mrs. Baxter peered out from behind the security chain. “What do you want?”
“You dropped this by the supermarket.” Jackie held out the money. As she passed it through the gap in the door, Mrs. Baxter grabbed it, then slammed the door.
She didn’t even thank me for returning the money! She’ll probably always chase the kitten and shout at us and keep our Frisbees, Jackie thought.
Jackie still didn’t like Mrs. Baxter. But she liked herself. Mrs. Baxter may not like me, but I’m glad that I returned the money. She was sure that Heavenly Father was pleased with her, too, and that was what mattered.

I often wonder why some feel they must be critical of others. It gets in their blood, I suppose, and it becomes so natural, they often don’t even think about it. They seem to criticize everyone—the way Sister Jones leads the music, the way Brother Smith teaches a lesson or plants his garden.
Even when we think we are doing no harm by our critical remarks, consequences often follow. I am reminded of a boy who handed a donation envelope to his bishop and told him it was for him. The bishop, using this as a teaching moment, explained to the boy that he should mark on the donation slip whether it was for tithing, fast offerings, or for something else. The boy insisted the money was for the bishop himself. When the bishop asked why, the boy replied, “Because my father says you’re one of the poorest bishops we’ve ever had.”
The Church is not a place where perfect people gather to say perfect things or have perfect thoughts or have perfect feelings. The Church is a place where imperfect people gather to provide encouragement, support, and service to each other as we press on in our journey to return to our Heavenly Father.
Each one of us will travel a different road during this life. Each progresses at a different rate. Temptations that trouble your brother may not challenge you at all. Strengths that you possess may seem impossible to another.
Never look down on those who are less perfect than you. Don’t be upset because someone can’t sew as well as you, can’t throw as well as you, can’t row or hoe as well as you.
We are all children of our Heavenly Father. And we are here with the same purpose: to learn to love Him with all our heart, soul, mind, and strength and to love our neighbor as ourselves.
One way you can measure your value in the kingdom of God is to ask, “How well am I doing in helping others reach their potential? Do I support others in the Church, or do I criticize them?”
If you are criticizing others, you are weakening the Church. If you are building others, you are building the kingdom of God. As Heavenly Father is kind, we also should be kind to others.
Elder James E. Talmage, a man who is remembered for his doctrinal teachings, showed great kindness to a neighbor family in distress. They were complete strangers to him. Before he was an Apostle, as a young father he became aware of great suffering at a neighbor’s home whose large family was stricken with the dreaded diphtheria. He did not care that they were not members of the Church; his kindness and charity moved him to act. The Relief Society was desperately trying to find people to help, but no one would because of the contagious nature of the disease.
When he arrived, James found one toddler already dead and two others who were in agony from the disease. He immediately went to work, cleaning the untidy house, preparing the young body for burial, cleaning and providing for the other sick children—spending the entire day doing so. He came back the next morning to find that one more of the children had died during the night. A third child was still suffering terribly. He wrote in his journal: “She clung to my neck, … ofttimes coughing [germs] on my face and clothing, … yet I could not put her from me. During the half hour immediately preceding her death, I walked the floor with the little creature in my arms. She died in agony at 10 a.m.” The three children had all departed within the space of 24 hours. He then assisted the family with the burial arrangements and spoke at the graveside services. This he did all for a family of strangers. What a great example of Christlike kindness!
When we are filled with kindness, we are not judgmental. The Savior taught, “Judge not, and ye shall not be judged: condemn not, and ye shall not be condemned: forgive, and ye shall be forgiven.” He also taught that “with what judgment ye judge, ye shall be judged: and with what measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you again.”
“But,” you ask, “what if people are rude?”
Love them.
“If they are obnoxious?”
Love them.
“But what if they offend? Surely I must do something then?”
Love them.
“Wayward?”
The answer is the same. Be kind. Love them.
Why? In the scriptures, Jude taught, “And of some have compassion, making a difference.”
Who can tell what far-reaching impact we can have if we are only kind?
My brothers and sisters, the gospel of Jesus Christ transcends mortality. Our work here is but a shadow of greater and unimaginable things to come.
The heavens opened to the Prophet Joseph Smith. He saw the living God and His Son, Jesus the Christ.
In our day a prophet, President Gordon B. Hinckley, walks the earth and provides direction for our time.
As our Heavenly Father loves us, we also should love His children.
May we be models of kindness. May we ever live up to the words of the Savior: “By this shall all men know that ye are my disciples, if ye have love one to another.” Of these truths I bear witness in the sacred name of Jesus Christ, amen.