Gospel Story Finder

I remember as a child listening to the testimonies given by adults in my ward. Those testimonies entered my heart and inspired my soul. Wherever I go throughout the world—no matter the language, no matter the culture—I thrill to hear the testimonies of the Saints.
Recently, I received a letter from our grandson who is a missionary. He wrote that members “who are reading scriptures and praying are more willing to share the gospel.”
I believe he’s right. The more we study the scriptures and pray, the more likely we can enthusiastically share our testimonies of the gospel with others.
Remember, Church members who receive a testimony of the gospel are under covenant “to stand as witnesses of God at all times and in all things, and in all places.” It is clear we have a sacred obligation to obtain referrals for our missionaries. Witnesses have a special knowledge and are to bear testimony of “that which they have seen and heard and most assuredly believe.” We make simple, clear, direct statements that we know with certainty and surety that the gospel is true because it has been “made known unto [us] by the Holy Spirit of God.” In bearing such a testimony, speaking by the power of the Holy Ghost, we are promised that “the Holy Ghost shall be shed forth in bearing record unto all things whatsoever [we] shall say.” We are blessed personally when we so testify.
President Boyd K. Packer said: “A testimony is to be found in the bearing of it. Somewhere in your quest for spiritual knowledge, there is that ‘leap of faith,’ as the philosophers call it. It is the moment when you have gone to the edge of the light and step into the darkness to discover that the way is lighted ahead for just a footstep or two.”
Making a determined and confident public statement of your belief is such a step into the unknown. It has a powerful effect in strengthening your own convictions. Bearing testimony drives your faith deeper into your soul, and you believe more fervently than before.
To those who faithfully bear testimony, the Lord said, “Ye are blessed, for the testimony which ye have borne is recorded in heaven for the angels to look upon; and they rejoice over you, and your sins are forgiven you.” I have tried to follow this counsel to bear testimony.
May I tell you how I gained a testimony of the truth and divine nature of this great latter-day work? I’m afraid my experience isn’t very dramatic. It is not a story of heavenly hosannas or thundering shouts. It is not a story of lightning, fire, or flood.
But I have always known the reality and goodness of God.
From my earliest memories it was there—a sure and abiding testimony of this great work. Sometimes that assurance comes when we feel the love of the Savior when we meet His servants. I remember when I was just five years old and my family moved into a new ward. That first Sunday, Bishop Charles E. Forsberg, who was born in Sweden, came up to me and called me by name. I knew then.
During the cold and gray days of the Great Depression I remember a wonderful servant of the Savior by the name of C. Perry Erickson. Brother Erickson, a contractor, had a difficult time finding work. He could have shut himself up. He could have become bitter and angry. He could have given up. Instead, when I was 12 he was my Scoutmaster. He spent countless hours helping me and others my age to learn, to grow, and to approach every difficulty with confidence and optimism. Without exception, every one of C. Perry Erickson’s Scouts received an Eagle award. I knew then.
Yes, the testimonies of priesthood leaders and faithful ward members helped me to know.
I remember the words of my mother and father. I remember their expressions of faith and love for their Heavenly Father. I knew then.
I knew the reality of the Savior’s compassion when, at the request of my father, the bishop of the ward, I delivered food and clothing to the widows and poor of the ward.
I knew, when as a young father, my wife and I gathered our children around us and expressed our gratitude to our Heavenly Father for our many blessings.
I knew last April, when I heard from this pulpit the words of our prophet, President Gordon B. Hinckley, who called Jesus his friend, exemplar, leader, Savior, and King.
President Hinckley said: “Through giving His life in pain and unspeakable suffering, He has reached down to lift me and each of us and all the sons and daughters of God from the abyss of eternal darkness following death. He has provided something better—a sphere of light and understanding, growth and beauty.”
Now, I would like to bear my testimony—I know that Joseph Smith saw what he said he saw, that the heavens opened and God the Father and His Son, Jesus Christ, appeared to an unlearned youth reared in the backwoods of New York.
As a special witness of the name of Jesus Christ in all the world, I promise you that if you seek the Lord, you will find Him. Ask, and you shall receive.
I pray that you may do so and testify to the ends of the earth that the gospel of our Lord and Savior is restored to man! In the name of my friend, my exemplar, my Savior and King, Jesus Christ, amen.

Students in the early-morning seminary classes in Irvine California used the Old Testament to inspire a service project. When they read the account of Elisha helping Naaman be cured of leprosy, they decided to find out about the disease. They were surprised to discover that between 11 and 15 million people still suffer from leprosy today. They also found out that the World Health Organization has approved a drug that has a 99 percent cure rate for leprosy. The drug treatments cost $150 per person.
The students knew what they wanted to do. They organized a read-a-thon, where sponsors promised to pay them for each book they read in the Old Testament. Their goal was to raise $150 to pay for one child’s treatment. But enthusiasm grew, and at the end of their project they had raised $1,100, enough to provide treatment for seven children.

Some weeks later, I had a vivid dream. My three boys had climbed to the top of a cliff. As they stepped to the edge, I felt powerless to keep them safe. Any of them could make a choice at any moment that would lead to a deadly fall. I cried out to God in fear.
I awoke with my heart pounding. I rolled out of bed to pray that Heavenly Father would protect my sons—not from a physical fall but from a spiritual one that now felt just as real.
The Spirit prompted me to open the Pearl of Great Price. His guidance took me on a spiritual journey through the story of Enoch (see Moses 7:21–67). As I read, I realized that our Heavenly Father watches us make choices that could lead us over the ledge toward spiritual death. With my dream fresh in my mind, I now had a better understanding of how hard it must be for Him to watch us make such choices (see Moses 7:28).
But I realized I could not ask God to keep my boys from falling without asking Him to take away the agency He had given them. For a brief second, I understood the draw of Lucifer’s promise that he would save everyone, including our loved ones (see Moses 4:1). But Satan’s promise was deception because it would “destroy the agency of man” (Moses 4:3). And Heavenly Father knew that if we were to become like Him, we must be able to choose to obey Him (see Moses 7:32–33).
I was stunned as I considered our Father’s unwavering commitment to our agency in spite of what it must have cost Him personally (see Moses 7:37). But where did that leave me? Was I really powerless to do anything to help them?
As my own soul ached for my children (see Moses 7:41), the Spirit whispered to me to lift up my heart and be glad (see Moses 7:44). I kept reading and was struck by the following words: “I am Messiah, the King of Zion, the Rock of Heaven, which is broad as eternity; whoso cometh in at the gate and climbeth up by me shall never fall”1 (Moses 7:53; emphasis added).
This climb was what I had just dreamed about! This promise of safety is what I had just prayed for. When I looked at our mortal journey as a climb, I realized my boys were going to slip and fall. We all do. I did. That’s why I wanted to protect them; I was afraid that if they fell off the rock, they might be so hurt that they wouldn’t want to get back up.
But as the Spirit continued to teach me, I realized that the experiences I’d had in turning back to the Savior after my falls had changed me. They created in me an appreciation for what Jesus Christ had done for me. It’s what bound me to Him now. That experience is invaluable, but it is only possible when we are free to choose to turn to Him again if we have chosen to turn away.
I now understood that I couldn’t keep my boys from making choices that would lead to a fall. But I could help them learn to recognize good choices, and I could teach them whom to turn to, not only when they made bad choices but in all things.
Nephi’s metaphor of a path helped me know how I could help my boys learn to turn to Him: “Wherefore, if ye shall press forward, feasting upon the word of Christ, and endure to the end, behold, thus saith the Father: Ye shall have eternal life” (2 Nephi 31:20; see also verse 19).
Whether we are talking about clinging to an iron rod or to a climbing rope, the safety I wanted to provide my boys is found in being connected to the Savior by relying upon His word. Instilling in them a love for the scriptures and the teachings of living prophets can give them what they need to press forward—or upward—even if they slip and fall.

We may experience hunger, for instance, but if so, we can still respond as did the widow who used the last of her meal to feed Elijah (see 1 Kings 17:8–16). Such sharing amid real deprivation and poverty is always touching. Earlier in his life, a wonderful bishop of my youth, M. Thirl Marsh, repeatedly tried to be hired at the mines during the Depression. Being underage but large of stature, he persisted and was hired, but several friends were not. Apparently, on more than one occasion after his hard day’s work, generous young Thirl shared his earnings equally with these friends until they too were hired. No wonder he was such a caring shepherd of the flock later on.

One of Heavenly Father’s most beloved tools in guiding His children is righteous grandparents. My father’s mother was such a woman. On an occasion that took place when I was too young to remember, my father was disciplining me. Observing this correction, my grandmother said, “Monte, I believe you are correcting him too harshly.”
My father replied, “Mother, I will correct my children as I want.”
And my wise grandmother softly stated, “And so will I.”
I’m pretty sure my father heard the wise guidance of his mother that day.

When my wife and I were a young married couple, we tried repeatedly to establish a firm habit of reading the scriptures together every day as a family. When our oldest child was about seven years old, we finally made it a daily habit. Reading first thing in the morning, we continued faithfully from that time forward. Once the habit was established with the other children, the younger children were eager to participate as they became old enough. Often we had to read before 6:00 a.m. because of early-morning seminary.

Young married couples are in a position to start their own righteous family traditions—holding daily family scripture study, having family prayer, and preparing their children for missions and temple marriage.

Spiritual strength frequently comes through selfless service. Some years ago, I visited the California Mission, where I interviewed a young missionary from Georgia. I recall saying to him, “Do you send a letter home to your parents every week?”

He replied, “Yes, Brother Monson.”

Then I asked, “Do you enjoy receiving letters from home?”

He didn’t answer. At length, I inquired, “When was the last time you had a letter from home?”

With a quavering voice, he responded, “I’ve never had a letter from home. Father’s just a deacon, and Mother’s not a member of the Church. They pleaded with me not to come. They said that if I left on a mission they would not be writing to me. What shall I do?”

I offered a silent prayer to my Heavenly Father: “What shall I tell this young servant of Thine, who has sacrificed everything to serve Thee?” And the inspiration came. I said, “Elder, you send a letter home to your mother and father every week of your mission. Tell them what you are doing. Tell them how much you love them, and then bear your testimony to them.”

He asked, “Will they then write to me?”

I responded, “Then they will write to you.”

We parted, and I went on my way. Months later I was attending a stake conference in Southern California when a young man came up to me and said, “Brother Monson, do you remember me? I’m the young missionary who had not received a letter from my mother or my father during my first nine months in the mission field. I’m the one to whom you said, ‘Send a letter home every week, Elder, and your parents will write to you.’” Then he asked, “Do you remember that promise, Elder Monson?”

I remembered. I inquired, “Have you heard from your parents?”

He reached into his pocket and took out a sheaf of letters with an elastic band around them, took a letter from the top of the stack and said, “Have I heard from my parents! Listen to this letter from my mother: ‘Son, we so much enjoy your letters. We’re proud of you, our missionary. Guess what? Dad has been ordained a priest. He’s preparing to baptize me. I’m meeting with the missionaries; and one year from now we want to come to California as you complete your mission, for we, with you, would like to become a forever family by entering the temple of the Lord.’” Then the young man put his hand in mine and asked, “Brother Monson, does Heavenly Father always answer prayers and fulfill Apostles’ promises?”

I replied, “When one has faith as you have demonstrated, our Heavenly Father hears such prayers and answers in His own way.”

Clean hands, a pure heart, and a willing mind had touched heaven. A blessing, heaven-sent, had answered the fervent prayer of a missionary’s humble heart.

When he was five and Matt was eight, Marilyn and I took these two aspiring athletes to see BYU play football. Shortly after the game began, a wet snowstorm blew in from the north. I took Devin in my lap and sat on the north. Matt was next and then Marilyn. The one blanket we had brought along didn’t quite cover us. The sleetlike snow continued on and on until we became cold, wet, and uncomfortable. But at the same time BYU was winning, and I could not bear the thoughts of going home. I knew that we would have to if young preschooler Devin ever started to complain.
To keep him happy, I would say things such as, “Watch that man. He will throw the ball to that man.” Or, “Watch that man kick the ball.” Amidst all this I would take out my handkerchief and wipe the water from his head. Then I’d wring the water out of the totally soaked handkerchief and wipe his head again. My tactics succeeded. Devin didn’t get discouraged, and we were able to remain.
Finally the game was nearly over. It was now obvious that BYU would defeat their arch-rivals to the north. Fittingly, at that point the storm ended, and the sun came out.
I could feel Devin stirring in my arms, and I sensed that he wanted to stand on his own legs. I undid my hold on him, and he moved away and stood on the empty seat just below our row. After he had stretched and looked around, he turned and faced me. Our eyes met, and his expression became very thoughtful. He then spoke: “Dad, you do so much for me. Isn’t there something that I can do for you?”
Emotion swelled within me as these sincere words entered my heart. Somehow it was hard for me to respond, but I was able to softly say, “Yes, there is something that you can do for me.”
His five-year-old eyes seemed much older as he asked, “What can I do?”
I put my hands on his shoulders and, looking deep into his eyes, replied, “Just be my son. Just be my son.” Somehow he seemed to understand. I pulled him close to me, and joy filled my soul. I knew then as I’ve known so many times that Devin was a winner in the ways that really matter.

May I take a few moments at this session of our conference to discuss what I believe is perhaps the most misunderstood meeting of all the meetings that convene in the Church. I refer to the bishop’s court. I would like to begin by relating a story.
The brief episode I am about to relate is true, and the facts are accurate because those who were present will never forget them.
The hour was very late; the room was quiet except for the audible sobs of a young man who had just received the verdict of a Church court. Justice had taken its true course. There was apparently no alternative. The unanimous decision, following serious deliberation, fasting, and prayer, was excommunication.
After several minutes, a weary face looked up, and the young man’s voice broke the silence as he said, “I have just lost the most precious thing in my life, and nothing will stand in my way until I have regained it.”
The process leading up to the court was not an easy one. Certainly, courage is a most important factor for every person who has seriously slipped but wants to get back on the Lord’s side.
After the meeting was finished, the communications that followed the young man’s dramatic statement of hope for the future were so reassuring. From some there were firm promises of help during the ensuing months of continuing repentance; from others a pat on the back and a handshake, with an eye-to-eye assurance that conveyed a feeling of confidence and the hand of fellowship. There was complete knowledge among all present at that meeting that all could be regained in the life of this young man if it were done in the Lord’s way.
This young man had just taken his first giant step back. As an excommunicated member of the Church and with his heart determined to make things right, he was far better off than just a few days before with his membership record intact but carrying deceit in his heart that seemed to shout the word hypocrite with every move he made toward doing something in the Church.
This episode took place a few years ago. The young man’s pledge has been fulfilled, and in my opinion, no member of the Church stands on ground more firm than the man who has had the courage to unburden himself to his priesthood authority and to set things in order with his Master. What a relief to have once again the peace of mind that “passeth all understanding.”

One morning during a windy snowstorm, we were riding in the car. Two sister missionaries were walking in the storm, and we offered them a ride. One was from Samoa. We asked them if they needed anything. The other missionary said her companion’s gloves weren’t warm enough. We had an extra pair of gloves in the car, and they fit the sister from Samoa. It warmed our hearts that we were able to do something for the missionaries who are serving the Lord.
Garrison and Kempton M., ages 10 and 8, Idaho

One day when strolling down the road on which the Bridlington meeting house stands, my mind not taken up so much as usual with the needs of the day, I took to looking at the buildings that line this very ancient of streets.
My first observation was a surprising one, when I realised there had been eight churches of different denominations on the street at some point. Many were still there, but now used for different purposes than their builders intended. I then began to wonder at what had been on the sites of new buildings squeezed between the Victorian shops and houses. My curiosity aroused, I made a visit to our local studies library, and returned many times, as I became absorbed in the history of this road that had existed since pre-Christian times.
I was fascinated and felt that maybe others of the town would be also. This thought coincided with an invitation to attend a meeting to discuss ideas for the year’s Heritage Open Days (every September thousands of volunteers in towns and cities across the country organise events to celebrate Britain’s heritage and culture). I went along and volunteered to give a talk and put on an exhibition on the history of the street. Conscious that the biggest problem in doing so is finding a location, I had previously approached the Bishop and been given permission to use the church building.
A further thought had already come into my mind- why not extend the event to include a chapel Open House? Saddened by the missionaries’ lack of success in getting people to come into the building, I felt that putting on something of a nonreligious nature could be the encouragement people needed and hopefully once in the building, they might ask questions, pick up leaflets and read things on notice boards.
The foyer had the history of the Bridlington Ward, the Church’s involvement in humanitarian aid, emergency preparedness and ‘Just Serve.’ The notice board in the baptismal font told of Christ’s original Church, the apostasy and the restoration; and our belief in the need for baptism and the form it should take. Displays on the work of Relief Society, the Young Men and Young Women’s programmes and Primary, filled the classrooms, and the Elders Quorum were on hand to give help and advice on family history and show a film about one brother’s experience of finding out more about his family than merely their names and dates.
With excellent advertising on social media, in local newspapers and free events booklets supplied by the Heritage Week organisation, seventy people attended. No one asked the missionaries for the discussions, no-one new appeared at church the following day, but one man who attended the lecture approached me and raised my spirits when he expressed his appreciation for being able to tour the building and learn something of our beliefs. Others may have felt the same, but not expressed it. Seeds were sown and continued effort and new ideas will bring results. As Christ said: "If ye have faith as a grain of mustard seed, ye shall say unto this mountain, Remove hence to yonder place; and it shall remove; and nothing shall be impossible unto you." (Matthew 17:20)

My sister and I had both been chosen to be on our school color guard (flag team). We were so excited, and we practiced daily so that we could be at the same level of expertise as the others who had been doing this for years. After a long summer of practice, it was time to take a picture of the entire color guard and marching band. For the picture the guard girls were asked to wear an outfit that was very tight and revealing. My sister and I were a little upset. We’d been taught to dress modestly, and we knew this should be no exception.
That night my sister and I made a plan. Color guard was important to us, and it was something we loved to do, but we knew that if we lowered our standards, we would be asked to do the same in the future because we’d already done it once. We knew we must be strong and stand up for what we represent, and if our coach and team couldn’t accept that, then we would quit color guard because our standards were too important to us to be changed by a sport.
The next day, after a lot of prayer that everything would turn out OK, we walked into the gym for pictures, wearing black slacks and T-shirts. The only comments we received from our teammates were that they wished they’d worn what we did because they were embarrassed to be wearing something so immodest. Even our coach agreed! My sister and I were so proud that we’d stood for what we believed in and that we could continue doing color guard! For the past two years, the uniforms had been short or sleeveless, but because we stood up for our beliefs, we’ve been able to modify them to our standards.
Though it may seem hard, if you stand up for your beliefs, the result may be something you never expected. It may not work out like it did for us, but you’ll never know if you don’t try.

When I was a young boy, my greatest desire was to play basketball. Fortunately, I had a father who was anxious to see that his son’s desire was met. Dad and I would practice the basics of passing and dribbling the basketball hour after hour in our small kitchen. I would listen to college basketball games on the radio and dream of playing college ball someday. Serving a mission was far from my mind at that time; consequently, I spent very little effort in missionary preparation. In an attempt to ensure some balance in my life, my dad—who had not held a Church calling in many years—accepted the call to serve as my Scoutmaster. He operated by the book, and due to his diligence, some of my friends and I became Eagle Scouts. I realize now that Scouting is great preparation for a mission.

The Lord also provided for me by helping me get a job at a doctor’s office. Soon I had an opportunity to certify to work in emergency care. I took the certification class, but the exam fell just two weeks after my baby was born. I had studied and attended class all through the course, but during those two weeks when I needed to study the most, I also needed to take care of my new daughter. I was overwhelmed. Without study time, I wasn’t sure I could pass the exam.
I was about to give up and not take the test, but then I realized that the Lord had blessed me with this opportunity. When I prayed, the Spirit assured me that I had done my part and I would receive the Lord’s help.
Trusting that the Lord would help me, I took the exam. I was relieved to find that it focused on material I knew best. I passed, and the increased opportunities that the emergency certification gave me were exactly what my family needed. I was able to spend more time with my children and earn more money to care for them.

Name has been changed.
I began to drink at a young age. In the country where I lived, that was socially accepted, and I felt pressure to drink to be accepted.
After I got married, my husband and I became submerged in alcoholism. This truly worried my parents. Even after my husband and I had our first child, our addiction to alcohol did not stop.
Soon after the birth of our child, I became a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and I stopped drinking and started making progress to overcome my addiction. These changes irritated my husband, and he was upset that I would not drink and party with him.
After much prayer and fasting, seeking to determine the will of the Lord, I left my husband and moved to the United States. As I strived to live the gospel of Jesus Christ, I was able to overcome my alcoholism, but I still struggled to manage my anxiety and feelings of desperation. I eventually got remarried to a fellow Church member, but I continued to struggle.
I was invited to an addiction recovery program group by a sister at church. I have no doubt that Heavenly Father is mindful of me because what I learned there was specifically for me. We discussed how the feeling of isolation is a common element for those who have experienced addiction. This isolation was something that I had imposed on myself and struggled with.
Through the addiction recovery program, I realized that I do not have to live isolated from God and others. I have the strength and the faith to face challenges and overcome them.
Now I know that I am not alone. I still attend the group meetings, and sometimes my husband attends the group meetings with me. There are people from everywhere at the online meetings, and we learn from each other’s experiences and offer support to each other. My bishop, my husband, and my children also know that I need their support.
Most of all, I know that it is through the Atonement of Christ that I can overcome my addiction.

Later this month we shall dedicate a beautiful new building on the Brigham Young University campus to the memory of a woman, Caroline Hemenway Harman. You probably have never heard of her. I would like to tell you briefly her story.
At the age of twenty-two Caroline married George Harman. They had seven children, one of whom died in infancy. Then, at the age of thirty-nine, her husband passed away and she was left a widow.
Her sister, Grace, had married her husband’s brother, David. In 1919, during the terrible influenza epidemic, David was seriously stricken, and then his wife, Grace, became ill. Caroline cared for them and their children as well as her own. In the midst of these afflictions, Grace gave birth to a son, and then she died within a few hours. Caroline took the tiny infant to her own home and there nurtured it and saved the child’s life. Three weeks later her own daughter, Annie, passed away.
By now Caroline had lost two of her own children, her husband, and her sister. The strain was too much. She collapsed. She came out of that collapse with a serious case of diabetes. But she did not slow down. She continued to care for her sister’s baby; and her brother-in-law, the child’s father, came each day to see the little boy. David Harman and Caroline were later married, and there were now thirteen children in their home.
Then five years later David suffered a catastrophe that tried to the very depths those who agonized with him. On one occasion he used a strong disinfectant in preparing seed for planting. This got on his body, and the effects were disastrous. The skin and flesh sloughed off his bones. His tongue and teeth dropped out. The caustic solution literally ate him alive.
Caroline nursed him in this terrible illness, and when he died she was left with five of her own and eight of her sister’s children, and a farm of 280 acres where she and the children plowed, sowed, irrigated, and harvested to bring in enough to provide for their needs. At this time she also was Relief Society president, a position she held for eighteen years.
While caring for her large family and in extending the hand of charity to others, she would bake eight loaves of bread a day and wash forty loads of clothes a week. She canned fruits and vegetables by the ton, and cared for a thousand laying hens to provide a little cash. Self-reliance was her standard. Idleness she regarded as sin. She cared for her own and reached out to others in a spirit of kindness that would permit no one of whom she was aware to go hungry, unclothed, or cold.
She later married Eugene Robison, who, not long afterward, suffered a stroke. For five years until his death she nursed him and cared for him in all his needs.
Finally, exhausted, her body racked by the effects of diabetes, she passed away at the age of sixty-seven. The habits of industry and hard work which she instilled in her children rewarded their efforts through the years. Her sister’s tiny baby, whom she nurtured from the hour of his birth, together with his brothers and sisters, all acting out of a sense of love and gratitude, have given to the university a substantial bequest to make possible the beautiful building which will carry her name.

At the Mandarin Branch conference of the Singapore District, President Ho stands up to speak at sacrament meeting. He relates a Chinese folktale, substituting a branch president for the wise man: The branch president advises a man who complains about the crowded conditions of his one-room home to move his duck, pig, and cow in with his family. After a few months of pandemonium, the president finally advises the man to let the animals live outside, and the man is so grateful he never complains again. An interesting sidelight of the meeting is that President Ho, as well as his counselors, Tan Su Kiong and Francis Tan, who also speak at the conference, do not have Mandarin backgrounds, though they are Chinese.

by Sister Julia SadleirGeorgia Atlanta Mission
When I was on my mission several years ago, my companion and I rented a studio apartment from Mrs. Hill, an older widow with a strict contract on what she expected while we were living there. It seemed the minute we walked in the house, she would call us to complain. We would always be nice and try harder to please her, but she would constantly find fault.
One incident stands out. We were told not to touch any cats that wandered onto her property. One day we came home and found a cat by our porch. Being an animal lover, my natural instinct took over and I picked the cat up and petted it. Within seconds the phone rang. It was Mrs. Hill, who said, “I saw that! I told you never to touch any cats on my property! I hate cats! I do not want to see this happen again.” I apologized.
Come December it was time to get into the Christmas spirit, so my companion and I made holiday-shaped sugar cookies and decorated them with colored frosting and sprinkles. We made a list of people we planned to give them to, and I said, “Why don’t we include Mrs. Hill? Who knows how she’ll react, but after all, it’s Christmas.”
We put some cookies on a plate and knocked on Mrs. Hill’s back door. When she answered, we said, “Merry Christmas!”
She was touched and also impressed that we had made them ourselves. “I never saw such beautiful cookies,” she said. “They look too pretty to eat. I will have one and save the rest for my grandchildren who are coming to visit today.” She thanked us and wished us a merry Christmas too.
We walked away and couldn’t believe that was the same Mrs. Hill. Even weeks later, she would thank us and inform us she’d told all her friends and family about the beautiful cookies.
Soon she started asking questions about our work. We invited her to take the discussions so she could learn for herself what we share with others. She gladly accepted, so we made an appointment and began teaching Mrs. Hill the gospel. Her countenance changed and she became the nicest person. She loved the Book of Mormon. When she finished it, she shared its truths with others.
It all started with a small plate of cookies. “Out of small things proceedeth that which is great” (D&C 64:33).

I would like to see a new word in the English language dictionary: “Enjoyring”. I define this as “Enduring with joy”, a result of remaining on the covenant path. Let me tell you why:
On Christmas Day 2019, we had a large group of family and friends at our home for Christmas celebrations. It was a wonderful day with joy and peace in our associations with each other. After lunch, the children acted out the Nativity, dressing up as Joseph, Mary, and all the Nativity characters.
Later, we all sat around the pool enjoying and watching fun activities. Suddenly disaster struck. Our daughter Joslyn, who was born severely handicapped with cerebral palsy, suddenly started to have an epileptic seizure. I ran to her aid, knowing from experience that there was nothing we could do but wait for it to pass. We knew that the longer the seizure lasted, the more life threatening it would be. As we supported her, I could see that she was having great difficulty breathing, and that her lips were turning blue. I remember feeling desperate, thinking to myself that we had never seen her this bad before and realised she needed to be taken to the hospital immediately.
My wife, Mandy, and I left our guests and rushed off. In the car, Joslyn’s seizure subsided, and she was able to breathe a little better, but then she had a second severe episode. While Mandy drove, I sat in the back of the car with her so I was able to give her a priesthood blessing. When we arrived at the hospital, Joslyn was in a serious condition. She was quickly admitted into the intensive care unit for medical attention.
We returned home later that Christmas night, Mandy and I both feeling physically and mentally drained. In the car ride home, we talked about how we had just abandoned our Christmas guests, but we knew they completely understood the emergency. We knew that they had all returned to their own homes, and we concluded that we would spend the rest of that night cleaning our home. But when we arrived, we were very humbled and so grateful to find our home spotlessly clean, with dishes washed and put away, floors mopped, furniture and toys put in place—everything looking perfect.
We felt such gratitude for the thoughtfulness of our family and friends as they rallied together and cleaned up. Our spirits lifted, being the beneficiaries of such kindness after a stressful experience. That night we truly felt ministered to.
Joslyn spent the next week in intensive care, she had received a priesthood blessing, she recovered, and we felt at peace.

On that same long journey around the earth, we met another friend who once was on the faculty of Brigham Young University. His children were then grown, and he and his wife concluded that rather than retire into idleness—as they could well have done, and as millions of others do—they would find some place in the world where they could help some of our Father’s children by teaching them the truths that would save them.

They found such a land. They sold their beautiful home; they sold their car; they left friends and relatives for a distant, less comfortable place. But as they cast their bread upon the waters, the Lord opened opportunities for them to teach and lift and help. No one can foretell the consequences of their pioneering.

As I have thought of this man and woman who left the comforts of home and society and friends at an age when most people want to slow down and take it easy, I have thought of the words of the Lord, “And every one that hath forsaken houses, or brethren, or sisters, or father, or mother, or wife, or children or lands, for my name’s sake, shall receive an hundredfold, and shall inherit everlasting life.” (Matt. 19:29) I have thought the same whenever I meet or hear of other elderly brothers and sisters, single or married, who either volunteer or accept calls to serve the Lord in the missions of the Church.