Gospel Story Finder

1823–1895
“I … wish to be useful to the Church.”
He was born in Spain. He traveled to Cuba, Mexico, and the United States to help people.
He met missionaries and joined the Church.
He helped translate the Book of Mormon into Spanish.
He learned that there were no schools for children who spoke Spanish in El Paso, Texas, USA. So he started a school for them and taught there for many years.
L.M. Peterson letter, Manassa, Colorado, to John Taylor, 1880, Church History Library, Salt Lake City, Utah, USA.

Then there was Picoco Primary School, where 1,300 children were being taught from just three classrooms.
“The story of these children and just three classrooms is a touching one,” said Gilberto Albano Chiburee, the director of the school.
Originally, the school’s three classrooms accommodated its 200 students. “But over a short space of time, our community flourished in numbers,” said Chiburee.
The number of students kept increasing. The primary school was strained to evenly distribute students into three sessions, the first group in the morning, the second group in the afternoon, and the third group of students in the evening.
When the number of students passed the 500 mark, Chiburee and his faculty of teachers knew that they had to do something different. They approached nonprofit organisations, government and corporations to ask for assistance, but to no avail.
So Chiburee and his staff started planting trees.
“We used these trees as makeshift classrooms because we did not have any other option. We had sought the help of various companies, nonprofit organizations, and the government but to no avail,” Chiburee said.
This predicament only made matters worse when the number of students enrolling in the school kept climbing. The first and second graders were prioritized to learn in classrooms, while third up to seventh graders learned under trees.
“It broke my heart to have children arrive as early as 6 AM only to sit on the hard and uncomfortable ground until noon. Some of the children started experiencing back problems,” an emotional Chiburee said.
The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, along with No Poor Among Us, then heard about the school and arranged to construct five new classrooms.
The news about the construction of five new classrooms was received with great excitement, many thanks, and tears from teachers, students, and locals. Chiburee expressed how thankful he was that no student of the school would be sent home as a result of rain or the wind.
The project was expected to be completed by the end of June this year. An additional 900 students will be accommodated.

At the end of 2013, two young men wearing white shirts and ties began to visit my sister twice a week. I knew right away they were from a church. For me, being part of a church wasn’t in my plans, so I decided not to talk to them.
With each of their visits, I made sure not to be home when they arrived. Something in particular, however, caught my attention. They always carried a blue book. I had never seen it before, and it seemed strange to me.
One day in the living room, my sister began telling me about the book. Suddenly, the two young men arrived. Unfortunately, I couldn’t hide from them. They saw us with the blue book—the Book of Mormon—and started asking what I knew about Jesus Christ.
As I listened to the missionaries from that day on, I was impressed by how they connected their teachings to the Book of Mormon. As a result, the blue book became less strange to me.
I still had serious doubts about it, but I started reading it. I came to understand that the Book of Mormon was not a substitute for the Bible but was desirable to change my life and bring me closer to Jesus Christ. I learned that the Book of Mormon is centered on the Savior. Its teachings helped me know who He is and who Heavenly Father is.
The Book of Mormon soon helped me become a better person, a true disciple of Jesus Christ. It also helped me improve my attitude as I faced daily challenges. From my experience studying it, I know it helps people come unto Christ and live the gospel (see Moroni 10:32). It encourages us to follow Christ’s teachings and apply them in our daily life. It gives us the knowledge that we are sons and daughters of God. It brings peace.
After several weeks of meeting with the missionaries and reading the Book of Mormon, I was baptized. I bear my testimony with all my heart that the Book of Mormon is true and that reading it brings hope and light in the darkest moments, helping us feel the Lord’s love and protection. I am grateful to have the Book of Mormon in my life.

This advice was found and followed by Joe, who had been asked to get up at 6:00 in the morning and drive a crippled child 50 miles to the hospital. He didn’t want to do it, but he didn’t know how to say no. A woman carried the child out to the car and set him next to the driver’s seat, mumbling thanks through her tears. Joe said everything would be all right and drove off quickly.

After a mile or so, the child inquired shyly, “You’re God, aren’t you?”
“I’m afraid not, little fellow,” replied Joe.
“I thought you must be God,” said the child. “I heard Mother praying next to my bed and asking God to help me get to the hospital so I could get well and play with the other boys. Do you work for God?”
“Sometimes, I guess,” said Joe, “but not regularly. I think I’m going to work for him a lot more from now on.”

I have seen such unity and love in Church congregations around the world. I experienced it when our young family moved to Beijing, China 23 years ago. We were among the 60 Church members in a city of 10 million. Branch members came to Church early to be together and prepare for the sacrament ordinance. After meetings, every visitor was invited to a home for a meal and, if you came to our home, a Sunday family home evening. Starting now and after you leave BYU-Idaho, help shape a ward culture of love and unity.

The Turay family resettled in Bo, Sierra Leone. Although there was no Church presence there, they were encouraged to stay and help establish a branch. They started a home group with only the five members of the Turay family. Not long after they started talking to people about the Church, missionaries arrived, and the first baptismal service was held in Bo. On that special day, 31 people were baptized in the Sewa River. Mohamed was soon called to preside over the new Bo Sierra Leone District. Under Mohamed’s leadership, one small branch eventually grew into four branches.

When I was in grade school, I learned about Christopher Columbus. My teacher had the class memorize "In fourteen hundred and ninety-two, Columbus sailed the ocean blue." I imagined how bold and daring he was to sail into the unknown and I wondered how he could have been so brave.
Many years later I learned Columbus did not show the most fearlessness when the Pinta, Nina, and Santa Maria set sail. His courage had been tested daily during the previous six years. He had spent those years trying to convince the kings of Portugal, Spain and England to provide the needed money and ships. Finally in 1486, he returned to the Spanish court of King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella trying to convince their educated advisors that he could succeed. These learned men didn't just tell him he was wrong; they laughed, mocked, scorned, and ridiculed him.[1] Finally, he was able to convince the king and queen to provide the money and ships.
Why didn't Columbus give up after three, four, or five years? The obvious answer for us might be that God had a foreordained mission for him. We know this from the Book of Mormon. I would like to suggest an additional reason given by Columbus himself: he recognized and responded to the prompting and knowledge given to him by the Holy Ghost. In a letter to the king and queen of Spain, he wrote, "Our Lord unlocked my mind, sent me upon the sea, and gave me fire for the deed. Those who heard of my emprise[enterprise] called it foolish, mocked me, and laughed. But who can doubt the Holy Ghost inspired me?"[2]
Then in his diary, Columbus added:
It was the Lord who put it into my mind (I could feel His hand upon me) the fact that it would be possible to sail from here to the Indies. All who heard of my project rejected it with laughter, ridiculing me. There is no question that the inspiration was from the Holy Spirit because He comforted me. . .[3]
This is a further testimony that even though the veil is drawn, Columbus was inspired to fulfill his foreordained mission and he knew the knowledge that he would succeed came from the Holy Ghost. This awareness gave him the perseverance and determination to keep trying--he called the "fire for the deed".

Bertha came into my life when I was 13 and just beginning junior high school. How well I remember that first day of school. The building was large and sprawling with endless halls and rows and rows of lockers. It seemed like a huge transit mall compared to the security of grade school. Most of the students had come on school buses from small farms and neighborhoods. This was certainly not a big city group, but we were still anxious to be popular and accepted. There were so many of us that we were going to be using the old grade school across the street for additional classrooms. I alternated between excitement and panic at the thought of finding my way around.
I had worked hard all summer babysitting and getting up at 5:00 A.M. to pick strawberries and cherries so I could earn enough money to buy nice school clothes. But even in all my fine new clothes, I felt awkward and uneasy.
My friends and I huddled together, trying to act nonchalant to hide the fear we felt but didn’t dare admit. We stood in awe as the eighth and ninth graders moved confidently through the halls laughing and teasing each other. It was a relief when the bell finally rang and we all headed to the big gym where it was announced that each seventh grader was to be assigned to an eighth grade “big brother or sister” to show them around. Each seventh grader was called, along with the name of his buddy for the day.
When my name was called along with Bertha Brown, I heard several of my friends gasp. I had no idea who Bertha Brown was, but it was obvious that some of them did. As soon as we were excused to go meet our big sisters, I was surrounded by girls telling me to hide quickly before Bertha could find me. It was clear that to be assigned to Bertha was the worst possible fate. I was so confused. Part of me said not to hide—that would be mean. But another part of me wanted to be popular, and that’s the side that won.
So the game began—the hiding, the giggling, and the running from imagined danger. We managed to escape from Bertha for the moment, but not before I caught a glimpse of her. It was true that she was not pretty. She was even a little scary to look at with her wild, dry hair. Her clothes looked like something a grandmother would wear, and her shoes were brown and ugly.
All day the big story was how poor little Sheron had to hide from Bertha. The one time that I really saw Bertha’s face she looked so sad. How could we be so mean to her? I thought. She hadn’t done anything to deserve it. There we were, a whole group of girls, running away from one lonely person. I knew that what we were doing was wrong. I didn’t want to play that awful game. What I really wanted was to talk to Bertha and tell her I was sorry. I knew that she must be embarrassed. But I wasn’t brave enough, so I let everyone else lead me. But oh, I was miserable!
Later that day I forgot about Bertha when I was called to Mrs. Jensen’s office. She had been my very favorite teacher in grade school, and now she was a counselor at the junior high. I could hardly wait to see her. All the way to her office I imagined all kinds of wonderful things. Maybe she wanted me to be her special assistant. Maybe she had something important that she wanted me to do. I almost ran through the halls in my eagerness to see Mrs. Jensen. There was nothing I wouldn’t do for her.
When I walked into her office, I could see tears in her eyes, and my heart nearly broke when she looked straight at me and said, “Of all the girls coming into seventh grade, I assigned Bertha to you because I thought that you were the one girl who would be kind to her!”
All the misery of the day came crashing down on me, and I sobbed as I realized that Mrs. Jensen did have an important assignment for me and I had failed her. I had failed Bertha. But, most of all, I had betrayed myself. The next day everyone else forgot about the game—and Bertha. I never did. I rarely saw her after that day. When I did catch a glimpse of her all alone, I wanted desperately to tell her how sorry I was. But I was too ashamed and too young in my understanding of compassion to know how much it would mean to her.
I never saw Bertha again after junior high, and yet she has been a very important part of my life. Even today I wish that I had found the courage to be her friend. How do you say you are sorry to someone that you have never spoken to and yet hurt so deeply that more than 30 years later you cannot forget?
I finally came to grips with what I had done to Bertha one Easter when I was studying about the atonement of Christ. How grateful I am to the Saviour for his sacrifice and for the realization that through his wonderful gift I can finally lay that burden down and find peace and forgiveness—not that I will forget, but that I can now use the lesson to improve my life and bless others.
Because of Bertha, I have never again knowingly been unkind to anyone, and I have tried to teach my children the same. I have a special place in my heart for those who don’t seem to fit in, for those who are lonely and forgotten. Because of Bertha it is easier for me to see beyond the surface and understand the heart of those I meet. I have tried to make it up to her by the way I treat others, but I will always wish that I could see her and say, “I’m sorry, Bertha.”

Recently Alvin received a special award for perfect attendance at seminary. Seminary for Manila’s LDS youth is usually held during afternoon or early evening, and during those hours Manila’s almost unbearable traffic is at its peak. But Alvin comes right on time.
“Alvin is not that hyperactive when it comes to class involvement,” Brother Nolan Caceres, his seminary teacher, remarks, “but when it comes to actual application of the lesson, he tries his best.”
His seminary example spills into other youth activities. The ward basketball team he plays on garnered second place in the sportsfest awards. And in activity nights at the meetinghouse? “He doesn’t fail us,” Brother Caceres answers. “He’ll be there.”

What are you doing?
Changing the air filter.
What does it do?
It’s got an important job. It keeps dirt out of the engine.
You know, you have a filter too.
What do you mean?
It’s the Holy Ghost. It helps you know when what you’re watching or reading isn’t good.
Like that movie we turned off last night?
Right! The Holy Ghost helped us keep bad stuff out of our brains—just like a filter!
Yeah, it’s not like you can throw your old brain away and get a new one at the store!

One man I came to know in the business world truly exhibited Christ-like values. Tom Monahan. Tom was an orphan. He was raised in a Catholic orphanage in Michigan. He was admitted to the University of Michigan. After studying there for a few semesters, he found that he could no longer afford the tuition and board, even with his scholarship. So, he decided to drop out and buy a pizza shop close to campus. He put up $200 for his half of the business–that’s about $2,000 in today's dollars— and his brother sold his Volkswagen to come up with $200 for the other half. A few months later, his brother sold out and asked for his $200 back.

Tom was pretty successful. He grew his pizza shop with new locations. Today, you know his company as Domino’s Pizza. It has 21,500 shops around the world.

When he became wealthy, he began to buy some of the things he had always wanted.

He bought dozens of vintage automobiles. He built a massive new office for himself in the Domino’s office building. He even bought the Detroit Tigers baseball team. They won the World Series in the first year he acquired them.

And then it hit him. He was not living by the principles and values that he had been taught in the orphanage, by the values of his Christian faith. Tom sold his cars, sold the baseball team, and moved his office to a desk next to his secretary. He even decided to sign the Millionaire’s Vow of Poverty in which he promised he would not own a luxury car nor fly first class. Finally, he decided to sell his company.

My firm decided to buy it from him. I got to do something I had never done before or since: I made out a check for over one billion dollars and signed it.

I did not expect him to do what he did next. He turned it over and then signed all that money over to Catholic charities and to Ave Maria University in Florida, a college he founded to promote the ideals of Jesus Christ.

Tom’s was one of the most sudden transformations from worldly values to Christian values that I had ever seen, first-hand. And in a small way, it reminded me of the transformation of Paul the Apostle. Tom’s commitment to his core values inspired me to do so more fully myself.

Finally, consider some more practical and spiritual kinds of lessons we have yet to learn from the Book of Mormon. As bishop of a BYU student ward, I found over and over that answers to spiritual struggles were there to be found in the Book of Mormon, but they did not sink in until we had prayerfully searched the scriptures to obtain an answer to our needs.

For example, I had one member in my ward who could not feel completely forgiven, even though she had sincerely tried. It occurred to us how Benjamin had counseled and commanded his people that they must impart of their substance to the poor in order to retain a remission of their sins from day to day (Mosiah 4:26). This turned out to be the answer. Giving offerings to the poor has long been a part of holy Israelite fast days on which they sought atonement for their sins. Perhaps here is a lesson we all should learn, a forgotten step in the repentance process, to remember the poor and the needy.

How we rejoiced when the Sydney Australia Temple was dedicated almost six years later in September 1984. We drove 1100 km to attend the temple dedication. From then on, faithful Saints from Melbourne and Brisbane regularly took weekend bus trips (12 hours each way) to the Sydney temple—leaving after work on Friday, spending Saturday in the temple and that night journeying home to arrive in time for Church on Sunday.

One of the most vital qualities of the principle of repentance is forgiveness. Unless each of us can learn to forgive others for real or imagined trespasses against us, we cannot properly repent. Lillian Watson has recorded an interesting episode from the ministry of Phillips Brooks, a great American clergyman, as he addressed his affluent, well-dressed congregation on a Sunday morning in Boston over 100 years ago:
"He looked into the faces of men and women he long had known, men and women who had come to him with their problems, who had asked for his help and guidance. How well he knew what seethed behind the pleasant, smiling mask of their Sunday-best respectability! How well he knew the petty spites that embittered their hearts, the animosities that set neighbor against neighbor, the silly quarrels that were kept alive, the jealousies and misunderstandings, the stubborn pride!
"Today his message was for those bitter, unbending ones who refused to forgive and forget. He must make them realize that life is too short to nurse grievances, to harbor grudges and resentments. He would plead for tolerance and understanding, for sympathy and kindness. He would plead for brotherly love.
"'Oh, my dear friends!' he said . . . and it was as though he spoke to each separately and alone: 'You who are letting miserable misunderstandings run on from year to year, meaning to clear them up some day; You who are keeping wretched quarrels alive because you cannot quite make up your mind that now is the day to sacrifice your pride; You who are passing men sullenly upon the street, not speaking to them out of some silly spite, and yet knowing that it would fill you with shame and remorse if you heard that one of those men were dead tomorrow morning;
"'You who are letting your friends heart ache for a word of appreciation or sympathy, which you mean to give him someday;
"'If you only could know and see and feel, all of a sudden, that the time is short, how it would break the spell! How you would go instantly and do the thing which you might never have another chance to do.'
"As the congregation poured out of church that Sunday morning, people who hadn't spoken in years suddenly smiled and greeted each other . . . and discovered it was what they had been wanting to do all along. Neighbors who had disliked and avoided each other walked home together . . . and were astonished to find how very much they enjoyed doing it. Many who had been grudging and unkind firmly resolved to be more generous in the future, more considerate of others . . . and all at once felt happier and more content, felt at peace with themselves and the world.
"'Forgive,' Phillips Brooks urged his congregation. 'Forget. Bear with the faults of others as you would have them bear with yours. Be patient and understanding. Life is too short to be vengeful or malicious. Life is too short to be petty or unkind.'"

Like many people my age, whenever the stake leaders come to our ward, I brace myself for an hour or two of lessons on morality and the danger of straying from the gospel path. I had never thought much about what they said or even really understood what it was like to get off the “strait and narrow path” until I had a rather painful experience.
My family lives out in what is affectionately referred to as “the sticks.” Next to our property are remnants of an abandoned plantation. The only secure building is a rickety old barn with a loft brimming with hay. Over the years this has become a favorite haunt of mine.
My lesson came when I was attempting to make my way towards the barn to mull over a problem a friend had asked advice on. In order to get there one must follow an almost hidden path along the stream to an old road. I had never experienced the obstacle of fallen leaves on the path before, so I was paying careful attention to the stream in order to stay at least close to the path.
After a while I felt this was unnecessarily laborious and time-consuming. I tried a shortcut, which I thought would not be a bad idea as long as I stayed within sight of the stream.
I was wrong. In the woods one cannot stray too far from the path or he will end up in an undesirable place. Well, I ended up making a wrong turn.
When I finally realized that I was going the wrong way and would not be meeting up with the stream, I did not immediately turn around and try to retrace my steps. Instead, I thought I knew what I was doing, so I fought on through the tangle of trees. Suddenly I realized I was surrounded by the largest bunch of wild rosebushes I had ever seen. Being dressed in a T-shirt, shorts, and an old pair of deck shoes, I was not overjoyed at the prospect of fighting my way out of this predicament.
My dog, Peppy, had followed and when we arrived in this area tried several times to divert my attention and show me an easy way out. But my ego would not let me follow a dog. How could he know where I wanted to go? Eventually I got to the field next to the barn and then reached my destination, but not without much struggle and pain.

Let me illustrate this point with a story. A family made plans to go on a fun trip together. They were excited to visit a new place and have some great adventures.

About halfway through their trip, their car broke down. They were sad and discouraged. They felt that all their efforts had been wasted, so they decided to go back home and start their trip all over again.

Now, you may say to yourself, that is ridiculous—why would they completely start over? But don’t we do the same thing sometimes? Sometimes we feel discouraged or falsely believe that one little mistake erases all the progress we have made. But mistakes don’t erase the progress we make as we strive to become more like Jesus Christ. As Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles explained: “Jesus Christ, the Son of God, died so that our mistakes might not condemn us and forever halt our progress. Because of Him, we can repent, and our mistakes can become stepping-stones to greater glory.” We need to be patient with ourselves and stay hopeful.

A ward Relief Society president recently shared with me the reaction of a community worker to her request to inform the sisters of local service needs. The president calmly explained that each Relief Society unit around the Church would be undertaking a project. The worker said, “You mean 18,000 groups of Relief Society women are going to do something in their local communities? Then you’ll change the world.”

We will change the world. For the better. For this journey to great heights is not any ordinary journey, any more than was Sariah’s. Ours is a quest to change ourselves, to become even truer disciples of our Lord and Savior. We will lift our eyes to the mountains and move ceaselessly towards exaltation.

And how shall we scale this mountain? One faithful step at a time. I have a good friend with whom I have often counseled over the years about some of my gravest concerns. Particularly when I begin a new task and feel unsure, she invariably says enthusiastically, “How exciting! Elaine, you can do this.” I have been grateful for her confidence. Sisters, I say today, we can do this. We will build the kingdom of God—one person and one home at a time. Married, single, older, younger, mothering, or childless, we are going to prove that Eliza R. Snow, an early and inspired Relief Society leader, was right: “There is no sister so isolated, and her sphere so narrow but what she can do a great deal towards establishing the Kingdom of God upon the earth.” (Woman’s Exponent, 15 Sept. 1873, p. 62.) We will build the kingdom of God by lighting our homes with faith, whether we live alone or with a house full of family.

For many of us, the most rugged mountains we tackle are within the walls of our homes. Since we strive to become eternal family units, we should prize our families. Dear sisters, stay close to your husband, your children, your parents, your brothers and sisters, and those who feel like family because your lives have joined. Consider them your fellow voyagers.

A woman of mighty faith joined the Church and, because of pressing economic circumstances, left her family and homeland. Her journey took her far, but her faith took her farther. When she was well into her retirement years, she was called to be the ward Relief Society president. That calling brought forth a lifetime of knowledge and skill. She was a woman of such loving faith that the sisters of her Relief Society were drawn together as she put her arms around them physically and spiritually. A young mother asked her how she developed such radiant faith. This sister replied, “Turn your back on the problems and look for the light.”

Sisters, as we climb the mountains, especially those in our own backyards, let us look to the Lord, who is the light. Show that light to your family and those who feel like family, for the brush at our feet will snag us, and obstacles will surely bruise us. But warm and steady, the light beckons us on. Follow it, knowing the challenges are real, but so is the Lord. Light a torch of faith at home and keep it burning brilliantly, even when the night is long and the journey difficult.

We shall scale our spiritual peaks with courage. Courage is a powerful tool. With it we can dig into the bedrock and stand steady, even when the footing is treacherous. I see so much of courage in you. You walk miles to church. You rebuild a home ruined by floods. You go to school, sometimes with your desk on your head. You stretch limited money so you can feed your family. You face death, survive drought, and forgive after a divorce. You repent when that’s what is needed. You let go of old habits and espouse the gospel instead. You pay tithing when your children need shoes. You live through winter without warm clothes. You raise children alone. You accept a Church calling when you have no idea how to do it. You work to feel good about yourself, even as you feel so imperfect. You reach out to someone who may not extend a hand to you. You patch up a long-standing family argument. You put your family first, even when other options entice you. Cultivate courage, for it will help you live confidently and well.

The prophet Moses told the children of Israel, who were ready to enter a new territory of many unknowns, “Be strong and of a good courage, fear not, nor be afraid … : for the Lord thy God, he it is that doth go with thee; he will not fail thee, nor forsake thee.” (Deut. 31:6.) Sisters, the Lord will not fail or forsake us.

We will climb our spiritual mountains rejoicing. Our hearts will resonate to Isaiah’s words, “For ye shall go out with joy, and be led forth with peace: the mountains and the hills shall break forth before you into singing, and all the trees of the field shall clap their hands.” (Isa. 55:12.) Each insight, each spiritual view should fill us with a spirit of thanksgiving that spills over into the lives of those around us. We sisters in Zion have the best reasons to thank the Lord.

Thank the Lord for your testimony. Thank Him for being alive now. When your challenges come, thank the Lord for your knowledge that He lives, and feel peace knowing He loves you. As you work hard, say, “The Lord doth give me exceedingly great joy in the fruit of my labors.” (Alma 36:25.) When you struggle, say, “I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me.” (Philip. 4:13.) With each new lesson learned and each answer to personal prayer, say, “I rejoice exceedingly that [my] Lord Jesus Christ hath been mindful of [me].” (Moro. 8:2.)

Today, arm in arm and hand in hand, we stand together on sand or rock or the steps of home. We look together in the direction of our heavenly home. May you, a member of Relief Society—and my sister—seek and find the loftiest, personal spiritual heights. May the peaks of spiritual awareness fill your soul with joy and inspire you to look up and to press on. And may this ascent we share witness in every home and in every nation “That he lives!” (D&C 76:22.)

In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

When the 23-year-old Heber J. Grant was installed as president of the Tooele Stake, he told the Saints that he believed the gospel was true. President Joseph F. Smith, a counselor in the First Presidency, inquired, “Heber, you said you believe the gospel with all your heart, … but you did not bear your testimony that you know it is true. Don’t you know absolutely that this gospel is true?”
Heber answered, “I do not.” Joseph F. Smith then turned to John Taylor, the President of the Church, and said, “I am in favor of undoing this afternoon what we did this morning. I do not think any man should preside over a stake who has not a perfect and abiding knowledge of the divinity of this work.”
President Taylor replied, “Joseph, Joseph, Joseph, [Heber] knows it just as well as you do. The only thing that he does not know is that he does know it.”
Within a few weeks that testimony was realized, and young Heber J. Grant shed tears of gratitude for the perfect, abiding, and absolute testimony that came into his life.

I shall never forget a lesson I learned many years ago as a boy in the little country of Wales. My family lived in a small mining village where coal not only provided us with a livelihood but was also used for cooking and was burned in the fireplaces to keep us warm when the weather was cold. So much coal was used that the chimneys would become clogged with soot, and it would be necessary to have it removed by a chimney sweep.

There was in our village a quaint little man who did this menial task. His appearance was almost repulsive. His hands were bent and gnarled, and his shoulders were bowed as if he carried a load. But the strangest thing about him was that he never talked. The only sound that left his lips, and this could only be understood by those who knew him, was the cry of “Chimney sweep, chimney sweep!” This man was Jimmy Drew.

Jimmy never bothered anyone. He would walk through the village streets with his bundle of brushes over his shoulder, calling out his strange cry. If someone accepted his services, he would sweep the chimney and load the soot into a sack that he carried away. His fee was two shillings, and the transaction was a silent one, for Jimmy was almost mute.

Ofttimes we boys in the village would make fun of Jimmy. We would walk behind him hunching up our shoulders and holding our hands like claws, just like Jimmy’s, and try to imitate his strange cry. But he didn’t seem to mind; he went about his business as if we were not there.

One day Jimmy was on our street, and as usual we proceeded to make fun of him. But it so happened that on this occasion my father came up behind us and observed what we were doing. Normally my father was a gentle man, but now he grasped my arm and unceremoniously marched me home. He took me to the big bay window from which we could see the valley below. He pointed with his finger and said to me in quite a stern voice, “Son, do you see the old Prince of Wales Colliery?”

Yes, I could see the old colliery; for as long as I could remember it had been there. The structure above the deep shaft was still there, but rust and decay were taking their toll.

The cages that lowered the coal miner down into the shaft were gone. The shaft itself was covered over with heavy boards and surrounded with a well-rusted cable. There was something about this old mine that made you feel uneasy when you were around it, and once some of us boys pried a board off the top of the shaft and dropped stones down into the inky blackness. It seemed like we waited for an age until the stones splashed into the water below.

“Yes, Father,” I replied, “I can see the old Prince of Wales.”

“Well, listen carefully,” he continued, “for I want you to always remember what I am going to tell you.”

That question was never answered, for God in his mercy had closed the mind of Jimmy Drew so that he would never tell of his terrible ordeal. I remember still how my father put his arm around me and pulled me close to him and together we shed tears.

I have never been ashamed of those tears, for even though I was only a boy, the moral of this true story was quite clear. From that day on, whenever I was tempted to ridicule any of my fellowmen who had suffered misfortune or injury at birth, I would stand once again by the big window in the little Welsh village, look down the valley to the Prince of Wales Colliery, and think of the little chimney sweep, Jimmy Drew.

For her entire life, my wife, Melinda, has tried with all her heart to be a faithful disciple of Jesus Christ. Yet, beginning in her youth, she felt unworthy of Heavenly Father’s love and blessings because she misunderstood His nature. Fortunately, Melinda continued to keep the commandments in spite of the sadness she felt. A few years ago, she had a series of experiences that helped her better understand God’s nature, including His love for His children and His gratitude for our even-imperfect efforts to do His work.
She explains how this has influenced her: “I now feel sure that the Father’s plan works, that He is personally invested in our success, and that He provides us with the lessons and experiences we need to return to His presence. I see myself and others more as God sees us. I am able to parent, teach, and serve with more love and less fear. I feel peace and confidence rather than anxiety and insecurity. Instead of feeling judged, I feel supported. My faith is more certain. I feel my Father’s love more often and more deeply.”1