Gospel Story Finder

I struggled with learning a new language in my first area on mission, but one of the single adults, the branch mission leader at the time, was so instrumental in helping us bring the gospel to the doorstep of the townspeople. I won’t forget how he helped us with lesson translations and formed almost instant friendships with our investigators, helping them see and feel, by the power of the Holy Ghost, that they were taking the right step into the Lord’s Church.

A ward mutual was having a swimming party. The bishopric attended, dressed in suits. Many of the youth had already been in swimming. Everything stopped while a great old high priest gave an opening prayer. During the prayer there was a splashing in the pool. The counselor in the bishopric said: “I think I have always been practical enough, so I opened one eye to see who it was that was so irreverent as to swim during the prayer. A twelve-year-old Spanish boy, who could not swim, had somehow gotten into the deep end of the pool and was drowning. His eyes reflected fear and terror. I took two steps, dove into the pool, suit, shoes and all, pulled the young man to the side and helped him out. He sat on the edge of the pool and I waited in the pool. The good old high priest prayed on and on.”
The counselor continued, “I think the young man would have drowned if we had waited for the prayer to end to save him.” Then he concluded by saying, “I think we have to keep an eye open and be ready to do whatever is necessary to save our youth. And by the way, the bishop never did open his eyes, even when I dove in.”

Mary Goble Pay kept a journal over a hundred years ago while she was crossing the plains in a handcart company with her family. Only because she wrote in her journal do we know of that difficult journey from a young person’s point of view: “There were four companies on the plains. We did not know what would become of us. One night a man came to our camp and told us there would be plenty of flour in the morning, for Brother Young had sent men and teams to help us. There was rejoicing that night. We sang songs, some danced and some cried. His name was Ephraim Hanks. We thought he was a living Santa Claus.”

Opportunities for Christian acts of service do not always come at convenient times. Approximately two or three years ago I was in southern California. I had reorganized a stake. Just as I was getting ready to go out to the airport where I could relax, a woman approached me. She was in her mature years and she said, “Elder Featherstone, are you going back to Salt Lake City today?” I said, “Yes.” She continued, “Are you going on that four o’clock flight?” I responded that I was. Then she said, “Would you mind doing a favor for me?” I quickly thought about the schedule I had just been through, and the flesh was begging for a little break. I assumed she wanted me to hand carry something to her relatives. I never check baggage unless I absolutely have to. I wondered if I would have to check what it was I assumed she wanted me to bring back. I thought about waiting at the baggage claim for the item; then I wondered where it would need to be delivered. Only a moment’s pondering and as always, the spirit thrust aside all empty excuses and responded as a service-oriented leader should.
I said, “I will be glad to help in whatever way possible.” Then the woman said, “My grandson Phillip has been down here with me for a couple of weeks. How would you like to baby-sit him home to Salt Lake City? He is two-and-a-half years old. His mother will be waiting for him at the airport.” We arranged to meet at the Los Angeles Airport, where the grandmother introduced me to Phillip. Just before we boarded the plane she said, “Here is an envelope. Will you wait until you are on the plane to open it?” I found out why she made that request later.
Phillip and I boarded the plane.
I reached into my pocket and opened the letter from the grandmother. It went something like this:
“Dear Elder Featherstone, Thank you for taking Phillip back to Salt Lake City and baby-sitting him for us. We appreciate it. His mother will be there at the airport to meet you; but if she is not there, then here is what you do.”
Then she had written, “The reason I did not dare have you open the letter before you were on board the plane is that I did not have enough courage to ask you to do another favor for us. Phillip’s brother Ricky is in the University of Utah Hospital. He has had constant seizures, many in one day. The doctors do not know what else to do. They have done all they know, and he still has the problem. Do you think you could possibly find time to go by the hospital and give him a blessing?”
When we arrived in Salt Lake City, there was no one to meet us. We walked the length of the airport terminal. Still no one recognized Phillip. We went down the escalator, past the baggage claim, and out to the street. I have done some unusual things in our marriage, but I wondered what my wife would say when I came home from a stake conference visit and brought a two-and-a-half-year-old boy with me.
I looked around and stood with Phillip for a moment, and then his mother arrived driving a car and stopped by us. She had been delayed in heavy traffic coming to the airport. The sweet mother was very kind, and she loaded a happy Phillip and all his luggage into the car.
A short while later I was standing in one of the pediatric wards at the University of Utah Hospital. There were about six children in cribs. An attendant was mopping the floor, and then he left the room. I was all alone in the hospital room with these six beautiful children.
I found out which was Ricky’s bed and went over to him. I said, “My name is Vaughn Featherstone. Do you know who I just left?” He said, “No,” and I said, “I came back from Los Angeles today, and I brought your brother Phillip home. I told him I was coming here to see you.” Ricky was only about four, but tears came to his eyes. He missed his little brother.
Then I said to him, “Ricky, I am a friend of President Spencer W. Kimball, and he loves you. President Kimball is a prophet. Your grandmother asked me if I would give you a blessing. Do you know what it means when someone lays his hands on your head and gives you a blessing?” He said, “Yes.” And then I said, “Ricky, do you believe in Jesus?” He said, “Yes.” “Do you know that Jesus loves you? Do you know that Jesus can heal you?” He answered, “Yes.” Then I asked, “Would you like me to give you a blessing so you can be healed?” “Yes,” he said.
I laid my hands upon his head and gave Ricky a blessing. An interesting thing happened in the little pediatric ward. The other children stopped playing or crying and seemed to listen.
When I finished the blessing I reached in my pocket and pulled out a beautifully polished rock with my name on it that someone had given me. I gave it to Ricky, so that when his mother came she would know that I had been there.
Two years later I was in the Kingsport Tennessee Stake and a sweet young mother came up to me after conference. She told me it was her mother that had asked me to baby-sit Phillip and bless Ricky and then she said, “Have you ever heard of the results of your blessing?” I told her I had not. Then she shared with me the great miracle, “Ricky has not had another seizure since you gave him the blessing.”
It was not convenient to take Phillip home, nor was it convenient for me to go to the University of Utah Medical Center; but it was what Jesus would have done. Our service must always lead us to ask, “What would Jesus do?”

Two years ago, while visiting Santiago, Chile, I was very much impressed by Daniel Olate, a young man who often accompanied the missionaries. I asked him to write to me, and with his permission I will read to you part of his recent e-mail: “I just turned 16, and Sunday I was ordained to the office of a priest. That same day I baptized a friend; her name is Carolina. I taught her the gospel, and she regularly attended church and even received her Personal Progress award, but her parents would not allow her to be baptized until they got to know and trust me. She wanted me to baptize her, so we had to wait for a month until Sunday, when I turned 16. I feel so good to have helped such a good person to be baptized, and I feel happy that I was the one who baptized her.”

My elderly neighbor and her son lived a few apartment doors down from my family. She became dear to us. After her son passed away, she became ill and was confined to her bed. We took care of her until she passed away three months later.
After their deaths, I wanted temple ordinances performed for this family. But because we were not related, that was not an option. One day a clear thought came to my mind: “Prove that you are related, and you can do the temple work for them.”1 I thought the Lord was asking the impossible, but the word prove kept coming to my mind.
My neighbor’s relatives began transferring ownership of her apartment, but they lacked records to prove their relationship, even after we searched government archives.
The Spirit told me we were missing something. With consent from these relatives, I looked through her apartment for documents. In a corner of the apartment I found some bags full of old papers. I had a feeling the bags were important.
I looked through two bags and then began looking through a third. I had almost reached the bottom of the bag when I felt the cover of a notebook. Inside the notebook’s cover pocket, I found five important certificates: my neighbor woman’s birth certificate, her mother’s death and marriage certificates, her grandmother’s death certificate, and her father’s burial certificate.
When our neighbor’s relatives and I reviewed the documents, two words stood out to me: “Vagaysky District,” in western Siberia. Suddenly, I felt that I should look at my own family tree. When I did, I found that Vagaysky appeared on the distant branches of my father’s family tree. Further research showed that my deceased neighbor and I are related!
The Lord did not require the impossible from me after all. I cannot express my joy to learn that my neighbor is part of my family. This link will allow me to make sure her temple ordinances are performed in the future.
The Lord loves His children. He prepared the plan of salvation for all, including my neighbor and her son.

Every year, each member of my family picks another family member’s name out of a hat and secretly gets a gift for that person. We first got the idea from the movie Christmas for a Dollar. We tried it, and now it’s been a tradition for the past couple years.
This past year, I picked my brother’s name. At first, I thought, “Oh, great,” because we had been butting heads. But looking for a gift he would like really humbled me. After Christmas, we were best friends again.
I like our tradition because it changed my perspective on Christmas. I used to always focus on what gifts I’d get and what I wanted, but after we started this tradition, it made me focus more on thinking about my family members and the looks on their faces as they opened their gifts. I put more time and thought into giving gifts. Even before Christmastime, I try to look for things my family members will like and what I could get them.
Makenna B., 16, Oklahoma, USA

Joel stopped by Brandon’s house on the way home from school. Brandon had been diagnosed with cancer a year ago, and now he had home school because his treatments made him weak. Brandon also had to stop playing on their baseball team. School and baseball practice just weren’t the same without him.
Brandon’s mom answered the door. “Thank you for coming, Joel,” she said. “Some of Brandon’s friends don’t visit anymore. I think they feel uncomfortable.”
Joel looked down at his feet. He hadn’t visited Brandon for a few weeks. Then he ducked into Brandon’s room.
Brandon’s face brightened when he saw Joel. “Thanks for coming,” he said.
“No problem,” Joel said. “How are you feeling?”
“Not too bad. The chemotherapy makes me tired, but the worst thing is having to wear this hat all the time.” Brandon pulled off his baseball cap to reveal his bald head.
“Did the chemotherapy do that?” Joel asked.
Brandon nodded.
“That’s rough.”
Brandon rubbed his head. “Actually, it’s pretty smooth.”
Joel grinned. Brandon had a great sense of humor. He’d even kept it through his sickness and all the hard treatments.
Joel stayed until he could tell Brandon was getting tired. As he walked home, Joel thought about how he could help his friend feel better. He took off his baseball cap and looked at it. He remembered how excited he and Brandon had been when they’d gotten their team hats. Now Brandon wore his all the time to cover his head.
Joel had an idea. He smiled as he hurried home to share it with his mom.
“Are you sure?” Mom asked when Joel told her his plan.
Joel nodded. “That way Brandon won’t feel so alone,” he said. “I need to talk with the rest of the team.”
The next day Joel and his teammates went to Brandon’s house.
When they walked into Brandon’s room, Joel could tell it had been a bad day for his friend. Brandon’s freckles stood out on his pale face.
“Guess what?” Joel asked.
Brandon gave a tired smile. “I’m not really in the mood for guessing games today.”
“We’re getting our heads shaved.”
Brandon stared at the boys. “Why?”
“We thought it’d be cool,” Joel said. “And teammates stick together.”
On Saturday the team gathered at Brandon’s house. Brandon’s dad set a stool in the front yard. Joel was first in line. He grinned nervously as Brandon’s dad shaved off hunks of hair.
“All done,” Brandon’s dad said. “Next!”
All the boys on the baseball team had their heads shaved.
“It feels a little funny,” Todd said, rubbing his head.
Everyone laughed.
“You guys are the best,” Brandon said. He was smiling too, even though he had tears in his eyes.
Joel punched Brandon lightly on the shoulder. “Well, you’re our best pitcher,” he said. “We hope you’re back soon, helping us win!”

While sitting in a medical clinic waiting room, I noticed a mother with her daughter. The child wore a face mask and coughed many times. Her eyes were sunken, and her face was pale. I couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. Her mother looked worn-out.
The waiting room was small, so I heard everything she said. After she paid her co-pay for their visit, the receptionist reminded her of a past-due balance that was more than double what her current visit cost.
The woman explained, with difficulty controlling her emotions, that she would not have any spare money until the following month. She said she barely had enough to pay her rent. The receptionist told her she should try to pay off her balance as quickly as possible. The woman and her child were then ushered into the back for their appointment.
As I sat there, I couldn’t stop thinking about the woman and her situation. I am by no means wealthy, but when I thought about how good the Lord has been to my family and me, I felt an overwhelming desire to help this woman and her daughter.
I approached the receptionist, wondering if what I wanted to do was even possible. I explained that I had overheard the woman’s predicament and wanted to pay her remaining balance. The receptionist was surprised but also delighted to honor my request.
I asked her to tell the woman that the balance had been paid and that she no longer need worry about it. I also told the receptionist not to say who had paid it. Then I paid the balance and continued with my appointment. I did not see the woman or her daughter again, but I prayed that things would soon improve for them.
It is hard to describe the amazing joy that filled my soul as I left the clinic that day. No wonder the Savior speaks about having a fulness of joy (see Doctrine and Covenants 11:13). More than ever before, I knew that I wanted to be more like my Savior and to experience more often the joy that comes from serving Him.

Thirteen-year-old Tyler Neel remembered seeing police officers in the United States giving teddy bears and toys to abandoned children. But, most of all, he remembered the joy and comfort the toys brought to those children. Now a Lone Scout in South Africa, Tyler decided to bring joy to some of the many abandoned and sick children in his area. He organized volunteers from his ward to help, and he was able to give 66 teddy bears to the children at the Cotlands Baby Sanctuary.
“It made me feel good. The kids were having lots of fun with them, hugging them, tying ribbons around their heads, and climbing all over me!”

The boys’ own testimonies have grown as they have shared them with others. Matías talks about one of his recent testimony-building experiences: “A little while ago, on Saturday before I went to bed, I was praying and asking that more people would come to church. That Sunday there were a lot of people there. I felt good about it. Things like that strengthen my testimony. Reading in the Doctrine and Covenants about Joseph Smith strengthens my testimony. I want to pray like he did—he was my age!”

For example, on Christmas morning in 1925, three men walked down to the river’s edge in a park in Buenos Aires, Argentina. Most of the city was probably still sleeping late on a holiday. But these men had left their families behind and spent 21 days on a steamship to get here. Elder Melvin J. Ballard, a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, had been sent by President Heber J. Grant to dedicate the entire continent of South America for the preaching of the gospel.
So while the rest of the city still slept, Elder Ballard entered a willow grove with Elder Rulon S. Wells and Elder Rey L. Pratt. They sang hymns and read from the Book of Mormon. Then Elder Ballard offered a prayer, using his apostolic authority to “unlock and open the door for the preaching of the gospel in all these South American nations.” From that time on, like a stone tossed into a pond, the ripples of the gospel message spread outward across a continent.
Since Elder Ballard’s visit to Buenos Aires, Church membership in South America has grown from less than a dozen to more than a million. Tens of thousands more are joining every year. There is an increasing number of LDS chapels, and temples have begun to dot the land.
That’s why seminary graduation time in Buenos Aires isn’t just another weekend. When Elder Ballard offered his powerful prayer in that willow grove nearly 70 years ago, he asked the Lord to “remember in mercy … the youth of thy Church who are to bear the responsibilities of the future, that they may keep themselves clean … and come to their glorious destiny.” For the LDS youth in Argentina, seminary has been one of the most direct answers to that prayer.

“Come in, Thad!” said the bishop, rising from his chair in the tithing house, where he ran the affairs of the United Order of Orderville. “Thank you for coming.” On his desk was a very strange-looking machine—a combination of gears, spindles, and reels, with a handle to turn them—attached to a wooden base on which “Peerless Easy Rope Maker” was printed in gilded letters. I had never seen anything like it.
The bishop came around his desk and shook my hand. “We ordered it all the way from Philadelphia,” he said, nodding toward the machine. “If you’re willing, I’d like you to learn how to use it to make rope from the flax and cotton we grow that aren’t good enough for our cloth factory.”
I tried to look calm and grown-up, but a big grin spread across my face in spite of myself. I had been waiting a long time for a real assignment in the Order. “I’ll do my best, Bishop,” I said.
The bishop patted me on the shoulder. “Thad, I’m sure you’ll be a good worker, just like your brother.”
That hurt. Everyone was always comparing me to my twin brother, Theo, and I usually got the worst of it. He was bigger than I was, had no freckles, and at thirteen looked more like a man than I did. He had already been given many important assignments. This was my first chance. I had to make the most of it.
The bishop handed me the machine. “Take it over to the harness shop, and Brother Spencer will give you any help you need. You will work under his direction.”
The machine was heavy, and it was a hot day and a long way to the harness shop. When I finally got there, I felt as if my arms were stretching. And maybe they were—Sunday Mom complained that my good shirt’s sleeves were getting too short. Anyway, at the harness shop Brother Spencer put the machine in a wheelbarrow and told me to take it to the cabinet shop and have a stand made to mount it on.
The cabinet shop was part of the carpenter area of the Order and was a beehive of activity. The carpenters’ goal was to have a new two-bedroom home completed every six days all summer. The rest of the morning I helped Brother Carling find, measure, mark, and saw the boards into the correct length and size, and drill the holes needed to mount the rope-making machine.
That afternoon we loaded it and its stand on a wagon and took them to the blacksmith shop to be bolted together. Brother Worth, the blacksmith, was a powerful man with huge arms and shoulders. He loved to sing and could be heard singing Church songs as he heated and hammered iron. He was not singing when I arrived but was loading his tools into a wagon. “I have to go up to the factory to help fix a breakdown, Thad. Leave your things, and I’ll send word when we can work on your stand.”
The water in the irrigation ditch looked cool and inviting as I headed back to the cabinet shop. I knew that the swimming hole would be full of my friends keeping cool and having fun. I wondered if running a rope machine would be the end of having a good time.
“Go join the boys for a swim,” Brother Spencer said when I arrived. “Tomorrow we’ll start learning how to make rope.”
At dinner I told everyone about the Peerless Rope Machine and my new job. Theo jokingly said, “You won’t be able to make a rope good enough to hold up a bed.”
Everyone laughed until Dad said, “That’s enough. Let’s kneel down and have prayer.” How good it was to hear Dad pray that I would become a good rope maker.
That night I dreamed that all the horses in town were tied up with my ropes. They broke the ropes and ran away, and someone was calling me to go find them. But it was just the morning call to get up and do chores.
After breakfast I hurried over to the harness shop. By the side of the shop was bundle after bundle of flax and cotton made into short pieces of twine. The machine was still at the blacksmith shop. Brother Spencer picked up a piece of twine and handed it to me. “What does a spinning wheel do to the fibers to make them into thread or string?”
That I knew. I had watched lots of wool being spun. “It twists all the fibers in the same direction,” I answered.
“Right! Has that been done to the cotton and flax we have here?”
“Yes, but they’ve put so many fibers together that I’d call it twine, not thread or string.”
“You’re observant, Thad. But the pieces of twine are short, just leftover bits. How are you going to make them longer?”
I spoke without thinking. “Just tie them together with a knot.”
“Think again. Would that make a nice smooth rope?”
“How else could I do it?”
“Watch! You untwist each end, then lay them together and twist them back together to make a simple, twisted splice. When it’s pulled tight, it will be almost as strong as any other piece of twine. Let’s try it.”
Brother Spencer made it look easy. I tried and tried, but it took a long time to get mine to go together and stay, Finally I could make a good splice almost every time. It wasn’t long until I had a mixed-up mess of newly spliced twine scattered around me.
When Brother Spencer came out to check on me, he said, “Good work, Thad, but where is the end? Find it and start winding what you have connected together into balls. When you get the machine, you will put the twine on the spools as you splice it.”
Early in the afternoon Brother Spencer sent me back over to the blacksmith shop and said, “If you can’t help there with the machine, go ahead and go swimming.”
I went swimming. The boys asked, “Thad, can you make a rope that we can hang from a tree to swing out over the water?”
“Sure!” I said. “That will be a good place to test the rope to see how strong it is and how well it lasts.”
On my way home I went back by the blacksmith shop, and there was the machine, bolted to its stand.
Brother Worth said, “The next wagon that comes by will take it over to the harness shop.” All the way home I hummed the song I had heard him singing. Tomorrow I would make rope.
We took the rope-making machine from the blacksmith shop the next morning and we put it close to the harness shop door so that I could work outside but move it inside easily at night.
Brother Spencer took a spool off the machine and handed it to me. “Fill it with twine.”
Round and round I wrapped the twine. One ball was soon used and then a second, and the spool wasn’t even half full. “Can I put some on a second spool?” I asked.
“Sure.”
I put two balls on the second spool. Brother Spencer watched me. “Go ahead and try to make a two-strand rope. Can you see which holes to thread it through on the tightener?”
“Yes—the ones marked with a two. There are also three holes marked with threes and four with fours.”
“You’re a smart young man, Thad. Now pull both strands over the take-up roller and tie them to the big take-up spool.”
Following his instructions, I threaded the machine and began turning the handle. At first the twine kept breaking, but we kept resplicing it, making adjustments, and trying again. After several failures, we finally got it right, and I saw real rope emerging on the take-up reel. “It’s working! It’s working!” I kept turning. Just as I got the feel for how it should be done, one of the little feed spools ran out of twine. My first attempt at rope making had ended.
Brother Spencer unwound the finished rope and handed me one end. We stretched it out, and it was at least twelve feet long! We again each grasped an end and pulled against each other. We couldn’t break the rope.
“There you are, Brother Rope Maker,” Brother Spencer said. “For the rest of today, make rope with just two strands. Tomorrow you can make some of three strands, and the next day four. Be sure to save samples so that you can see if you’re getting any better. Take this first piece home to show your family. I’m proud of you, Thad.”
That night I sat a little straighter next to Theo at the dinner table. It felt good.
The next two weeks, I untangled lots of cotton and flax twine, joined it together, and made it into rope. We got a long plank and put it up on saw horses so that I would have a good place to join the ends together. The pile of short pieces of twine got smaller and smaller, and my pile of finished rope got bigger and bigger. On Saturday I loaded what was done into the wheelbarrow and hauled it to the tithing office. There I turned it over to the clerk, who wrote up a receipt that read: “One wheelbarrow load of assorted sizes and lengths of machine-made rope of both cotton and flax. Quality excellent.”

You and I have been blessed with the promise of such an inheritance. I owe much of my happiness in life to a man I never met in mortal life. He was an orphan who became one of my great-grandparents. He left me a priceless heritage of hope. Let me tell you some of the part he played in creating that inheritance for me.
His name was Heinrich Eyring. He was born into great wealth. His father, Edward, had a large estate in Coburg, in what is now Germany. His mother was Viscountess Charlotte Von Blomberg. Her father was the keeper of the lands of the king of Prussia.
Heinrich was Charlotte and Edward’s first son. Charlotte died at the age of 31, after the birth of her third child. Edward died soon thereafter, having lost all his property and wealth in a failed investment. He was only 40 years of age. He left three orphaned children.
Heinrich, my great-grandfather, had lost both of his parents and a great worldly inheritance. He was penniless. He recorded in his history that he felt his best hope lay in going to America. Although he had neither family nor friends there, he had a feeling of hope about going to America. He first went to New York City. Later he moved to St. Louis, Missouri.
In St. Louis one of his co-workers was a Latter-day Saint. From him he obtained a copy of a pamphlet written by Elder Parley P. Pratt. He read it and then studied every word he could obtain about the Latter-day Saints. He prayed to know if there really were angels that appeared to men, whether there was a living prophet, and whether he had found a true and revealed religion.
After two months of careful study and prayer, Heinrich had a dream in which he was told he was to be baptized. A man whose name and priesthood I hold in sacred memory, Elder William Brown, was to perform the ordinance. Heinrich was baptized in a pool of rainwater on March 11, 1855, at 7:30 in the morning.
I believe that Heinrich Eyring knew then that what I am teaching you today is true. He knew that the happiness of eternal life comes through family bonds which continue forever. Even when he had so recently found the Lord’s plan of happiness, he knew that his hope for eternal joy depended on the free choices of others to follow his example. His hope of eternal happiness depended on people not yet born.
As a part of our family’s inheritance of hope, he left a history to his descendants.
In that history I can feel his love for those of us who would follow him. In his words I feel his hope that his descendants might choose to follow him on the path back to our heavenly home. He knew it would not be one great choice to make to do so but many small choices. I quote from his history:
“From the time I first heard Elder Andrus speak … I have always attended the meeting of the Latter day Saints and the instances are very rare indeed, when I [have] failed to go to meeting, it being at the same time my duty to do so.
“I name this in my history that my children may imitate my example and never neglect this … important duty [to assemble] with the Saints.”
Heinrich knew that in sacrament meetings we could renew our promise to always remember the Savior and have His Spirit to be with us.
It was that Spirit that sustained him on the mission to which he was called only a few months after accepting the baptismal covenant. He left as his heritage his example of staying faithful to his mission for six years in what was then called the Indian Territories. To receive his release from his mission, he walked and joined a wagon train from Oklahoma to Salt Lake City, a distance of approximately 1,100 miles (1,770 km).
Soon thereafter he was called by the prophet of God to move to southern Utah. From there he answered another call to serve a mission in his native Germany. He then accepted the invitation of an Apostle of the Lord Jesus Christ to help build up the Latter-day Saint colonies in northern Mexico. From there he was called to Mexico City as a full-time missionary again. He honored those calls. He lies buried in a small cemetery in Colonia Juárez, Chihuahua, Mexico.
I recite these facts not to claim greatness for him or for what he did or for his descendants. I recite those facts to honor him for the example of faith and hope that was in his heart.
He accepted those calls because of his faith that the resurrected Christ and our Heavenly Father had appeared to Joseph Smith in a grove of trees in the state of New York. He accepted them because he had faith that the priesthood keys in the Lord’s Church had been restored with the power to seal families forever, if only they had sufficient faith to keep their covenants.
Some of Heinrich Eyring’s descendants have seemed to wander. But many of his great-great-grandchildren go to temples of God at 6:00 in the morning to perform ordinances for ancestors they have never met. They go out of the heritage of hope he left. He left an inheritance that is being claimed by many of his descendants.

My mother taught me to work hard. She asked me to get the work done first and then go play. One day a few of us helped my mom move a piano from upstairs to downstairs. It was a big, old piano. It wasn’t easy to move. We moved it around corners and finally down the stairs. When we set it down, my mother was glowing with happiness—just because we’d moved a piano! I said, “Mom, I think you would rather move a piano than listen to a piano.” She nodded. She loved to work.

We provide for our children as we teach them how to work. Let me tell you about my grandson Jacob. He did not want to go to school. His mother had tried so many things. Finally she sat him down and said, “Daddy’s job is to go to work and earn money. My job is to stay home and take care of you and your brothers and sister. And your job, Jacob, is to go to school.” When Jacob understood the principle, he accepted it and went to school.

“The year I turned 17, I studied the Book of Mormon in seminary. I hadn’t intended to take seminary, but I quickly became fascinated by my teacher’s lessons. Little by little I began to want to read the Book of Mormon, even though I did not understand what I read. It was hard to stick to my determination to read it to the end, but I was guided by the Spirit to continue reading every day.
“Seven months later the memory of a particular scripture I had read struck me forcefully, and I decided to pray. The first words I addressed to my Heavenly Father were difficult, and I was troubled. But during that personal prayer a warmth filled and surrounded me, and I perceived that my Heavenly Father was listening and that he loved me.
“Reading the Book of Mormon was only the beginning of my conversion. Since that time I have had to continue to work to repent and live the gospel daily. But now I know that Jesus Christ is my guide and my example. I need only follow him and, as he commanded, ‘do the things which ye have seen me do’ (2 Ne. 31:12).”
Nicolas Billings,Nogent Ward,Paris France East Stake

I remember how I felt forty-one years ago when I was taken from a train in Europe at 2:00 a.m. by two soldiers of a hostile nation and held against my will. I was verbally and physically abused. I felt I would never see my family or my country again. I assure you that while I was held captive, the blood coursed through my veins like adrenaline. Though the captivity lasted less than a day, it seemed like an eternity. And when I was put on another train and sent back to safety, my gratitude to the Lord knew no bounds. I was free! As I talked to the train conductor, I learned that hundreds had not been so lucky.

A true story from Finland.
Phoebe’s heart fluttered like snowflakes. Today was Christmas Eve! Grandma and Grandpa would be here soon. The Christmas tree sparkled. Phoebe tiptoed around the tree and looked at the colorful gifts beneath it. She wondered what her present would be!
Mom and Dad were busy in the kitchen making yummy food. It smelled so good! There were Finnish meatballs, casseroles, and gingerbread cookies. Mmm!
“Is it time for presents yet?” Phoebe asked.
“Not yet. We’re going to watch a video about Jesus first,” Dad said. “Christmas is when we celebrate Jesus Christ’s birthday.”
Everyone gathered to watch a video about baby Jesus. Phoebe watched quietly.
“Jesus wasn’t born in a hospital,” Phoebe said. “He was born in a stable with grass and animals!”
“That’s right,” Mom said. “Jesus is God’s special gift to us. He came to show us how much God loves us.”
Phoebe felt warm and happy inside. She thought about Jesus and how much He loved her. She knew He was the most special gift of all.
Illustrations by Violet Lemay

John Taylor served as the Church’s presiding officer in Canada for two years. In March 1837, he went to Kirtland in the United States to meet with the Prophet Joseph Smith. At the time, the Church was suffering heavy persecution, and even some of the Apostles were leaning toward apostasy. Elder Pratt approached John Taylor and expressed some disapproval concerning the Prophet Joseph, to which Elder Taylor replied: “I am surprised to hear you speak so, Brother Parley. Before you left Canada you bore a strong testimony to Joseph Smith being a Prophet of God. … Now Brother Parley, it is not man that I am following, but the Lord. The principles you taught me led me to Him, and I now have the same testimony that you then rejoiced in. If the work was true six months ago, it is true today; if Joseph Smith was then a prophet, he is now a prophet.”6