Gospel Story Finder

Perhaps an example would be helpful. Procrastination is truly a thief of time—especially when it comes to downright hard work. I speak of the need to study diligently as you prepare for the tests of school and, indeed, the tests of life.
I know of a university student who was so busy with the joys of student life that preparation for an exam was postponed. The night before, she realized the hour was late and the preparation was not done. She rationalized, “Now what is more important—my health, which requires that I must sleep, or the drudgery of study?” Well, you can probably guess the outcome. Sleep won, study failed, and the test was a personal disaster. Work we must.

Six months later Haroon was walking home from school one day through the noisy city streets when he suddenly caught the strong, unmistakable scent of a herd of camels. Memories rushed into his mind. Then he saw the herd come around the corner at the end of the block. They jostled each other as cars and taxis honked their horns. A bushman was bringing a herd to the slaughterhouse. Haroon went to talk to the nomad and found he knew Chief Abdi’s clan very well.

The man handed Haroon a letter showing sings of being carried many days in the folds of the man’s skirt. Haroon opened it and read greetings from many in the clan. It was written by the hand of Chief Abdi himself. He thanked Haroon for teaching him and his people.

Haroon was happy to know that Abdi was also following the president’s words: “If you know, teach; if you don’t know, learn.”

While I was serving my first mission to Mexico and Central America, my companion and I received a very interesting final assignment from our mission president. He asked us to leave the mission home and go down to Oaxaca, in Southern Mexico, where some months before missionaries had been withdrawn due to religious and political persecution. Their lives had been threatened by mobs. A few converts had been baptized, but a real organization of the Church had not been established. As a result, these new members had been left alone, and for months the mission president heard little about how things were going.

We were given a list of names and asked by the mission president to go there, find the people, see how they were doing, and, if possible, locate a place where we could quietly conduct a sacrament meeting. For all those months, they had not had the privilege we take so much for granted of partaking of the sacrament each week.

We arrived early in the morning and immediately searched for the address of the first name on the list. We located her address and passed through a door in a high adobe wall that surrounded a crowded cluster of tiny huts around a central area where there was a common water source.

It seemed that all eyes were upon us. Back in the corner in the least prestigious part of the area was a little grass-thatched hut with a dirt floor. This sister came to the door, saw us, and easily recognized by our dress that we were missionaries. With tears in her eyes, she rushed to us and greeted us with a hug. We identified ourselves and the purpose of our assignment from the mission president.

After this brief exchange, she went back into her hut and brought out a clay jar into which she put her hand and withdrew some pesos and centavos she had been saving for months. Even though she had been alone without any Church organization, she had been saving her tithing with faith and hope that someday her tithing would be taken to the appropriate place.

She stood there in the poorest of clothing, bare feet, holding an infant child. She obviously had many unmet needs; yet, she was handing us money. My first impression was not to accept it and to encourage her to spend it wherever she might need it. Then I realized that was not my prerogative because she was obeying a commandment. She had gained a testimony that tithing is a divine commandment and was willing to live that principle—even when she was alone.

Following the sacrament meeting, the Relief Society meeting was hosted by Relief Society President Jen Norton. She too had a technical treat for the sisters. She had previously invited sisters to send her photos of their mothers, with three sentences about them or three qualities to highlight.
Sister Norton showed the sisters her presentation—photos were revealed, and the sisters were asked to guess who they were. When a photo was correctly identified, the daughter read out the sentences or qualities she had provided.
There was much fun as the sisters tried to be the first to guess who the mother was, or made comments on hairstyles and fashions, or how much their daughter looked like them. There were many tears as sisters talked of the dear mothers who had passed on.
It was a very inclusive and beautiful way to honour mothers.

Many years ago now, long before I was called as a General Authority, I participated as a speaker in a young adult conference. The conference concluded with a testimony meeting in which a handsome, young returned missionary stood up to bear his testimony. He looked good, clean, and confident—just like a returned missionary should look.
As he began to speak, tears came to his eyes. He said he was grateful to stand in the midst of such a terrific group of young Latter-day Saints and to feel good about the life he was trying to lead. But that feeling had only been possible, he said, because of an experience he had had a few years earlier, an experience that had shaped his life forever.
He then told of coming home from a date shortly after he had been ordained an elder at age 18. Something had happened on this date of which he was not proud. He did not go into any details, nor should he have done so in a public setting. To this day I do not know the nature of the incident, but it was significant enough to him to have affected his spirit and his self-esteem.
As he sat in his car for a while in the driveway of his own home, thinking things through and feeling genuine sorrow for whatever had happened, his nonmember mother came running frantically from the house straight to his car. In an instant she conveyed that this boy’s younger brother—I do not know what the age of the younger boy was—had just fallen in the home, had hit his head sharply and was having some kind of seizure or convulsion. The nonmember father had immediately called 911, but it would take some time at best for help to come.
“Come and do something,” she cried. “Isn’t there something you do in your Church at times like this? You have their priesthood. Come and do something.”
His mother didn’t know a lot about the Church at that point, but she knew something of priesthood blessings. Nevertheless, on this night when someone he loved dearly needed his faith and his strength, this young man could not respond. Given the feelings he had just been wrestling with, and the compromise he felt he had just made—whatever that was—he could not bring himself to go before the Lord and ask for the blessing that was needed.
He bolted from the car and ran down the street several hundred yards to the home of a worthy older man who had befriended him in the ward ever since the boy’s conversion two or three years earlier. An explanation was given, the older brother responded, and the two were back at the house still well before the paramedics arrived. The happy ending of this story as told in that testimony meeting was that this older man instantly gave a sweet, powerful priesthood blessing, leaving the injured child stable and resting by the time medical help arrived. A quick trip to the hospital and a thorough exam there revealed no permanent damage had been done. A very fearful moment for this family had passed.
Then the returned missionary of whom I speak said this: “No one who has not faced what I faced that night will ever know the shame I felt and the sorrow I bore for not feeling worthy to use my priesthood. It is an even more painful memory for me because it was my own little brother who needed me, and my beloved nonmember parents who were so fearful and who had a right to expect more of me. But as I stand before you today I can promise you this,” he said. “I am not perfect, but from that night onward I have never done anything that would keep me from going before the Lord with confidence and asking for His help when it is needed. Personal worthiness is a battle in this world in which we live,” he acknowledged, “but it is a battle I am winning. I have felt the finger of condemnation pointing at me once in my life, and I don’t intend to feel it ever again if I can do anything about it. And, of course,” he concluded, “I can do everything about it.”
He finished his testimony and sat down. I can still picture him. I can still see the setting we were in. And I can still remember the stark, moving silence that followed his remarks as everyone in the room had occasion to search his or her soul a little deeper, vowing a little stronger to live by these powerful words given by the Lord: “Let virtue garnish thy thoughts unceasingly; then shall thy confidence wax strong in the presence of God; and the doctrine of the priesthood shall distil upon thy soul as the dews from heaven. The Holy Ghost shall be thy constant companion, and thy scepter an unchanging scepter of righteousness and truth” (D&C 121:45–46; emphasis added).

My mother taught us when we were very young that we must never ridicule the unfortunate. Her mother died when she was six. My mother worked in the fields from a very early age. One day some teenagers were picking fruit. One of the girls laughingly mimicked one who suffered from cerebral palsy, saying, “Look who I am,” and she named the handicapped person. They all laughed as she threw herself into a stumbling walk. Suddenly she fell as if struck down. They gathered around her in great fright. Presently she recovered, but there was no more fun at the expense of the handicapped. Mother never forgot what she saw, nor to teach a lesson from it.

Tommy had been wondering how to get to St. Joseph. “Do you think we could leave for St. Joseph in the morning?” he asked his mother.
“We could if we had someone to go with us,” she replied. “Your father insisted that we should not travel far alone.”
“I heard last week that Brother Morley was going to St. Joseph,” said Tommy. “Do you think we might travel with him?”
“We might,” replied his mother. “We’ll go over to his cabin after supper and ask him.”
Brother Morley was happy to have their company. Two days later, with Tommy driving one wagon and Elija the other, the family left Winter Quarters with Brother Morley and his son.
The first thing they did in St. Joseph was to buy shoes for Elija and Eliza. Then they filled the wagons with corn, wheat, and potatoes.
Betsy looked longingly at some honey that a man had brought to the store from his farm. But there was no money left over to buy honey.
“Never mind,” said Elija. “In Nauvoo we used to harvest wild honey. Maybe on our way home we can find a hollow tree that bees have deserted.”
The second night out from St. Joseph, when Tommy and Elija were scouting around close to their camp, they found a hollow log. It was filled to the brim with honey. The boys had not taken a container with them, so they scraped a little honey onto a piece of tree bark and took it back for their supper. Afterward they returned with two big kettles in which to harvest the honey.
As they began to scoop the honey into the kettles, the boys heard a low growl behind them, and they turned to face a large bear that had also found the honey tree. Dropping their kettles, they raced toward camp, calling for help. In their rush, Tommy stumbled over a log. Elija saw him fall, and he also saw that the bear was not far behind. “Slide under the log, Tommy!” he shouted.
Brother Morley heard the boys’ cries for help. He came running with his rifle, took careful aim, and fired his gun. The bear dropped dead at the side of the log.
“Thank you, Brother Morley,” the boys said gratefully. And Tommy thought how glad he was that his father had insisted they never travel far alone.
The words of his mother echoed in Tommy’s ears: “It is good to know that your father is still taking care of us even though he is far away.”

When Bobby Collins (name has been changed) sent his mission papers off, he was surprised that he did not get back a large white envelope containing his mission call. Instead, he received a letter from the Church’s Missionary Department asking about his tattoo.
When Bobby graduated from high school, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to go on a mission. He moved away from home to work, and he liked the independence of not having his parents around all the time. At about the same time, his best friend and his cousin both got tattoos. “That kind of lowered my guard,” he says.
Bobby had always been good at art, so he designed his own tattoo. He knew tattoos were discouraged by the Church and that his mother wouldn’t like it, and before he went to get it, he asked his brother what he thought about it. His brother had some good advice. He said, “Life already gives us so many scars. Why would you want another one?”
But Bobby had already made up his mind. Six weeks and 700 hard-earned dollars later, he had a huge tattoo all the way up one leg. “It was really painful. It was bloody,” he remembers. And “getting one made it easier to think about getting more.” He didn’t get any more, but after strengthening his testimony of the gospel, he did decide he wanted to serve a mission.
As painful as getting his tattoo was, the pain of regret that Bobby felt was much worse. He was very worried about whether or not he would be able to serve a mission. He wanted to get the tattoo removed but couldn’t afford to. He worried what his future spouse and children might think of it.
“That letter from the Missionary Department scared me a lot,” Bobby says. “My biggest fear was that this one thing was going to hold me back from serving a mission.”
Bobby had to do what the Missionary Department asks all missionary applicants who have tattoos to do. On his original application he told them a little about his tattoo. The letter he received later requested a few more details, including an explanation of when and why he got it and where it is located on the body as well as a description or photograph of it. He was also asked to describe how he felt about it.
When a missionary candidate with a tattoo applies, General Authorities review each case and decide whether that candidate will be allowed to serve a mission. Some cannot.
Bobby did receive his mission call. He is grateful to be a missionary and sorry that, now a representative of the Lord’s Church, he once decided to get a tattoo.
“I just hope people will follow President Hinckley’s counsel,” Bobby says. “I know that he is a prophet of God. If he says it’s important, then it’s important.”
Bobby has some counsel of his own too, the same counsel his brother gave him: “Even though we can be forgiven through the Atonement, why do something else that’s going to leave us scarred?”

During the difficult economic conditions of postwar Germany, opportunities for education were not as abundant as they are today. But in spite of limited options, I always felt an eagerness to learn. I remember one day, while I was out on my bike delivering laundry, I entered the home of a classmate of mine. In one of the rooms, two small desks were nestled against the wall. What a wonderful sight that was! How fortunate those children were to have desks of their own! I could imagine them sitting with open books studying their lessons and doing their homework. It seemed to me that having a desk of my own would be the most wonderful thing in the world.
I had to wait a long time before that wish was fulfilled. Years later, I got a job at a research institution that had a large library. I remember spending much of my free time in that library. There I could finally sit at a desk—by myself—and drink in the information and knowledge that books provide. How I loved to read and learn! In those days I understood firsthand the words of an old saying: Education is not so much the filling of a bucket as the lighting of a fire.

I am a Beehive. Last month, I got my first CD of Church music. I listened to it a lot and downloaded it onto my MP3 player. One day when I got on the bus, there was no place to sit except in the back, right in the middle of the teenagers who say bad things. They were talking so loudly and using such horrible language that I couldn’t block them out. I had a feeling to get out my MP3 player and listen to my church CD. Once I did, the sounds and words around me immediately melted away, and I felt like I was in another place. I concentrated on the lyrics and felt happy. I’m sharing this story so that everyone can know that if you are in situations similar to this, you can listen to music that brings the Spirit, and you’ll feel better.

Members of the Young Women and Primary General Presidencies of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints met and visited with members in six countries of the Caribbean in May during an official ten-day visit. They were welcomed by Elder Jose L. Alonso of the Seventy, second counselor in the Caribbean Area Presidency, and Elder Hubermann Bien-Aimé, Area Seventy.
Sister Cristina B. Franco, Second Counselor in the Primary General Presidency, and Sister Becky Craven, Second Counselor in the Young Women General Presidency, arrived in Port-Au-Prince, Haiti, on Friday, May 18, 2018. Other countries visited on their tour were Guadeloupe, Barbados, Saint Vincent, Trinidad and Tobago, and Puerto Rico.
“I know that sometimes it is hard to defend our beliefs, to stand up for what we believe when everyone else is not doing the same in the world. But we must stand up for what we believe, even if we stand alone,” encouraged and invited Sister Franco to a group of young men and women during a devotional in Haiti.
Haiti is home to more than 23,000 members of the Church. It will be the second country in the area to have a temple, which is now under construction. Both sisters had an opportunity to visit the temple site.
“You are going to have a new temple, and I know that probably most of the youth have not had the opportunity to attend a temple yet. But that blessing is coming quickly, and you will have the opportunity to minister in the temple for your ancestors,” said Sister Craven to the youth in Port-Au-Prince.
After three days of meetings, trainings, and visits in Haiti, they traveled to Guadeloupe and Barbados where they held leadership trainings, a young single adult family home evening, and a visit to an early morning seminary class, comprised of 10 students in Abymes, Guadeloupe.
During one of the gatherings with the members, Sister Craven stated: “The distractions lead us away from our responsibility to minister to each other. So, we always have to be careful about the things that we get involved in. The things that we do can distract us and often the things that we forget to do can be a distraction from our spirituality.”
They arrived in Saint Vincent the morning of May 23rd for a leadership training meeting with Primary, Young Women, Relief Society and priesthood leaders of this small island, home to 683 members of the Church.
The next stop was in Trinidad and Tobago, where both sisters comforted families in their homes and also trained the leaders of that country.
Devrani Barrios, a Church member from Trinidad and Tobago, remarked: “It was good, I enjoyed it. Their sense of humor and their interactions with the kids was amazing. The prayer they left with my family is unforgettable.”
Taramatie Kotiah, another sister from Trinidad manifested: “I truly enjoyed the home visits. The sisters were very friendly with us all, as if we knew each other. They have such a welcoming spirit. They taught me what ministering truly is.”
The last destination of this international tour was Puerto Rico, where there are also more than 23,000 members. The interactions with the two general auxiliary leaders was a comforting time for members on the island.
“I liked very much that they set the example for us. They taught us how we have to start ministering now, because to minister is teaching the Savior’s way,” said Elizabeth Vasquez from Puerto Rico.
“To see that these leaders took their time to come here and give us these messages, brings me a lot of joy because it shows how much they love each of us, even though they don’t necessarily know our names,” said Erika Ruiz, a young woman from Puerto Rico.
This trip occurred after the last general conference, where President Russell M. Nelson announced a new emphasis on ministering, a personalized approach to caring for the temporal and spiritual needs of members. It focuses on flexibility in addressing the needs and circumstances of individuals throughout the world.
“Ministering is about love and being a friend and inviting others to participate and is about helping each other. But it also helps us as well become more like our Savior when we love as He does. And so it’s impacted the tour greatly because that’s what we’re talking about,” stated Sister Craven, concluding the visit in the Caribbean.

Matt’s hero was his big brother Nate. Although Nate was ten years older than Matt, they were very good friends.
When Matt was seven, he wrote this essay for school:
Wouldn’t It Be Great If I Grew Up to Be Like My Big Brother?
Wouldn’t it be great if I grew up to be like my big brother? My big brother is an awesome basketball player. He can sink three-point shots, and he almost always makes his foul shots. He can really jump high, so he gets a lot of rebounds. My favorite thing is when he plays me a game of one-on-one. It is even fun to play when he beats me with all of his slam dunks. I’m glad I have such a neat big brother. I hope I can be the same kind of big brother to my little brother someday.
Matt still felt exactly the same way about his brother two years later, but along with those happy feelings were some feelings of sadness. Nate was nineteen now, and he had recently met with the bishop and stake president to send in his mission papers. Matt wanted Nate to serve a mission, but he knew that two years would seem like a very long time. He would really miss his brother.
When the mission-call envelope arrived in the mail, the family all sat around Nate. He read his call from the prophet:
You are hereby called to serve as a missionary of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. You are assigned to labor in the Brazil Florianopolis Mission. It is anticipated that you will serve for a period of twenty-four months.
Nate continued reading, but Matt didn’t hear the rest of the letter. All he understood was that his brother was going to go to a place Matt had never heard of and that he would be gone for two years. Matt knew that his family and Nate were excited, so he kept his sad feelings to himself and tried to share in the celebration.
The next few months were busy ones as everyone helped Nate prepare for his mission. They found maps and pictures of Brazil and hung them on the wall. Mom bought some tapes so that the family could all learn a few words of Portuguese. Nate bought a lot of white shirts and ties. Matt thought that Nate already looked like a missionary in his new suit.
Matt was very proud as Nate spoke in sacrament meeting on the Sunday before he was to leave. Matt felt all warm and fuzzy inside as Nate shared his testimony. As much as he was going to miss Nate, Matt knew that his brother was going to be an awesome missionary.
The day before Nate was to leave, Matt was out in the driveway, shooting a few hoops. He was trying to not feel sad, but tears were beginning to pool in his eyes.
“Hey, what’s up?” Nate asked as he rebounded the ball after Matt’s shot. Matt didn’t want Nate to see him cry, so he choked back the tears and challenged his older brother to a game.
Nate had noticed the tears in Matt’s eyes, though, and agreed to the game under one condition. “If I win, you have to make me a chocolate milk shake. Deal?”
“You’re on!” Matt grinned as he grabbed the ball, dribbled past Nate, and swished a three-point shot.
It was a hard-fought game, but Matt finally won by a point.
“Good game, champ!” Nate gave Matt a high five. “I hope that they have basketballs in Brazil so I can practice once in a while, or you’ll really skunk me in two years.”
Matt laughed, moving close to his big brother as they sat down under the shade of the apple tree in the backyard.
“I guess the treats are on me today.” Nate smiled as he handed Matt his favorite candy bar and pulled another from his pocket for himself.
“I was really hoping for a chocolate milk shake,” Nate said as he took the last bite of his candy bar. “I’m not sure I’ll get any of those in Brazil.”
Matt tried to smile, but a few tears slipped out of the corner of his eyes and down his cheeks.
Nate put his arm around his little brother. “I’ll be fine, champ. I think I’ll survive for two years without chocolate milk shakes.”
Matt smiled but couldn’t keep his voice from cracking. “You might survive without milk shakes, but I don’t know if I will survive without you.”
“Can I share a secret with you?” Nate said in a quiet voice.
Matt nodded.
“I’m really going to miss you and the rest of the family. I am also very nervous about going to a country so far away where they speak a different language.”
Matt was surprised. “If you’re nervous and scared, why are you going?”
Nate was quiet for a few moments. Then he said, “Champ, do you believe that President Hinckley is a true prophet of God?”
Matt nodded. “Sure I do.”
“Our prophet has said that all worthy young men should serve a mission. Even though I am nervous and know it will be very hard, I want to follow the prophet. If he says that the Lord wants me in Brazil, then I need to go.”
As Matt gave his brother a hug, he said, “I promise to write to you and pray for you. I really am glad that you are going on a mission.”
“I appreciate that, champ!” Nate wrapped his arms around Matt in a huge bear hug.
Although the next day, it was hard to tell his brother good-bye for two years, Matt thought that the Missionary Training Center was awesome. He had never seen so many missionaries, and he had a really warm, happy feeling inside while they were there. He knew that Nate would be all right.
After reading the letter, Matt sat down and wrote a letter to Nate. He told his brother how thankful he was that Nate was in Brazil, teaching people about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Matt also did some serious thinking. He didn’t want just to be a good basketball player like Nate when he grew up. He wanted to be like Nate and follow the prophet and be a good missionary, as well!

May I share today a story about a person who lived in such a way, in an eternal, loving companionship in Hawaii.

In 1850, Brigham Young sent ten missionaries to the Hawaiian Islands. Without understanding the language and culture, the missionaries found the work extremely difficult. Eventually they became discouraged, including the mission president. They became so discouraged that five of the ten left to go home. The youngest of the remaining missionaries, Elder George Q. Cannon, was determined to stay. He went to the Lord in prayer. The Lord inspired him to go to Lahaina on Maui. He did so.

As he approached this town, two ladies went screaming into a nearby house and brought out a local gentleman. The previous night, this man had had a dream that a messenger of God was coming to his town and that he must feed him. Elder Cannon was invited to stay and preach in the home of this man, Jonathon H. Napela, who was a very well-educated man and the magistrate of that district (see Alma 10:4).

Subsequently, Elder Cannon and Jonathon Napela became very close friends, like Alma and Amulek in the Book of Mormon (see Alma 10–15). Because of the guiding hand of God and Brother Napela’s great help, along with the hospitality and kindness of the Hawaiian Saints, the missionary work began to excel in Hawaii, and the foundation was laid.

It was a warm summer morning as Josh followed his dad into the hardware store. Outside, bees hummed and sprinklers hissed, but inside everything was cool and quiet. Josh stood at the window and watched a bee bump against the glass.
Then something on a shelf caught his eye—a pocketknife gleaming in the sunlight near the window. Josh was sure he could use a knife like that for all sorts of things. But he didn’t ask Dad if he could buy it. He already knew what Dad would say: “You should wait until you’re a Boy Scout to get a pocketknife.” Josh didn’t want to wait until then. He wanted a pocketknife right now.
Josh looked over his shoulder. Dad was busy paying the cashier for some work gloves. Josh snatched the knife and put it in his pocket.
“Ready to go?” Dad asked.
Josh followed Dad to the car, his heart thumping like the bee against the window. As they drove away, Josh smiled. No one had noticed! The knife was his.
So why did it feel like a heavy rock in his pocket?
By the time Josh got home, he felt like he had a rock in his stomach too. Josh went to his room and took out the knife. It didn’t seem to gleam anymore. Josh tried to imagine what kinds of things he’d use it for, but he couldn’t think of any. Besides, if he took the knife out of his room, Dad might see it.
Josh felt anxious all day. The knife’s weight in his pocket kept reminding him of the wrong choice he had made. He had to get rid of it.
“Can I ride my bike?” he asked Mom.
“Yes, just be home in time for dinner,” Mom said.
Josh hurried to get his bicycle from the garage and pedaled onto the sidewalk.
“Hey, Josh! Where are you going?” Josh’s brother Tanner called from his friend Chris’s yard.
Josh didn’t slow down. He raced to the end of the street, where a brick wall was built into a hillside. Josh found a crack between the bricks and stuffed the pocketknife into the dark hole. No one would know what he’d done. Now he could forget about it too.
A few hours later, Tanner and Chris burst into the house. “Look what we found!” Tanner held up the pocketknife.
Josh tried not to look guilty. “Where did you get that?” he asked.
“We followed a bee,” Tanner said.
“You followed a bee?” Mom repeated.
“We were bored,” Tanner said. “We chased the bee to the end of the street. It crawled into a hole in the brick wall, and that’s where the pocketknife was.”
Josh felt sick. Even though he’d hidden the knife, Heavenly Father knew where it was. He went to his room and counted the dollar bills in his wallet. Then he prayed for the courage to tell the truth. When he got up from his knees, the anxiousness in his mind quieted. He felt a little nervous about telling his parents and the cashier at the hardware store what he had done, but he felt lighter than he had all day—like a bee zipping over the rooftops toward home.

Once upon a time there was a banker. He was a good, thoughtful man, and, like most bankers, was thinking about that which is close to the heart of all bankers: the interest rate. If you were to ask this banker to list the greatest inventions of all time in order of their importance to mankind, he would unhesitatingly rank the charging of interest as the most important of all, even above electricity, the steam engine, atomic power, etc.
You see, if you lend money at interest, you hardly have to work to make a profit. You need only make wise decisions as to whom you can trust to return the money at the appointed time with the agreed interest. The banker keeps the interest for himself, his employees, and his patrons and turns around to loan the same money out again. It is a nice business! Everyone seems to come out ahead. The person who puts his money in the bank as savings can get more money back than he deposited at any time he wants it back. The person who borrows makes a profit on his business transaction, so he is happy to split that profit by returning more to the bank than he borrowed.
So our thoughtful banker was happily meditating upon this miraculous circle of mutual benefits to the depositor, the borrower, and of course, the banker. Then he remembered that the Savior had good things to say about interest too.
He turned to the parable of the talents in Matthew. This parable tells of a servant who took his master’s five talents and traded them until he had doubled the money. The second servant took his two talents and did likewise. But the third servant did not use the money; he hid it so as not to lose it, earning nothing with it! When the master returned and asked for an accounting, he commended both the first and the second servants equally for having been faithful. He promised them increased responsibilities in the future, with implied higher benefits for them. He scolded the third, called him slothful, and said, “Thou oughtest therefore to have put my money to the exchangers [the bankers of that day], and then at my coming I should have received mine own with usury [what we call interest” (Matt. 25:27). The banker realized that the Savior did know the advantage of interest.
He then thought of the several different kinds of banks: money banks, blood banks, eye cornea banks, and royal jelly banks. Why not have a love bank! He quickly organized and opened the new love bank in his city. Anyone depositing acts of love would receive more in return when they withdrew them. The only restriction was that those who borrowed love could not use it for themselves but had to give the love to someone else. The love bank grew and prospered with all the increased love.
A father borrowed some love from the bank and gave it to his children. He was amazed at what happened! Not only did he receive blessings in his relationship with his children, but it seemed as though he suddenly received more love from others: his wife, his parents, his neighbors, his quorum president, and his fellow workers.
A wife borrowed some love from the bank and used it on her husband. With the loan she gave much more love and affection than ever before. The more she did for her husband, the more she loved him, and the more he returned that love. The children noticed how much love mom gave dad, and they too gave dad and mom more attention, more obedience, and more love. The wife became such a happy person that love just came to her from all sides. The Relief Society work went better. The sisters gave her more love than ever before. The grouchy neighbor changed into a person happy to see her, loving her as a sister. Her mother-in-law, seeing such a loving family, changed her mind and said that her son had made a wise choice in his marriage. The children also found that they could borrow love from the bank. They gave love to each other. Astounding results! There was no more rivalry or quarreling. They shared happily. They willingly completed their assigned chores and did extra things.
The borrowing families had so much love left over after paying back their loan at the bank, with interest, that they didn’t have any place for all the extra love. So just like we share our surplus from our gardens with neighbors and friends, they began to share the surplus love with their neighbors and friends. They ran errands, tended children, mowed lawns for vacationers, and helped those who were ill with meals and tasks. They made phantom cookie deliveries and performed phantom car washes while no one was looking. The blessings they received in return were greater if no one knew who had done it.
This made the surplus of love grow even more. It was unbelievable! The friendshipping and fellowshipping just wouldn’t stop. The only thing left was to share and teach the gospel to everyone. They bore testimony of the influence of the gospel of love in their lives. They told about Christ and his miracles of love. They asked the Golden Questions. They loaned the Book of Mormon. They brought friends to church. They took them to baptismal services. They invited the missionaries into their homes for group discussions. They became missionaries all day long and were examples of unselfish love in action.
You know what happened? The people were full of love; the city was full of love; the bank was full of love. They had discovered the secret!
I have it from a good source—the bank and the banker really did exist. But I have searched all over the world and can’t find them anywhere, so they must have gone where Enoch and his city went.

When the rescued sufferers got close to the Salt Lake Valley, Brigham Young convened a meeting on this block. He directed the Saints in the valley to receive the sufferers into their homes, make them comfortable, and administer food and clothing to them. Said President Young: “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” (Hafen, Handcarts to Zion, p. 139).

When the rescuers brought the Willie handcart pioneers into this valley, it is recorded by Captain Willie: “On our arrival there the Bishops of the different Wards took every person, who was not provided with a home, to comfortable quarters. Some had their hands and feet badly frozen; but everything which could be done to alleviate their sufferings, was done. … Hundreds of the Citizens flocked round the wagons on our way through the City, cordially welcoming their Brethren and Sisters to their mountain home” (James G. Willie, in Journal History of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, 9 Nov. 1856, p. 15).

When I joined the missionary preparation class, things didn’t go smoothly. I was battling personal conflicts and worried that I wouldn’t make a difference as a missionary. I felt more anxious every day.
I struggled with these feelings for a while and prayed to know if I really was good enough to serve.
One day, as I checked my email, I opened a message from ComeuntoChrist.org. There, in big, bold letters, were the words “You Are Enough!”
These words pierced my heart, and I felt comforted. My prayers had been answered! I realized that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ are fully aware of our circumstances and can answer our prayers in the most personal ways.

In Minas Gerais, Brazil, it’s never winter. The only seasons are a dry season and a wet season. It can be a hot and humid place! The Primary children in the Conselheiro Lafaiete Branch have learned the blessings that come from wearing their Sunday best, even when it’s very hot.
Sister Patrícia da Costa was serving as Primary president when she began to worry about the dress standards in her Primary. “It’s hard for the children to wear Sunday best because of how hot it is,” she says. “Also, no one had given it much importance before.” Although dressing up for church may seem like a small matter, Sister da Costa knew it would help the Primary children show respect for Heavenly Father. The children would be establishing good habits for the future.
The Primary set goals. Families got Sunday clothes for the children who didn’t have them. They even held a “parade” in Primary to show proper Sunday clothing.
It wasn’t easy, but they reached their goal. “On the day of the Primary presentation in sacrament meeting, everyone was dressed appropriately,” says Sister da Costa. “It was wonderful!”
Many members of the branch have noticed the difference. The children are more reverent, and now they decide to dress up on Sunday without their parents’ telling them. And there has been one more unexpected blessing: less-active parents have started coming to church again, thanks to the examples of their children.

One Sunday while I was serving as mission president in Vladivostok, Russia, a rather amazing thing happened. I had gone to my office to gather some materials when a 13-year-old young man, Vladimir, whose friends call him Vova, knocked on the door. Vova is a deacon in the Vladivostok First Branch. He asked to visit with me in my office. He was accompanied by Sister Olga Vyachyeslavna Dryagunova. This sister speaks wonderful English, and the boy had asked her if she would act as his interpreter. Vova speaks no English, and I speak only a little Russian.
Vova had been an orphan, abandoned at birth because he was born with a cleft palate. The birth defect has since been partially repaired, leaving a scar. He was adopted by a wonderful woman who has treated him as her son. The boy is always happy. He has a smile on his face and a wonderful countenance when he passes the sacrament. He wears the mantle of a deacon as well as any boy I have ever known. He regularly bears a sweet and brief testimony of the truthfulness of the gospel. He is everything that a deacon ought to be.
At our meeting Vova spoke Russian and Sister Olga interpreted. She told me that Vova had come to fill out his application to serve as a full-time missionary. I asked, without a hint of a smile, “How old is he?”
She asked and he answered, “Nearly 14.”
Retaining my composure, I said, “Does he understand that he needs to be 19 before he can serve a mission?”
She responded, “He does, but he does not want to be tardy in getting his application in.”
I assured them that there was still time before we needed to send his missionary application to Moscow and then on to Salt Lake City. Neither the branch president nor I would forget when it was time for him to fill out his forms. I walked to the wall displaying pictures of the 44 missionaries then serving in the Russia Vladivostok Mission. I told Vova I was worried that the missionary papers might be returned if it appeared that I was recommending a 13-year-old boy for a mission.
Then I explained that since he was in my office where I conducted interviews with the missionaries, I thought it appropriate to ask him the questions that will be asked of him when he is 19, just to make sure that he was currently worthy to serve a mission. I then went through all the worthiness questions as though Vova were one of my full-time missionaries but tactfully passed over the boy-girl questions, thinking them premature. Besides, I didn’t want to embarrass Sister Olga.
Vova answered all my questions with the appropriate responses and with the wisdom of a boy twice his age. Upon further reflection, I guessed that he may have even asked one of the elders what interview questions he might anticipate from the mission president. I then told Vova that he could come back every six months, and we would repeat the interview process.
He then asked with some concern what he should say to let me know he was ready for another interview six months from now. I said to him, through Sister Olga, that it was time for him to have his first English lesson. I then said slowly, “This is what you should say to me, ‘President, I am ready for my missionary interview.’”
He repeated the important words he needed to know three times.
As I was ready to end the interview, Vova asked Sister Olga to ask me one last question. “President,” he said, “what advice do you have for me to prepare for my mission?”
I was a bit taken back. Few of my mature elders would have the wisdom to ask such a timely question. I pondered for a moment and then told him to do three things: First, I told him to read the scriptures each day. Second, I suggested that he pray to his Heavenly Father each morning and evening. Third, I told him to practice his English.
I confess the last suggestion was a little selfish on my part, as I was thinking how I would enjoy speaking with him in English and asking him questions about the things of his heart. I suggested he attend the free English classes taught by the missionaries, but he said his mother would not allow him to be out after dark. We agreed that he would work harder each day in his English class at school.
Later, when I saw the deacons in the hall after church, I asked Vova if he would like to repeat the phrase he needed to use to ask for his next interview. This he did in a fine manner. Then to my great surprise, I learned that each of the other deacons in the branch had also learned the magic words. Each one repeated while looking right at me, “President, I am ready for my missionary interview!”
Oh, the power of example! The joy of one willing to open his mouth and share the things he had learned with another was something I was trying to get all of my missionaries to experience! These Russian deacons were on the road to perfection.

One preparation day, my missionary companion and I were visiting a cathedral in Parma, Italy. While marveling at the beautiful paintings there, I noticed a monk reading nearby. I received a prompting to talk to him about the Book of Mormon, but I became afraid.
How would a Catholic monk react to a missionary proselyting inside a cathedral? The prompting came again, but again I dismissed it.
A few weeks later, the other two elders in our apartment told us they had visited with a monk named Giuseppe while street contacting. After they had taught him a lesson, he accepted a copy of the Book of Mormon.
When the missionaries met with Giuseppe a week later, he had already read much of the book. He was very excited about it.
Before the missionaries met with Giuseppe again, my companion was transferred, so I joined their companionship. When we went to teach Giuseppe in the cathedral, I was not surprised to see that he was the same monk I was prompted to talk to earlier.
Giuseppe told us he was reading the book of Alma, whom he compared to the Apostle Paul. We decided to teach him the second lesson, which ended with an invitation to be baptized. At the end of our lesson, just before we could invite Giuseppe to follow the example of Jesus Christ by being baptized, the cathedral bells began ringing, startling us.
Giuseppe had lost track of time and said he needed to join the other monks for midday prayers. Then he apologized, saying he would be unavailable in the future because he was going to a monastic retreat. His ordination as a priest would follow.
We were surprised at how that significant moment had just evaporated. Had I responded to my earlier prompting, we would have had more time to teach Giuseppe and he would have had time to finish reading the Book of Mormon. As far as I know, missionaries never taught him again.
After that experience, the sound of clock-tower bells reminded me how valuable and short our time is. For the rest of my mission, every time I heard a bell tower ring, I was motivated to speak to anyone I could about the gospel. Today, I still strive to follow promptings from the Spirit.