Gospel Story Finder

“Andrew! The bus is here!” Nana called.
Andrew raced out the door. He waved goodbye to Nana, Papa, and his little sister, Amy. Amy was too little to go to school, so she stayed home with Nana and Papa.
Andrew liked school. He liked playing with his friends at recess. He liked his teacher, Ms. Kimball.
After morning recess, Ms. Kimball said, “Next week we are going to have Bring-a-Parent-to-School Day. When your parent comes, make sure they bring something from their job to show us. We’re excited to hear from them!”
Andrew’s face got hot. He didn’t have anything to say about his parents. He didn’t remember a lot about his mom. She left when he was little. And Andrew didn’t even know his dad.
Andrew listened as other kids talked about their moms and dads. Tony’s mom was a firefighter, and Jessica’s dad worked at the zoo. Everyone hoped her dad would bring a monkey or sloth to class!
“What about your parents?” Tony asked Andrew.
Andrew looked at his feet. He shrugged. “I live with my grandparents.”
Andrew loved Nana and Papa, but they didn’t have cool jobs. Nana sold blankets and baby clothes. Papa drove a food truck. Andrew wasn’t so sure about Bring-a-Parent-to-School Day.
That night Andrew read the first chapter of the Book of Mormon: “I, Nephi, having been born of goodly parents …” (1 Nephi 1:1).
I don’t live with my parents, Andrew thought. I just live with Nana and Papa.
Just then, Amy walked into Andrew’s room, hugging a fuzzy blanket. She held it up for Andrew to see. “Nana made!”
“Yeah, Nana made that blanket for you.” Andrew smiled a little.
He thought about all the nice things Nana did for him—making breakfast before school, helping with homework, playing games with him and Amy. Nana was a lot like a mom.
Then Andrew thought about Papa. Papa read stories to Andrew every night. He helped with homework too. He also taught Andrew how to ride a bike. Papa was a lot like a dad.
Andrew’s smile got bigger. He was really grateful for Nana and Papa. He still felt nervous about bringing a grandparent to school. But it was going to be OK. I may not have goodly parents, he thought, but I have goodly grandparents, and that’s something special.
On Bring-a-Parent-to-School Day, Andrew sat with Papa in the back of the class and listened to the other kids’ parents. Tony’s mom brought her firefighter uniform. She let everyone try on her helmet. Jessica’s dad brought a turtle from the zoo.
“Your turn, Andrew,” Ms. Kimball said.
Andrew walked to the front of the class with Papa. He took a deep breath and said, “My Papa drives a food truck. He meets lots of people, and he works really hard.”
Andrew looked up and saw Papa smiling. Then Papa talked about driving his truck. He also gave everyone a treat from his work! The kids in Andrew’s class asked Papa lots of questions about his job.
Andrew was happy to have Papa with him. He and Papa and Nana and Amy were a family—and they were a goodly one.

Being the only member of the Church in my family was not easy. I longed for a way to share all I had learned about the Church with my family but feared they would accuse me of trying to convert them. I struggled with doubts. I knew the Lord wanted me to share the gospel with my family, but for more than a year I was too afraid to suggest that we have family home evening.
Finally, with my heart racing in fear, I asked the Lord for courage and strength to invite my family to have family home evening. To my surprise they said an enthusiastic “Yes!” to the suggestion, and our relationship has never been better.
Through family home evening I have been able to share the gospel and my testimony with everyone from my mother to my three-year-old niece. What a blessing it has been to read the Book of Mormon with them and hear that they believe what they are reading. In addition, the missionaries have been welcomed into our home to assist in our scripture study.
The greatest blessing is that in such a busy time of work, school, and other activities, my family is committed to meeting together every Monday and devoting an hour to learning more about the Lord. Laughing, singing, and kneeling together in family prayer have brought a tremendous sense of peace and love to our home.
Arlene Pryce, Don Valley Ward, Toronto Ontario Stake

I knew before the race started that it would be tough—a four-mile cross-country trek through the sandhills. There were plenty of ups and downs, and several places where your feet sank into the sandy soil and slowed you to a walk.
I knew it would be hard, because I’d helped my dad mark out the trail two days before. He’s the gym teacher at my school. It’s his job each fall to choose and mark out the route for the divisional cross-country races.
“I want it tough, David, but fair,” he said to me as we tied up small blue ribbons to mark the route. “There’ll be good runners as well as some who race just to get an afternoon off school. I want the course tough enough to challenge the serious runners.” He grinned at me and said, “You wouldn’t want it too easy, would you?”
I grinned back and shook my head. This was the first year I could be in the race. Each year I’d heard Dad talk about it, and I’d heard the older kids at school say it was really tough. I was eager to compete in it.
I’m in fine form, I thought. I’d been practicing for six weeks, and my legs and lungs felt ready. In gym class I easily beat the other boys at two miles, but we’d never run the whole four miles. That, plus all the hills, might make a difference. And, of course, kids from five other schools would be in the race too. I’d heard rumors that one of the other schools had a really good runner in my division.
When we lined up for the first race of the meet, I knew who it was. His classmates called him Mike, and urged him on. I was determined to beat him, even though he was a good six inches taller than me. That meant his legs were a lot longer—I’d probably have to take four strides to cover the same distance he did in three!
The route began with a really steep hill with stunted oak trees scattered over it. “Why did you put the start here?” I’d asked Dad when we set it up. “Do you want to scare everybody at the start?”
“That’s the idea!” He grinned, then explained that the actual reason was to make the runners spread out instead of bunching together. “They’re less likely to bump into each other that way.”
Now, racing up Heartbreak Hill, I saw what he meant. Everyone was soon walking, including me! At the top I resumed running. Only one runner—Mike—was ahead of me as I followed the course-marking ribbons down the other side. I didn’t try to catch him. This side was much shorter, but steeper, so I was careful to keep my legs under control.
At the bottom, the trail flattened out and wound through poplar trees. Then it took a sharp right turn through an open wire gate before twisting alongside a creek for half a mile or so. By the time we turned away from the creek, Mike was about a hundred yards ahead, going at a steady lope. The rest of the runners were so far behind that I couldn’t see anyone else.
We were more than halfway there, and I was beginning to wonder if I’d be able to catch Mike. My legs were straining on “automatic,” but his long legs seemed to carry him effortlessly up the hills. Even the sandy places didn’t slow him down much.
My breath was getting ragged. I thought about walking for a while, but I didn’t want to let Mike increase the distance between us. My classmates were counting on my winning, and even Dad had hinted that it would be nice to see my name on the trophy. I forced myself to keep running.
Then Mike suddenly slowed and turned his head from side to side as if he were lost. He’s right where the trail branches, I thought. He can’t tell which way to go.
The trail was marked to turn right, but he turned left and picked up speed again.
I’ll catch him! was my first thought. Then, Why didn’t he follow the ribbon?
In a moment I was up to where he’d turned off. There was no ribbon visible, though I’d seen Dad put one there. I took a few strides in the right direction, and there it was, fallen to the ground, and half hidden by grass.
He’ll soon figure out that he’s wrong, I thought and took a couple more strides. But it was almost as if I could hear Dad’s voice: “Winning is important, but it’s not the most important.”
I stopped running. “Mike!” I called loudly. “You’re going the wrong way.”
“Is this a trick?” he shouted, turning back.
“No trick,” I called. “See? Here’s the ribbon.” I held it up and tied it to a branch for the later runners to see.
I waited for Mike to pass me, and when he was a hundred yards ahead again, I started running. Even so, I figured I’d gained a small advantage, since I’d had a short rest and hadn’t gone quite as far. My breathing was easier, and slowly I managed to lessen the distance between us.
Mike went up and over the last hill. In the distance I heard a cheer as the crowd sighted him. I topped the hill and saw that he wasn’t more than fifty feet ahead.
I’m going to catch him, I thought. He was almost staggering, and I urged my legs to move faster.
The gap closed. Mike glanced back, saw me coming, and made one last effort. With two feet to spare, he crossed the finish line ahead of me.
I walked around slowly to catch my breath. Dad was standing near the finish line, recording names as later runners crossed, and he gave me a thumbs-up signal. I knew that he didn’t mind that my name wouldn’t be on the trophy—but it sure would have been nice.
When I saw Mike recovering, I went over to congratulate him. “Good race,” I said, “but just wait till next year!”
He gave me a funny look. “Why’d you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Call me back to the trail. And then give me a head start.”
I shrugged. “It was only fair,” I said. “You were ahead, and the ribbon had fallen, but I knew where to go.”
“But you’d have beaten me.”
“It wouldn’t have been right,” I said. “Not that way. You’d have done the same thing.”
“I don’t know, really,” Mike said, his smile uncertain. “What I know for sure is that I hope I would have.”
“What I know,” Dad said, coming up to us, “is that you’re both winners in my book!”

I would like to share a story about my grandfather’s transformation to illustrate this principle.

Though Okuma was fully converted from the time she was baptized, it took more time for her son, Tomosue (Tomo for short). He said of his own baptism in his pidgin English, “I was baptized on July 26, 1942. Baptized but not converted. But rather get baptized then get a good beating from mom’s broom. I would always do what mom wanted us to do, right or wrong, rather than get a beating from her! Glad she did not get the lesson on free agency, because I certainly didn’t get free agency when I joined the Church!”

Tomosue was an extreme introvert. He shared how in his sophomore class in high school they had to do a book report presentation in front of the class. Tomo chose to take an F instead of doing the presentation. He said, “I could not talk like that in front of 25 people.”

Despite his introverted nature, about 18 months after joining the Church, Tomosue found himself unwittingly set apart as a missionary. Once again his mother had used her agency to volunteer him! He recalled, “I do not believe I had any indication of the call. All of a sudden I was on a boat, headed to Hilo to serve. I guess that’s what you call being shanghaied!” Of course this story is shared with some humor—a mission is a personal choice and not something to be undertaken for someone else, but Tomo was eventually grateful to have such a fierce tiger mom in the early days of his spiritual journey!

Tomo shared how difficult, yet pivotal his mission was: “My mission experience was anything but joyful in the first months. I know I cried a lot. Whether it was fear or homesickness, I don’t know, but I know I wasn’t happy.” He persevered and little by little, he began to be converted. He continued, “I imagine that praying all day, all night helped me because at first prayers were mechanical, had no meaning, just a lot of words, but repeating it day after day, it turned from mechanical to really talking to the Lord.”

From that point on, Tomo went “Go for Broke” on the gospel. He later recalled: “As I review my life, this first mission was really the turning point. It is when the greatest change occurred. I can truly say that a miracle occurred while I was out serving. The growth and joy I’ve experienced through my membership in the Church has been phenomenal. Every challenge that came to me made me appreciate the Church and my Father in Heaven that much more.”

Tomosue eventually served another mission (this time voluntarily!), became a stake president here on Oahu, and a mission president and temple president in Japan, and went on to bless many lives. How remarkable is it that the Lord was able to take an introverted, uneducated boy with broken English and transform him into such a leader? As our Prophet, Russell M. Nelson, recently reaffirmed, “men and women who turn their lives over to God will [find out] that He can make a lot more out of their lives than they can.” [8] This is exactly what the Lord did with Tomo.

I have also had the privilege of meeting with cherished friends, some from years past and many I have met recently. It was after a meeting with a dear friend that I have known and loved for many years that I felt impressed to prepare my remarks today.
When we met, my friend confided that he had been struggling. He felt he was experiencing, to use his words, a “crisis of faith” and sought my counsel. I felt grateful that he would share his feelings and concerns with me.
He expressed a great longing for what he had once felt spiritually and what he now thought he was losing. As he spoke, I listened carefully and prayed earnestly to know what the Lord would have me say.
My friend, like perhaps some of you, asked the question so poignantly phrased in the Primary song: “Heavenly Father, are you really there?”1 For those of you who may be asking this same question, I would like to share with you the counsel I would offer to my friend and hope that each of you may find your faith strengthened and your resolve renewed to be a committed disciple of Jesus Christ.
I begin by reminding you that you are a son or daughter of a loving Father in Heaven and that His love remains constant. I know that such reassuring feelings of love are difficult to recall when you are in the midst of personal struggles or trials, disappointments, or broken dreams.
Jesus Christ knows about fierce struggles and trials. He gave His life for us. His final hours were brutal, beyond anything we can even comprehend, but His sacrifice for each one of us was the ultimate expression of His pure love.
No mistake, sin, or choice will change God’s love for us. That does not mean sinful conduct is condoned, nor does it remove our obligation to repent when sins are committed. But do not forget, Heavenly Father knows and loves each of you, and He is always ready to help.
As I pondered my friend’s situation, my mind reflected on the great wisdom found in the Book of Mormon: “And now, my sons, remember, remember that it is upon the rock of our Redeemer, who is Christ, the Son of God, that ye must build your foundation; that when the devil shall send forth his mighty winds, yea, his shafts in the whirlwind, yea, when all his hail and his mighty storm shall beat upon you, it shall have no power over you to drag you down to the gulf of misery and endless wo, because of the rock upon which ye are built, which is a sure foundation, a foundation whereon if men build they cannot fall.”2
I testify that “the gulf of misery and endless wo” is a place no one wants to be. And my friend was feeling that he was on the edge.
When I have counseled individuals such as my friend, I have explored their decisions made over the years which led them to forget sacred experiences, to weaken, and to doubt. I encouraged them, as I encourage you now, to recall, especially in times of crisis, when you felt the Spirit and your testimony was strong; remember the spiritual foundations you have built. I promise that if you will do this, avoiding things that do not build and strengthen your testimony or that mock your beliefs, those precious times when your testimony prospered will return again to your memory through humble prayer and fasting. I assure you that you will once again feel the safety and warmth of the gospel of Jesus Christ.
Each of us must first strengthen ourselves spiritually and then strengthen those around us. Ponder the scriptures regularly, and remember the thoughts and feelings you experience as you read them. Seek other sources of truth as well, but heed this caution from the scriptures: “But to be learned is good if they hearken unto the counsels of God.”3 Attend Church meetings, especially sacrament meeting, and partake of the sacrament and renew covenants, including the promise to always remember the Savior, that His Spirit may ever be with you.
No matter what mistakes we have made or how imperfect we feel we are, we can always bless and lift others. Reaching out to them in Christlike service can help us feel the love of God deep within our hearts.
It is important to remember the powerful counsel found in Deuteronomy: “Keep thy soul diligently, lest thou forget the things which thine eyes have seen, and lest they depart from thy heart all the days of thy life: but teach them thy sons, and thy sons’ sons.”4
Generations are affected by the choices we make. Share your testimony with your family; encourage them to remember how they felt when they recognized the Spirit in their lives and to record those feelings in journals and personal histories so that their own words may, when needed, bring to their remembrance how good the Lord has been to them.
You will recall that Nephi and his brothers returned to Jerusalem to obtain the brass plates that contained the recorded history of their people, in part so that they would not forget their past.
Also, in the Book of Mormon, Helaman named his sons after their “first fathers” so they would not forget the goodness of the Lord:
“Behold, my sons, I desire that ye should remember to keep the commandments of God. … Behold, I have given unto you the names of our first parents who came out of the land of Jerusalem; and this I have done that when you remember your names ye may remember them; and when you remember them ye may remember their works; and when you remember their works ye may know how that it is said, and also written, that they were good.
“Therefore, my sons, I would that ye should do that which is good, that it may be said of you, and also written, even as it has been said and written of them.”5
Many today have the same tradition of naming their children after scriptural heroes or faithful ancestors as a way of encouraging them not to forget their heritage.
When I was born, I was given the name of Ronald A. Rasband. My last name honors my father’s ancestral line. The middle initial A was given to me to remind me to honor my mother’s Danish Anderson ancestry.
My great-great-grandfather Jens Anderson was from Denmark. And in 1861 the Lord led two Mormon missionaries to the Jens and Ane Cathrine Anderson home, where the missionaries introduced them and their 16-year-old son, Andrew, to the restored gospel. Thus began a legacy of faith of which my family and I are the beneficiaries. The Andersons read the Book of Mormon and were baptized a short time later. The following year, the Anderson family heeded the call of a prophet to cross the Atlantic to join the Saints in North America.
Sadly, Jens died on the ocean voyage, but his wife and son continued to the Salt Lake Valley, arriving on September 3, 1862. Despite their hardships and their heartaches, their faith never wavered, and neither has the faith of many of their descendants.
In my office hangs a painting6 that captures so beautifully a symbolic reminder of that first meeting between my ancestors and those dedicated early missionaries. I am determined not to forget my heritage, and because of my name I will forever remember their legacy of faithfulness and sacrifice.
Never forget, question, or ignore personal, sacred spiritual experiences. The adversary’s design is to distract us from spiritual witnesses, while the Lord’s desire is to enlighten and engage us in His work.
Let me share a personal example of this truth. I distinctly recall a time when I received a prompting in answer to mighty prayer. The answer was clear and powerful. However, I failed to act immediately on the prompting, and after a period of time I began to wonder if what I had felt had been real. Some of you may have fallen for that deception of the adversary as well.
Several days later, I awoke with these powerful verses of scripture in my mind:
“Verily, verily, I say unto you, if you desire a further witness, cast your mind upon the night that you cried unto me in your heart. …
“Did I not speak peace to your mind concerning the matter? What greater witness can you have than from God?”7
It was as if the Lord was saying, “Now, Ronald, I already told you what you needed to do. Now do it!” How grateful I was for that loving correction and direction! I was immediately comforted by the prompting and was able to move forward, knowing in my heart that my prayer had been answered.
I share this experience, dear brothers and sisters, to demonstrate how quickly our minds can forget and how spiritual experiences guide us. I have learned to cherish such moments “lest I forget.”
To my friend, and to all who wish to bolster their faith, I give you this promise: as you faithfully live the gospel of Jesus Christ and abide by its teachings, your testimony will be protected and it will grow. Keep the covenants you have made, regardless of the actions of those around you. Be diligent parents, brothers and sisters, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and friends who strengthen loved ones with personal testimony and who share spiritual experiences. Remain faithful and steadfast, even if storms of doubt invade your lives through the actions of others. Seek that which will edify and fortify you spiritually. Avoid counterfeit offerings of so-called “truths” which are so pervasive, and remember to record your feelings of “love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, [and] temperance.”8
In the midst of life’s greatest storms, do not forget your divine heritage as a son or daughter of God or your eternal destiny to one day return to live with Him, which will surpass anything the world has to offer. Remember the tender and sweet words of Alma: “Behold, I say unto you, my brethren, if ye have experienced a change of heart, and if ye have felt to sing the song of redeeming love, I would ask, can ye feel so now?”9
To all who feel the need to have their faith fortified, I plead with you, do not forget! Please do not forget.
I bear witness that Joseph Smith was a prophet of God. I know he saw and talked with God the Father and His Son, Jesus Christ, just as he recorded in his own words. How grateful I am that he did not forget to write of that experience, that we may all know of his testimony.
I bear my solemn witness of the Lord Jesus Christ. He lives; I know He lives and stands at the head of this Church. These things I know for myself, independent of any other voice or witness, and I pray that you and I will never forget sacred eternal truths—first and foremost that we are sons and daughters of living and loving Heavenly Parents, who desire only our eternal happiness. Of these truths I testify in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

A few days before he passed away, President Kimball was in the temple on the fourth floor with his associates of the First Presidency and the members of the Twelve. He was so weak and frail that there was every good reason for him to not be there. Before our meeting started, members of the Twelve walked by where he sat to shake his hand and greet him. There was almost no response at all because of the physical drain over the last few months. There was almost no capacity to communicate or respond to the present situation. His hearing was very limited, his eyesight was failing, and his frail body was filled with aches. As I shook his hand privately and felt little or no response, I gave it an extra squeeze. I said, “President Kimball, I’m Marv Ashton.” How can I ever forget his last words to me when he looked up just a little and said very softly, “Marv Ashton, I love you.”

One day my friend gave me a lollipop. It was my favorite flavor, and I really wanted to eat it. I was starting to unwrap it when my little brother, Steven, saw me and asked me for it. I thought about it for a minute, and then I gave it to him.
Although I wanted the lollipop, I felt very happy when my brother said, “Thanks, Leaney,” and gave me a big hug. When I do something good, I feel very happy. I know that Jesus Christ wants me to be like Him.

About two months before I concluded my mission in February 1980, my mission president allowed my companion and me to travel overnight with stake members from Rio de Janeiro to the temple in São Paulo so I could be endowed and sealed to my parents. Like my parents, I had waited years for the promised blessings of temple ordinances and covenants.
That experience changed my vision of the future and gave me my first glimpse of the truthfulness of President Russell M. Nelson’s recent words: “Time in the temple will help you to think celestial and to catch a vision of who you really are, who you can become, and the kind of life you can have forever.”
My brief time in the temple on that occasion deeply influenced the remainder of my missionary service. With that new vision, testifying of the temple and the importance of God’s plan for families also had a lasting impact on my life.

But in the days that followed, both of us felt unsettled—not about marrying each other but about the ring. Let me explain.
In the weeks leading up to our engagement, Shelley and I had spent significant time talking about how we wanted to raise our family and what we wanted our marriage to be like. One of the things at the center of that discussion was our determination to always follow the prophet.
Two months before we were engaged, we listened to lots of talks at the October 1976 general conference reinforcing the principles of self-reliance. This was a topic that President Spencer W. Kimball (1895–1985) and others had been consistently teaching for several years. Both Shelley and I had grown up knowing the importance of growing a garden, having a supply of food, and being generally prepared. But in that general conference, the theme of preparation seemed especially prevalent. Some speakers made reference to the Teton Dam flood that had occurred in June. Among them was Barbara B. Smith (1922–2010), the Relief Society general president, who emphasized the importance of self-reliance—specifically, acquiring a year’s supply of food, as was counseled at the time.1 President Kimball, in the closing session of the conference, reminded Latter-day Saints of the scripture in Luke 6:46, where the Savior says, “Why call ye me, Lord, Lord, and do not the things which I say?” President Kimball then exhorted the Saints to let the messages of conference follow them into their “homes and … future lives.”2
After our engagement, as Shelley and I contemplated the beginning of our marriage and family life, these messages were ringing in our ears. Unbeknownst to each other, both of us were thinking about how to start home storage for our family. To obey the counsel of that time, we needed to start acquiring a year’s supply of food. But how were we supposed to do it? We were students—and would be for years to come—and didn’t have a lot of money. The Holy Ghost gave both of us, separately, the same answer: we needed to sell the engagement ring.
But how was I supposed to ask Shelley to do that? I had just given her the ring. What would she think about my asking her to sell it so we could buy some oats and flour and rice? Meanwhile, she was worrying too. What would I think, she wondered, if she were to approach me about selling the ring I had picked out for her? Would it hurt my feelings?
But the prompting each of us had felt was too strong to ignore, and the more each of us thought about it, the more glaring that diamond ring became. When Shelley raised the subject a few days after Christmas, I was relieved that she had arrived at the same conclusion I had. In many ways, it was a tremendous confirmation to both of us about the choice of whom we were going to marry. To know that our priorities and values were in sync with the other’s and with the prophet of God was tremendously reassuring. I was so grateful for her willingness to make such a sacrifice to follow the prophet.
Please don’t misunderstand me and please don’t sell your rings! Buying or wearing an engagement ring isn’t wrong. In fact, our married children all have lovely and appropriate rings. There are many ways we can follow the prophets and apostles and apply their counsel to our personal lives. But because the Spirit had directed us to follow the prophet by selling our engagement ring, in our case the choice was between keeping the ring and following the prophet. This helped us establish two patterns in our home from the very beginning: following the prophet and following the personal, spiritual promptings we received.

Let me briefly recount the life of Maggie Nichols Comer. African-American, she was born in Woodland, Mississippi, to a sharecropping family that had lived on in Mississippi after the end of slavery. Her father died when she was five years old. Her mother then married a man who was physically abusive to his wife and children and who kept them from school whenever it was possible for them to earn the slightest bit of money. At 16 Maggie ran away from home and migrated to East Chicago, Indiana. She worked as a domestic and eventually married Hugh Comer. With the help of her husband, who was often sick, she raised five children of her own as well as a stepdaughter. She was determined that her children would receive the opportunities that education could provide. She worked very hard, often at two or three jobs, to give her children opportunities. Her husband died of emphysema when her children were in high school. Still she did not let any obstacle deter her from helping her children to achieve all that was possible.

Let me give you a couple of examples of her tenacity. One of her sons who was attending Indiana University needed to take a course in the summer to be on track for his program, but the family did not have sufficient money to finance the education. Maggie Comer called Indiana University and asked to speak to the president. When the operator told her she couldn’t just call up and speak to the president of the university, Maggie simply insisted that she had to—and she eventually did obtain financial aid for her son. Once her son Charles had mistakenly received a “pink slip” from school indicating poor work. While driving down a four-lane highway connecting East Chicago to Chicago, she decided to discuss the matter with Charles. Here is her son James’ account of this conversation:

She said, “You can do better than that!”
He knew that there must be a mistake but he said, “No, I can’t.”
“You can!”
“I can’t.”
“You can!”
“I can’t.”
Finally Mom got so frustrated she stopped the car in the middle of the street and said, “You can!!!”
Mom was not the best driver in the world. . . . I was always a bit nervous when we got in the car. . . . But this was more than that. We were stopped in the middle of Columbus Drive, the busiest street in town—right in front of the main fire station. Cars were whizzing by and I could imagine that at any second the fire engines would roar out of the station. I was terrified! I could have choked Charles. Tell her you can and get us out of here, I thought to myself! [James P. Comer, Maggie’s American Dream (New York: New American Library, 1988), p. 111]

It turned out that the pink slip was a mistake. There were only two black children in Charles’ class, and the pink slip was meant for the other boy.

Maggie Comer raised five children, all of whom graduated from college and received advanced degrees. She taught them right from wrong. She taught them that they were responsible for their choices. All successfully pursued their professions with distinction and raised families of their own. Her son James, who tells her story in his book, is the Maurice Falk Professor of Psychiatry and associate dean at the Yale Medical School.

If you wish to believe that an undereducated black woman named Maggie Comer was programmed to use up her life in service to her children and many others, you may. I see her as a heroine who understood the principle of agency. Here is her statement in her own words.

Even as a little barefoot girl back in the country, I had this dream. I had this gift from inside to want something. I thought to myself that if this one could do it and that one could do it, I could do it. And when I couldn’t go on, I said my children would do it. People would say black folks can’t do this and can’t do that—I wouldn’t have any of it. Sure, I could see it was harder for black people, but I just wanted a chance. That’s what your father used to say, “Just give my people a chance!” [Maggie’s American Dream, pp. 227–28]

Tourists who come to Alice Springs, Australia, are usually on their way to the outback, the rough-and-tumble red rock wonderland that embodies the spirit of the continent down under.
But for Latter-day Saint teens who live here, Alice is more than a jumping-off point. It’s home, a small, laid-back town where everybody seems to know everybody, where LDS youth are well known because of the things they’ve done. For example:
Many of the LDS kids in Alice attend St. Philip’s, a private school run by another church. Like most Australian schools, St. Philip’s has a strict dress code. Everyone must wear uniforms, and there are even rules about jewelry—only one pair of earrings, no bracelets, no rings.
That was the rub for the Mormon kids—no rings. Like many Latter-day Saints worldwide, they like to wear CTR rings. But they were told to remove them, even though exceptions had been made before for jewelry with “religious significance.”
“I’d explain why it was important to me,” says Lavinia Archibald, 16. “But one of my teachers kept saying to take it off or she’d confiscate it.”
The LDS students and their parents (including branch president Mark Webster) talked to the principal, who knew the LDS youth as some of his best students. He talked to the faculty, explained that CTR stands for “choose the right,” and gave his approval for Latter-day Saints to wear the rings.
“Now the teacher is fine about it,” Lavinia says. “She’ll have you reach your hand out, then say, ‘Ah, you’re allowed.’”
But that isn’t the only thing that’s getting LDS students noticed. In their religion classes (which are required in Australian schools), the Mormons keep volunteering to give the prayers, and they always know the subject matter.
“The principal and my father are friends,” Yasmin Webster, 12, explains. “He would come up to my dad and say, ‘What am I going to do about my religion classes? Your Mormon kids know as much as the teachers!’”
“We were studying New Testament in early-morning seminary, then the same thing in religion class at school,” says Steven Yeckley, 15. “We knew all the stories. We knew the answers. One teacher even invited me to teach the class the story of Saul.”

I was greatly impressed as I attended a stake conference and called on a bishop to speak. As he spoke, tears came to his eyes, and it was difficult for him to speak when he said, “I want to acknowledge here tonight at this meeting my home teacher. I was an inactive senior Aaronic Priesthood holder, and this home teacher worked with me. I didn’t want to see him at first; in fact, I refused, but he continued until I would let him come into my home and teach me. And here I am now, his bishop. I want to express to him my deep appreciation.” Thank the Lord for such worthy men, who will not fail to do everything in their power to save those who are wandering.

Photograph courtesy of the author
I have a best friend. Her name is Barbara. We love watching and singing along to movies. We go on walks together and look at the flowers on the temple grounds. We read princess stories together every night. When I’m around Barbara, I can be myself. Not only is she my dearest friend, but she is also my sister.
Barbara has cerebral palsy, a condition that affects her physically and mentally. She can’t walk, and she needs to be fed through a tube. She loves singing but struggles to verbally communicate her feelings, wants, and needs. And although Barbara is 29, mentally she acts like a toddler.
Even though Barbara is four years older than me, I’ve always felt like the “big sister.” My family’s whole world revolves around her. She is the sun, and we are the circling planets. While the situation sometimes has amazing benefits—like being able to skip lines at amusement parks—other times it means making sacrifices, like not going to certain activities or needing to host events in our home. Each day we review our schedule to make sure someone is always taking care of Barbara and her needs.
To help my parents take care of her, my older brother and I matured very quickly. We had to learn how to identify when Barbara was having a seizure and what to do, how to feed her through a tube, how to change her diapers, and how to prepare her medications when we were very young. While this early maturity helped me have confidence in myself, it did make socializing a huge struggle.
I felt so different from everyone my age. Even if I was invited to hang out with friends and my parents encouraged me to go, I struggled to have fun because I felt guilty that my parents had so much to do at home. Other times I would have a hard time enjoying myself when Barbara was struggling with her health. Most of the time, I just wanted a friend to sit down with me and listen.
Sometimes I felt like no one understood what I was going through. But a few things helped remedy that loneliness. I decided I’d try to reach out to people who might be feeling similarly. When I did go to activities or church, I tried to include those who were sitting alone or who looked like they were having a bad day. As Elder Gerrit W. Gong of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles taught, “Miracles occur when we care for each other as He would.” 1 And I saw miracles come into my life. I felt much more comfortable going to activities and was happier when I offered love to others.
Another thing that helped was realizing how much the Savior truly understood me. I realized that He knew exactly what I was going through and would always be with me. I focused more on getting to know Him through the scriptures and prayer. Sometimes when I prayed, I would imagine that He and Heavenly Father were sitting with me and listening. When I have difficult feelings and feel overwhelmed at how unfair Barbara’s situation seems at times, I remember that Christ will help me find peace and reassurance. Elder Dale G. Renlund of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles explained this perfectly when he said, “In unfair situations, one of our tasks is to trust that ‘all that is unfair about life can be made right through the Atonement of Jesus Christ.’” 2
Having a loved one with a disability can require near-superhuman strength. It affects your life physically, mentally, emotionally, financially, and spiritually. For the past 29 years, my parents have awakened nearly every day at 2:00 in the morning to care for Barbara. We all go to the gym regularly so we can be strong enough to lift and carry Barbara when necessary. And so many other responsibilities can take a toll on us all.
How do we possibly do everything?
This can be described in one word: grace.
“Grace [is the] enabling power and spiritual healing offered through the mercy and love of Jesus Christ. …
“The grace of God helps us every day. It strengthens us to do good works we could not do on our own.” 3
What do I love most about Barbara? With her I’ve learned more about the Savior’s love for us. You can’t help but feel of His love when you’re around Barbara. Despite all her difficulties, she is always smiling, singing, and making us laugh. However, there are also days where I feel helpless, when nothing seems to make her feel better. But because of my experiences, I know with certainty that the Savior understands what both Barbara and I are going through. No matter our earthly trials, a beautiful aspect of the Savior’s enabling power is that we can not only be given strength to experience and overcome hard things but also do it all with joy.
The author lives in Utah.
Editors’ note: Since the time that this article was written, the author’s sister has passed away.

Are we our brother’s keeper? Yes! Let’s look at an experience from our Church history that illustrates this great principle.
John Chislett, a subcaptain in the Willie Company, one of the pioneer handcart companies, wrote:
“We reached [Fort] Laramie about the 1st or 2nd of September, but the provisions, etc., which we expected, were not there for us. Captain Willie called a meeting to take into consideration our circumstances, conditions, and prospects, and to see what could be done. It was ascertained that at our present rate of travel and consumption of flour the latter would be exhausted when we were about three hundred and fifty miles from our destin[a]tion. It was resolved to reduce our allowance from one pound to three-quarters of a pound per day, and at the same time to make every effort in our power to travel faster. We continued this rate of rations from Laramie to Independence Rock.
“About this time Captain Willie received a letter from Apostle [Willard] Richards informing him that we might expect supplies to meet us from the valley by the time we reached South Pass. An examination of our stock of flour showed us that it would be gone before we reached that point. Our only alternative was to still further reduce our bill of fare. The issue of flour was then to average ten ounces per day. …
“We had not travelled far up the Sweetwater before the nights, which had gradually been getting colder since we left Laramie, became very severe. The mountains before us, as we approached nearer to them, revealed themselves to view mantled nearly to their base in snow, and tokens of a coming storm were discernable in the clouds which each day seemed to lower around us. …
“Our seventeen pounds of clothing and bedding was now altogether insufficient for our comfort. Nearly all suffered more or less at night from cold. Instead of getting up in the morning strong, refreshed, vigorous, and prepared for the hardships of another day of toil, the poor Saints were to be seen crawling out from their tents haggard, benumbed, and showing an utter lack of that vitality so necessary to our success.
“Cold weather, scarcity of food, lassitude and fatigue from over-exertion, soon produced their effects. Our old and infirm people began to droop, and they no sooner lost spirit and courage than death’s stamp could be traced upon their features. Life went out as smoothly as a lamp ceases to burn when the oil is gone. At first the deaths occurred slowly and irregularly, but in a few days at more frequent intervals, until we soon thought it unusual to leave a campground without burying one or more persons.
“Death was not long confined in its ravages to the old and infirm, but the young and naturally strong were among its victims. … Many a father pulled his cart, with his little children on it, until the day preceding his death. I have seen some pull their carts in the morning, give out during the day, and die before next morning. …
“We travelled on in misery and sorrow day after day. Sometimes we made a pretty good distance, but at other times we were only able to make a few miles progress. Finally we were overtaken by a snowstorm which the shrill wind blew furiously about us. …
“In the morning the snow was over a foot deep. Our cattle strayed widely during the storm, and some of them died. But what was worse to us than all this was the fact that five persons of both sexes lay in the cold embrace of death.
“The morning before the storm, or, rather, the morning of the day on which it came, we issued the last ration of flour. On this fatal morning, therefore, we had none to issue. We had, however, a barrel or two of hard bread which Captain Willie had procured at Fort Laramie in view of our destitution. This was equally and fairly divided among all the company. …
“Being surrounded by snow a foot deep, out of provisions, many of our people sick, and our cattle dying, it was decided that we should remain in our present camp until the supply train reached us. … The scanty allowance of hard bread and poor beef, distributed as described, was mostly eaten the first day by the hungry, ravenous, famished souls.
“We killed more cattle and issued the meat; but, eating it without bread, did not satisfy hunger, and to those who were suffering from dysent[e]ry it did more harm than good. This terrible disease increased rapidly amongst us during these three days, and several died from exhaustion. … The recollection of it unmans me even now—those three days! During that time I visited the sick, the widows whose husbands died in serving them, and the aged who could not help themselves, to know for myself where to dispense the few articles that had been placed in my charge for distribution. Such craving hunger I never saw before, and may God in his mercy spare me the sight again.”2
At this point a dispatch was sent to President Brigham Young from Captain Grant, who was one of the forward scouts, and this is what it said:
“It is not much use for me to attempt to give a description of the situation of these people, for this you will learn from your son Joseph A. and [Brother] Garr, who are the bearers of this express; but you can imagine between five and six hundred men, women and children, worn down by drawing handcarts through snow and mud; fainting by the wayside; falling, chilled by the cold; children crying, their limbs stiffened by cold, their feet bleeding and some of them bare to snow and frost. The sight is almost too much for the stoutest of us.”4
In Salt Lake City, at general conference on 5 October 1856, this is what President Brigham Young said:
“Many of our brethren and sisters are on the plains with handcarts, and probably many are now seven hundred miles [1,100 kilometers] from this place, and they must be brought here, we must send assistance to them. …
“I shall call upon the Bishops this day. I shall not wait until tomorrow, nor until the next day, for 60 good mule teams and 12 or 15 wagons. I do not want to send oxen. I want good horses and mules. They are in this Territory, and we must have them. Also 12 tons [11 tonnes] of flour and 40 good teamsters, besides those that drive the teams. … First, 40 good young men who know how to drive teams, to take charge of the teams that are now managed by men, women and children who know nothing about driving them. Second, 60 or 65 good spans of mules, or horses, with harness, whipple trees, neck-yokes, stretchers, lead chains, &c. And thirdly, 24 thousand pounds [11,000 kilograms] of flour, which we have on hand. …
“I will tell you all that your faith, religion, and profession of religion, will never save one soul of you in the Celestial Kingdom of our God, unless you carry out just such principles as I am now teaching you. Go and bring in those people now on the plains. And attend strictly to those things which we call temporal, or temporal duties. Otherwise, your faith will be in vain. The preaching you have heard will be in vain to you, and you will sink to Hell, unless you attend to the things we tell you.”5
In the meantime, the Willie Company had received word that a train of supplies was on the way, and Captain Willie and one other man were sent out in search of the supply train and to hasten its rescue mission to the stranded Saints. John Chislett wrote:
“On the evening of the third day (October 21) after Captain Willie’s departure, just as the sun was sinking beautifully behind the distant hills, on an eminence immediately west of our camp several covered wagons, each drawn by four horses were seen coming towards us. The news ran through the camp like wildfire, and all who were able to leave their beds turned out en masse to see them. A few minutes brought them sufficiently near to reveal our faithful captain slightly in advance of the train. Shouts of joy rent the air; strong men wept till tears ran freely down their furrowed and sun-burnt cheeks, and little children partook of the joy which some of them hardly understood, and fairly danced around with gladness. Restraint was set aside in the general rejoicing, and as the brethren entered our camp the sisters fell upon them and deluged them with kisses.”6
Now, as the sufferers got closer to the Salt Lake Valley, President Brigham Young again convened the Saints in the Tabernacle and said:
“When those persons arrive I do not want to see them put into houses by themselves; I want to have them distributed in the city among the families that have good and comfortable houses; and I wish all the sisters now before me, and all who know how and can, to nurse and wait upon the new comers and prudently administer medicine and food to them. To speak upon these things is a part of my religion, for it pertains to taking care of the Saints. …
“The afternoon meeting will be omitted, for I wish the sisters to go home and prepare to give those who have just arrived a mouthful of something to eat, and to wash them and nurse them up. You know that I would give more for a dish of pudding and milk, or a baked potato and salt, were I in the situation of those persons who have just come in, than I would for all your prayers, though you were to stay here all the afternoon and pray. Prayer is good, but when baked potatoes and pudding and milk are needed, prayer will not supply their place on this occasion; give every duty its proper time and place. …
“Some you will find with their feet frozen to their ankles; some are frozen to their knees and some have their hands frosted. … We want you to receive them as your own children, and to have the same feeling for them. We are their temporal saviors, for we have saved them from death.”7

Even some of the most difficult clients responded differently than expected.
Shelly is deaf and blind. She can’t talk, can’t communicate. In her dark world, she only knows how to scream when she gets alarmed or frustrated or disoriented. Staff expected to quietly take her back to her room after a very short time. But she was assigned to three girls as her friends for the day. They held her hand, patted her, touched her, stayed with her constantly.
“We were amazed at Shelly. Those girls managed to communicate a sense of love and caring that penetrated her darkness,” said Brother Holmes-Gull. Shelly was seen quietly laying her head near the girls while they sat on the grass.

I live on a small cattle ranch in Missouri, USA. I have the responsibility of feeding hay to the cows during the winter and early spring, and moving them on to spring pastures. One day we had our herd bulls in a pen, and we needed to move some cows through the pen to another pasture. Usually the bulls are very gentle, so I didn’t feel concerned. But this time the bulls started to get anxious with the other cows nearby. Two of our biggest bulls, Oscar and Billy, who weigh about 2,000 pounds (907 kg) each, started head butting each other and pushing each other around. It was a bullfight!
Some younger bulls were on the outside of the pen with the cows, and they came up and wanted in on the battle! I was standing nearby at a closed gate when I felt a sudden prompting to move out of the way. Just then Oscar and Billy busted through the gate and charged out into the field, right where I had been standing a few moments earlier! I knew that the Holy Ghost had prompted me to get out of the way and kept me safe from being trampled or even killed.
I know that if we try to choose the right every day, we can have the Holy Ghost as our guide. He can help keep us safe from harm’s way!

Early on Saturday afternoon, June 5, Cynthia Lyman, a medical technologist in Salt Lake City, heard a radio report that Rexburg, Idaho, had been flooded when the Teton Dam gave way. Without hesitation she filled the backseat of her car with containers of water, drove the 240 miles to the disaster scene, and, after talking her way through police blockades, began helping her grandmother clean up her water-damaged home.
With Cynthia Lyman, two cousins from two other families—Marshall Lyman, also of Salt Lake City, and David Lyman—helped their grandmother clean up her Rexburg home. David reported his parents’ home in Sugar City also sustained extensive water damage. “We stayed there until the water came, then we came here and packed things upstairs from the basement until the flood got here. Grandma didn’t want to leave, but we talked her into it.”
In addition to logs, fenceposts, and other debris, a 10,000 -gallon fuel tank came to rest in Sister Lyman’s yard. “Well, at least I have my year’s supply of fuel,” she joked.

Recently I interviewed an exceptionally stalwart priesthood holder for a temple recommend. I asked him if he sustained his bishop, his stake president, and the president of the Church. Of course his reply to each question was sincere, humble, and strongly affirmative. Then I asked him if he sustained his wife in her calling. He paused to think about it for a minute before answering that he did.
Then he added, “President, this has been very hard for me. In the past I was the one who held important, executive positions in the Church, but now our roles are reversed. My wife is an auxiliary president; the phone calls are all for her, she goes to the leadership meetings, she is in the forefront of action. I’m the one now who stays home to take care of the children often while she’s doing Church work. I’m doing my best to support her, but this is a new experience.”
We counseled together about the eternal importance of husbands and wives working together as a team, sustaining and supporting each other in all aspects of their lives, and then concluded the interview.

During our first holidays together as a married couple in 1973, my husband received a $40 Christmas bonus. Though we didn’t have much money for gifts, we decided to spend the bonus on a family who had recently lost their husband and father. We had so much fun shopping for presents and then leaving them on the family’s doorstep that we made the secret project a family tradition.
Over the years we were blessed with four children. As soon as each child grew tall enough, he or she would take a turn at Christmastime wearing a special coat that we used only once a year. Adult-sized, dark in color, and hooded, the coat made a perfect disguise for sneaking up to someone’s doorstep in the dark to leave gifts.
Every autumn we would vote on who our secret family would be that Christmas and on what gifts we would give them. The children would decide who would have the honor of wearing the Christmas coat and delivering the presents that year. On abundant years, we would give homemade quilts or clothing along with toys, books, and goodies; on leaner years, we would give stockings filled with smaller items.
When Christmas Eve finally arrived, the lucky child would don the coat and put on gloves and large boots to complete the disguise. With everyone in the car, we’d park a short distance from the chosen house, and our little elf would make his or her way to the front porch. The fear of being seen or suspected made it even more exciting!
Back in our cozy home we would sit together with hot cocoa and bread sticks and relive the evening’s adventure. With full tummies and warm hearts, we would read the Christmas story from the Bible and appreciate what the Savior’s life taught us about service.
Christmases were always wonderful, and we never missed a year of our tradition.

Just last week, I witnessed a touching example of a gift of time and self. In preparing for the National Association of Teachers of Singing vocal competition in the musical theatre category, one of our talented singers, Amanda Vick, had prepared a lively number from the musical "Wicked", which she sang beautifully, but which needed more choreography and specific movements to bring it to life. I challenged her to spend some time on it, but wondered how it would happen, with just one day left. I was thrilled to see her wonderfully-detailed performance the next day, which won her 2 nd place in the musical theatre category.

I congratulated her and marveled that she had worked out all the stage movements in such a short time. She said that she owed it all to her friend Cy Wood, a talented singer and choreographer in his own right, who had volunteered to help her stage her number. Cy was also a finalist in the same competition but did not place. Someone suggested that he might have hurt his own chances of winning by spending so much time with Amanda. He cheerfully said, "I am so happy for her that she was a winner and that I could help her." I had them pose for this picture yesterday and have their permission to tell this story.