Gospel Story Finder

Eventually, I made my way back to BYU–Hawaii after serving a 19 month mission in L.A., a 14 month district mission in Guam, and a semester at BYU Provo. Like most return missionaries, you get thrown back into college life. I remember taking a religion class where there were more than 50 of us in a room. Mid-terms came and so, like you, we too had to take mid-term exams. Not too far into the exam, I noticed the teacher nodding his head, he then proceeded to pull people out from class. I wondered what was going on. We later learned from our teacher that the students were cheating on the mid-term. I thought to myself, “Are you serious?” Of all the classes to cheat in, it had to be this religion class. My teacher was so disappointed; you could tell in his facial expression. It was one of the saddest days in my college life. Here I thought, this is no ordinary school. This is the Lord’s University and people cheat! I thought to myself, they should be like my friend Leila. Leila was not your typical college student. She was from Tahiti and retired from working with CES. One day, she told me that she walked into her religion class; sat down to take the exam and after having read through it she realized that she did not know how to answer the questions on the exam. She wrote, “I don’t know how to answer these questions, but I live it.” She turned in her exam to the teacher and walked out of the class. She got an A for the exam.

In 2006 I returned to Taiwan to teach a short course in my research area. While there I attended church in the last area I served as a missionary. That day, immediately after I had returned from church to my hotel room, the phone rang, and the caller, who was in a different city in Taiwan, told me the following.

She said that as a part of the fiftieth anniversary of the Church in Taiwan, the members had been given a form in church meetings that very Sunday to fill out. The purpose of the form was to help them locate “lost missionaries” they hadn’t heard from for years. She and her sisters had filled out the form and had decided to put my name on it. She said that almost immediately after returning home from their church meetings, their uncle had called to say that I was in Taiwan—he had seen me at church. As a result, they were immediately able to find me!

I was speechless. My companion and I had taught this family all through the late fall and winter of 1977. We had fallen in love with them, especially the six children, who ranged from junior high school age down to a toddler. They were a wonderful family. But when I left, they had not accepted the gospel. Only later I learned that they had been baptized. As we visited on the phone that day in my hotel room, I learned that not only had they joined the Church but that almost all of the children in the family—daughters and sons alike—had served missions, had married faithful members, and were now raising their own families in the light of the gospel!

A few days after receiving that phone call I traveled to where some of the family now live so I could visit them. Upon arriving, I walked in and saw that the room contained more than forty family members! During the visit many tears—certainly many of mine—were shed.

To quote Elder Bednar:
Some may count this experience as simply a nice coincidence, but I testify that the tender mercies of the Lord are real and that they do not occur randomly or merely by coincidence. [“Tender Mercies,” 99]

I have since wondered just who that tender mercy was intended for. This family’s desire to reconnect with one of the missionaries who had taught them the gospel had been fulfilled that very day, and I had been allowed to see a part of the results of my missionary labors. I will forever love the Tan family.

I know all of this for myself. While recovering from surgery to remove two sizeable brain tumors, I experienced periods of melancholy and dismay from the emotional and mental impact of it all. I discovered that I was not as invincible as I once thought I was. Medication did not help, and a relapse or two brought additional despondency. I began to feel sorry for myself.

Then some wonderful things began to happen. Good friends and trusted Church leaders offered their support and understanding, and I began to listen to their counsel and accept their encouragement. Late one night as I shared my gloomy feelings with our youngest son, he said, “Well, Dad, I have always thought that happiness is a decision.” He is right.

I found myself increasingly expressing gratitude for all the blessings I still enjoyed. I discovered for myself that “this kind [of trial] goeth not out but by prayer and fasting” (Matthew 17:21).

I felt the strength, refreshing power, and love of the Savior. With Paul, I came to rejoice in the knowledge that tribulation, distress, and peril could not separate me from the love of Christ (see Romans 8:35).

“Why are you still inside?” Corey’s mother asked. “You always like to play in the puddles when it rains.” Corey sat on the window seat, watching the last of the rain drip-drip-drip off the roof. “I always play in the puddles with Lissa,” he said. “But we had a fight yesterday.”
“Oh?”
“She named her new kitten Mannington. I told her that was a dumb name for a cat.”
“Did you tell her you were sorry?”
Corey stuck his chin out stubbornly. “I’m not sorry,” he said. “It is a dumb name.”
Mother smiled and said, “Do you remember the name you gave the goldfish we had last year?”
Corey remembered that he had named the timid little goldfish Shark, just to be funny. “I guess it was kind of a dumb name, too,” he admitted. “I think I’ll go outside now.”
Corey spattered a few puddles with his rubber boots. He swish-swished through the water running down the gutter.
“Puddles aren’t any fun alone,” he mumbled. “There’s nobody to splash with or to help me throw big rocks in the puddles.”
He started slowly back home. He didn’t kick through the puddles. He didn’t even jump over them. He walked around them with regular, un-rainy-day steps.
In front of his house the rainwater ran along the curb like a little river. He watched the leaves scooting along like tiny boats toward Lissa’s house.
Lissa was outside playing by herself too. I know what I’ll do, Corey thought, racing into his house. In a few minutes he came back with a cardboard boat that he had made out of an old cereal box.
He launched his boat into the gutter, then hid behind a tree to watch. Bump … dip … spin. It was a rough ride, but his craft was seaworthy.
Lissa squealed happily when she saw the boat. She reached down and plucked it from the water. Then she looked up and saw Corey peeking out from behind the tree. She waved and called to him.
When he got close to her, he said, “I think Mannington is a fine name for your cat. I’m sorry I made fun of it.”
“Thanks, Corey, for telling me that.” She smiled at him and handed him the boat. “Come on—let’s see who can find the biggest puddle to splash in.”

Sylvan Lake was also the opening scene of a special early morning testimony meeting, planned and conducted by the Adventurers. The girls canoed across the lake to a quiet place away from the camp, where testimonies were borne and a special breakfast cooked.
“Not one canoe capsized!” an Adventurer boasted. “What do you think of that?”
“I didn’t think we could do it,” said another. “Not just the canoes, but the whole idea of an independent Adventurer camp.”
It was a different idea—one of several that emerged from Cam-Jam ’74—allowing the 31 Adventurers from all participating stakes and areas to organize and maintain their own campsite.
“It was great,” they agreed. “The work got done, but it was done by our schedule and according to our rules. For the first time we were really putting our camp skills to the test.”

It was a bright autumn day in 1850. Dan Bishop moved along the road, proud and pleased to have his friend Jerry Stone going with him on this drive. They were going to the big city of Philadelphia to sell his father’s flock of turkeys to Mr. Burns, the butcher, for city folks’ holiday dinners. Weather permitting, the birds would be delivered a week before Thanksgiving.
Dan was a little worried because he had always gone to market with his father, but now his father was home nursing an injured foot. “Turks are mighty skittish critters,” Dan told his friend.
Jerry watched the flock dodge about, snatching grasshoppers, crickets, worms. “Your pa seems to think we can manage.”
Dan swished a long, light pole to bring back a straying turkey. “We have to be back home before the cold weather sets in. That’s my worry.”
Jerry smiled confidently and said, “Don’t worry. We’ll make it.” Jerry had a long stick of his own to help herd the turkeys. His main job, though, was to lead the old packhorse, Bob. Bob carried camping gear and food, including corn for the birds and oats for himself, for the fifty-mile journey.
That night, over a small fire, the boys camped and ate salt pork and boiled potatoes. The turkeys went to roost in a nearby grove of maple trees. Bob was hobbled and given a bag of oats.
The second day was also fine. The birds liked the deep dust of the road and slowed the drive up by dust-bathing in it. Dan laughed. “That’s a pretty sight—those bronze, red, and green feathers and the big red wattles against the sunset.”
Going downhill went faster, but when a barking dog came at them, the birds scattered and had to be rounded up again. It was twilight when the boys saw old Mr. Birch’s place. “Pa knows him well,” said Dan. “We’ll camp here.” The birds filled up on fallen apples, and Jerry found a few good eating apples for himself and Dan.
The third day was mild, but a cold wind blew the next day. Insects were scarce, and corn had to be scattered for the turkeys. Then the wind came up. Turkey cocks don’t like the wind, so when the boys tried to force the flock onward up a steep hill, the birds began to mill about. One flew away, squawking. Soon they had all taken cover in the thick underbrush.
Again and again the boys tried to poke the turkeys out, but it was no use. Finally Jerry walked back onto the road and began to whistle a certain turkey call. One bird came out, then another and another.
Dan made a count. “All here! That was scary!”
Jerry grinned with relief. “Always heard turks were stubborn.”
Turkeys like to roost in trees, and that day they decided to roost before sundown. Dan and Jerry settled in an old, empty shed.
Pa had told Dan that turkeys often become alarmed at the whiteness of frost, and in the morning he found that it was true. He and Jerry scattered corn to gather the turkeys and get them moving. Cold corn bread and half-frozen buttermilk had to do for the boys’ own breakfast.
The frozen ground was hard on the birds’ feet, and more dogs barked at them as the farms became more numerous. The flock scattered easily. That day a cock and a hen flew over a board fence and disappeared.
“Can’t risk going after them,” Dan muttered. “Pa said we might lose a few.”
At sundown the turkeys weren’t ready to roost. A full moon with a white ring around it bathed the world in light. “That ring means snow for sure,” said Dan. “We’ll let them go on as long as we can. That way we’ll make up for lost time and get to Philly on schedule.”
When they halted at last, Jerry made a fire and began to strew warm mash. The birds stopped to eat, and the warm food made them drowsy enough to roost.
At dawn, the world was white with snow. Dan tied a thin strip of red flannel to his herding stick. After the birds had been fed, he stepped out and held up the lure. The lead cock gobbled and jumped to get the rag. Dan began to walk rapidly, and the herd followed. Jerry smiled and began to eat his cold corn bread. He would relieve Dan soon. Before long they reached Dan’s cousin’s house. Darkness came early, and it began to snow steadily.
When the turkeys had been fed and settled into a shed, the young herders went inside to greet Dan’s relatives. As they ate dinner, Dan said, “Pa said that a couple of these birds are for you. Take your pick.” The tired boys fell asleep as soon as their heads hit their pillows.
Their last day dawned clear and sunny. Dan had had his moments of doubt, but now he was feeling quite good about their adventure. “We’re old hands at turkey driving now, eh, Jerry?” said Dan. “It’s time to get the job finished.”

Normally, ten-year-old Tatiana was asleep well before her babushka (great-grand-mother). However, tonight she was worried. No matter how hard she had tried, Tatiana could not get Babushka’s eyes to smile.
Tatiana snuggled deeper into her bed on the living-room couch and wrapped the blanket more tightly around her. She even covered her ears to see if that would help muffle the sound of Babushka’s snoring. Tatiana knew she was lucky to share the living room with only Babushka. Most nights, her snoring didn’t bother Tatiana. But tonight she wanted to think, and the snoring made it hard to concentrate. She peeked out from under the blanket to see the dim outlines of the flowers on the ceiling. She thought Mama was very clever to put wallpaper on the ceiling.
However, the flowers did not make Babushka’s eyes smile. In fact, Babushka thought the wallpaper was a waste of money. Tatiana remembered scrubbing the beets to help her make borscht. While Babushka had stirred the soup, she said, “Yanichka (Little Tatiana), you could have had new shoes and a dress for less than the wallpaper cost. I want you to have the things that you love.”
“But I do love having a garden to look at when I lie on the couch,” Tatiana had replied.
Tatiana did not remember when Babushka had stopped smiling with her eyes. But once Tatiana had noticed it, she did everything she could think of to make her great-grandmother happy. She worked hard at school, helped peel potatoes, cleaned the bathroom without being asked, drew pictures of mountains and trees, sang happy songs, and tried to obey. Everyone noticed and smiled at Tatiana. Babushka smiled too, but only with her lips. She still was not truly happy.
Although she thought she would never go to sleep, the night seemed short when the sun peeked through the window and awakened her. How lovely Sundays were—everyone could sleep until it was light. And today Tatiana was going to her friend Katya’s apartment, where some American men and some neighbors would be holding a church meeting. Tatiana had never been to church before; in fact, no one at home ever talked about God at all since it had been forbidden for so many years. But now that Ukraine was an independent nation and had new laws, people were going back to church. Tatiana had been afraid her parents would not let her go, but she had begged for permission. They gave their consent, somewhat reluctantly, saying that going to church would not likely hurt her.
Then, before she left, Papa had pulled her aside. “Yanichka, remember when we saw the puppet show of Peter Pan in Donetsk? Remember when Tinker Bell was dying, and we had to clap to show that we believed in fairies?”
“Yes, and I cried.”
“Right!” Papa said. “I told you the story played with your emotions. The author made you cry on purpose. Religious teachers will work on your emotions, too. They want to make you think you believe what they say.”
“Papa, I won’t believe what they say just because they say it is so. I will pay close attention to what I know is true.”
“Good!” Papa patted Tatiana’s hand. She knew what Papa had said was important—she could not remember ever having such a serious talk with him before.
It was different with Mama. They often had important talks, and this time Mama wanted to warn Tatiana, too.
“Zaichik (Little Rabbit), you must not make any promises. They will try to get you to do so. Don’t make any promises. You come talk to me.”
“OK, Mama. No promises.”
“But you must be polite, always courteous. And here”—Mama reached in her apron pocket and pulled out a kopeck (a coin)—“they will pass a box to put money in. You must have money for the box.”
Tatiana patted her pocket that held the kopeck as she ran down the stairs. Soon she was welcomed into Katya’s apartment. She was surprised to see about fifteen people in the room. The Shushkevich family had borrowed a few stools and had pushed their own furniture against the walls to make room. Some people were sitting on the floor talking quietly and happily. The Americans were there. They were about twenty years old, and Tatiana thought Elder Samson looked very kind.
Elder Tanner stood up and called for everyone to be quiet; he talked with a foreign accent. “Brothers and Sisters, it is good to be together again. Let’s sing ‘Count Your Blessings,’ and then Brother Shushkevich will give the opening prayer.”
Tatiana was surprised that Katya’s papa knew how to pray, and she wondered why they called him “Brother Shushkevich.” But she liked the song. Part way through it, a nice warm feeling came over her; she felt as if she had been away from home and had just returned. As the meeting continued, no one tried to work her emotions. She wasn’t asked to make any promises, and nobody passed a box for her kopeck.
After the last hymn and prayer, Tatiana ran back up the stairs and down the corridor to her own apartment.
“Mama, I liked church. May I go again?”
“Perhaps. I’ll talk to Katya’s mama first.”
Tatiana decided not to plead; it didn’t seem wise. However, as the week progressed, she thought of ways to persuade Mama to let her go.
The next Sunday morning, Tatiana awoke early. She could hear Babushka snoring softly across the room and her parents talking quietly on the other side of the wall. Tatiana knew that they were still in bed. It made her feel safe, and she snuggled deeper under her blanket.
Suddenly Tatiana had a wonderful thought. She slipped out of bed and hurried to her parents’ room. “Mama, Papa,” she whispered. “I just have to go to church today—I want to take Babushka with me! Please say yes.”
Later Tatiana led Babushka into Katya’s living room and helped her to a chair. Elders Samson and Tanner came to welcome them. Babushka was pleased and smiled politely at them. Several neighbors came to greet Babushka before the meeting started. Then Elder Samson announced the song: “I Am a Child of God.”
Good! Tatiana thought. I learned it last week. I can sing, too.
The music swelled. Everyone sang in unison and with enthusiasm. The music reverberated around the room and into Tatiana’s heart. She looked at her great-grandmother and was surprised to see that she was crying. Alarmed, Tatiana reached for her hand. Babushka took her hand, squeezed it, and smiled. Then Tatiana saw something wonderful: Babushka’s eyes were smiling! Tears ran down her cheeks, but her eyes smiled.
Babushka leaned toward Tatiana. “I remember! I remember when I went to church as a little girl. I always loved going to church. It is good—so good.”

Illustration by Taia Morley
When I was 13 years old, the prophet asked Church members to read the Book of Mormon in five months, by the end of that year, and promised blessings for doing so. One day as I was reading on the bus, a girl named Cynthia sat by me and asked what the book was. I said it was the Book of Mormon and that it was a special book. I said I wanted to finish reading it before the year ended so I could receive blessings.
She started asking more questions, and I told her she could come to my house so we could talk more about it. She accepted my invitation, and we spent several hours over the following days talking about the Book of Mormon and the Church.
The next Monday, I invited her to family home evening, where I introduced her to the missionaries. They started teaching her the lessons, and she began coming to church and to all the youth activities and other Church meetings.
She decided that she wanted to be baptized, and with her parents’ permission, she was baptized on her birthday that year. She said it was the best present she’d ever received. Her mother and siblings attended the baptism. She asked me to sing “The Spirit of God” (Hymns, no. 2), and she asked my father to perform the baptism. After she came out of the water, we embraced and cried. I will never forget that day because I felt such incredible happiness.
A year later my family moved away. It was difficult because Cynthia and I had become good friends and sisters in the gospel.
Even though we don’t live close to each other anymore, we’re still great friends. We talk often on the phone, and recently she called to tell me that her mom was listening to the missionary lessons. This made me happy because before that her mom didn’t want to listen to the lessons. Cynthia told me that someday she hopes to go to church with her entire family. She thanked me for introducing her to the Church.

Not long after my baptism, I was assigned to record part of a Thai translation of a filmstrip called “The Restoration,” since there was no advanced technology in those days. A sentence that I had to read was “I am a sinner, I need the Lord.” I had pondered why I was selected to read that line. How did the Lord know what I needed? That sentence echoed in my ears silently. I knew the Lord had chosen me as one who really needed Him. He said, “I came not to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance.”1 The Lord “awakened them out of a deep sleep, and they awoke unto God.”2 I am one of those now awakened. As time goes by, I realize that repentance is a process of learning, growing and improving. Whenever I look back, I see myself as one who has been changed for the better. President Nelson taught repentance with hope, joy and love, saying, “The word for repentance in the Greek New Testament . . . means ‘change’ . . . ‘mind,’ ‘knowledge,’ ‘spirit’. . . . Thus, when Jesus asks you and me to ‘repent,’ He is inviting us to change our mind, our knowledge, our spirit . . . He is asking us to change the way we love, think, serve, spend our time, treat our wives, [and] teach our children.”3 I feel deep gratitude for Church activities that can be implemented in the home as home-centered and Church-supported gospel learning is emphasized. It helps me run to repentance and not away from it.

I had the strangest feeling when the whole family left for church without me. My mother and father didn’t make half the fuss I had expected when, just before time to leave, I announced, “I don’t want to go to meeting today.”

“Oh!” Grandma said, raising an eyebrow.

“Why not, are you sick?” Mama asked.

“Sort of,” I replied. “I’m sick of listening to long, boring talks.”

“Well, sounds as though we have only a part-time Mormon,” Papa remarked.

“I am not a part-time Mormon,” I protested. “I’m one all the time.”

“Your testimony sounds a bit shaky to me,” Papa responded.

“What does a testimony have to do with going to church anyway?” I asked.

“Everything,” my sister Laura chipped in. “If a person knows the gospel is true, she tries to do what she’s supposed to.”

“You’re preaching,” I objected.

“What will you do while we’re in church?” Mama asked.

“I’ll play with Joyce and Joan and their cousins.”

“Church is out by five. You can play with them after that,” Mother suggested.

Everyone was looking at me like I had two heads. I was annoyed. Couldn’t I be different just once? I knew plenty of kids that didn’t have to go to church, and their parents didn’t go either.

“If we wait until after church, we can’t finish our hut down by the river,” I explained.

Shaking her head, Mama sighed, “So Papa is right. We do have a part-time Mormon in the family.”

Feeling hurt, I asked, “How come?”

“Just think it over,” she answered.

And off my family went to church without me. I almost ran after them as they passed through the gate, but then I overheard Laura say, “She won’t really miss meeting. She’ll catch up with us before we reach the corner.”

Well! I’ll show her, I thought.

To prevent my weakening, I changed quickly into my old sweat shirt and jeans. Already Joan and the others were calling for me over the picket fence.

I had a strong urge to shout, “I’m not going.” Instead, I met them at the gate.

Usually going to the river was exciting, but today it wasn’t. There was still time to change my mind and attend church with my folks, for they always left early. While I stood, debating, Joyce asked, “Well, what’s bothering you? Did your old cat die or something?”

“Of course not, silly. Come on, let’s go,” I answered decisively.

I didn’t feel much like talking, so I ran ahead, making the other girls race to catch up. When we came to the river, we were winded.

The river! Big deal! I thought. It’s nothing more than a trickle through sand and rocks, and I thought it would be so great!

The sun was sizzling hot, my clothes were sticky, and a rock was in my shoe. Suddenly Joyce wailed, “Oh, look! Someone has caved our hut in.”

Sure enough! All our hard work of cutting and placing tamarack branches was wasted. The hut was a wreck.

Discouraged, I plopped down against a boulder in the shade of a black willow, shaking the gravel out of my shoes. A gnat that wouldn’t be shooed away buzzed my ears.

“Who wants a tamarack hut anyway?” I snapped.

Indignantly, with hands on her hips, Joan stood before me. “Look! Something is bothering you. What is it? You’re the one who thought the hut was so important.”

“Ah, I’m all right,” I said. “I just have some thinking to do, OK? Why don’t you all forget about me and go have some fun?”

“C’mon, let’s let the old potato sit and stew,” Joan urged. “The last one in the river is a mud turtle!”

There was a scramble as the girls pulled off their shoes and stockings, and I was left alone.

I sat and thought, If I need a testimony, I’d better do something about it. All my life I’ve heard people get up in church and say what they’re thankful for. Being thankful is important. Our Heavenly Father wouldn’t want to bless us if we weren’t thankful. But a testimony must be more than that. I thought hard.

When Joseph Smith went into the woods to pray, he saw the Father and the Son. So he had a testimony. He knew Jesus Christ was the Son of God. Hot as the day was, that thought made my skin prickle, and I shivered.

In Sunday School we had talked about an angel of God coming down and showing the gold plates to the Three Witnesses of the Book of Mormon. So of course they had testimonies.

But I had never seen an angel or seen a light or heard a voice from heaven. So that’s probably why I was in this sorry state, sitting in the dirt against an old lava rock in my grubbiest clothes, while my sisters sat in church in their crisp pink and blue dresses beside Papa, Mama, and Grandma. Then like a bolt, the thought struck me! None of my family has seen or heard anymore than I have!

I learned back against that boulder ready to cry. I wanted a testimony too! “Please help me, Heavenly Father,” I prayed.

Gradually, a sweet, sweet feeling swept through me. Why, I did have a testimony. I had always had one. If I knew Joseph knew and that the Three Witnesses knew that Jesus Christ was the Son of our Heavenly Father—then naturally I knew too. How wonderful! Tears trickled down my gritty cheeks. “Thank you, Heavenly Father,” I whispered.

I ran to the riverbank where my friends were playing. “Hey, everybody, c’mere,” I called excitedly.

“Well, look who’s come alive,” Joyce said. Eagerly they came.

“Come on, let’s go home. This is no way to spend Sunday,” I told them.

Timidly one of the cousins said, “Mama and Papa would never let us do this at home.”

“Of course they wouldn’t,” I agreed. “And we’re not coming to the river anymore on Sunday. We’ll fix that hut tomorrow.”

“Then the hut matters?” Joan asked.

“Sure it does. Tamarack huts are important.”

The family was already home when I got there. I hurried and scrubbed away my disgrace. No one paid any attention to me except Mama. “Did you have a good time at the river?” she asked.

“I suffered,” I answered.

The following Sunday was fast day, and I had been saving a surprise all week for my family. I was the first one at the pulpit when it was time to bear testimonies. I knew exactly what I was going to say.

But when I looked down at the people, their faces blurred. I was scared. My heart pounded and my throat was dry. I couldn’t remember one single word I had planned to say. Lying on the pulpit was a slip of paper with the title of the closing song, “I know That My Redeemer Lives.”

Tingling from head to toe, I took a deep breath and said, “Oh, how very much I know that my Redeemer really and truly lives.” Tears began to sting my eyes. Fearing I might cry, I could only add, “in the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.”

Reaching my seat again, I squeezed in between Laura and Papa. His big brown hand closed over mine and his smile was broad and warm.

A true story from Canada.
Crunch, crunch, crunch.
Katie’s shoes softly crunched through the snow as she walked to the workshop. When she opened the door, the familiar smell of oil and grease came from the tractor her dad had been fixing.
“How’s my Katie?” Dad asked as she stepped inside.
“I’m freezing!” She stomped the snow off her boots. “What are you making?”
He turned to his workbench. Bits of wood were scattered around a doll cradle. Katie sucked in a big breath. Could it be for her? Maybe it was for her younger sister, Jane.
“It’s so cute,” Katie said. “Is it for Jane?”
Dad shook his head no. “Do you remember Mr. Roy, the man who worked with us during harvest time?”
Katie nodded.
“He and his family found a house to rent, but they’re going through a hard time,” Dad said. “He’s worried his three little girls won’t have much of a Christmas this year. But your mom and I have some special gifts for them.”
Katie walked over to the little cradle and rocked it back and forth.
Dad smiled. “If you were a little girl, would you like this cradle?”
She laughed. “I am a little girl!”
Then Katie realized who the cradle was for. It was for Mr. Roy’s daughters!
“Can I help?”
“You can help me paint,” Dad said. His eyes sparkled.
Dad had made three cradles, one for each girl. He opened some paint cans, and Katie got to work. She painted them soft pink, baby blue, and pale yellow. With each stroke of her brush, she felt more excited.
She turned to her dad. “When I saw the first cradle, I hoped it was for me. But helping is so fun. I hope the girls love the cradles as much as I love painting them.”
On Christmas Eve, Katie and her family went to the Roys’ house.
Tap, tap, tap. Katie knocked on the door and waited. When the door opened, she saw a girl about her age with white-blonde hair and a thin yellow dress. Two younger girls peeked around her.
A moment later, Mrs. Roy appeared in the doorway too.
“Merry Christmas,” Mom said.
Katie and her family carried in the cradles, three wrapped dolls, and a big box full of Christmas food. Mrs. Roy watched, tears glittering in her eyes as each of the girls chose a cradle. Slowly the girls overcame their shyness. With faces full of wonder, they wrapped their new baby dolls in the cozy quilts Katie’s mom had made.
Katie sat by the oldest girl. “What’s your name?”
“Flossie,” the girl said.
“I’m Katie. Do you like the cradle?” she asked.
Flossie smiled big. “It’s the prettiest thing I ever had.”
“I’m glad you like it. I helped paint it!”
“Thank you,” she whispered as she wrapped her small arms around Katie.
Dad closed the door as they left the Roys’ house. He squeezed Katie’s shoulder. “What do you think the best part of Christmas is?”
Katie looked up at her dad with a smile. “I used to think it was getting a gift, but now I think maybe it’s giving a gift to someone else.”
“We all can be instruments in the Lord’s hands and act compassionately toward those in need, just as Jesus did.”
Elder Ulisses Soares, “The Savior’s Abiding Compassion,” Liahona, Nov. 2021, 14.
Illustration by Melissa Manwill Kashiwagi

“Slow down, Tobias,” cautioned Mrs. Thornock.
Obediently ten-year-old Toby ate more slowly. “Papa,” he said, “I’ve done my chores and homework. May I go see Saffron now?”
“Who is Saffron?”
“Well, Saffron is … uh … one of the canaries, Papa.”
“One of the canaries!” Papa shook his head. “What have I told you about getting attached to those birds? You know how hard it is on you when we have to choose one for the mine.”
It was 1843, and at thirty-six, Mr. Thornock was the youngest foreman ever to work for the Pennsylvania coal mine. Hard work and self-education had gained him the position, and he wanted to keep it. He went on, “You also know that the birds will die eventually because they are needed to monitor the safety of the air in the mine. In fact, we will need one on Monday when we open a new tunnel. Have you forgotten that they belong to the mine owner? Besides, the time that you spend with the canaries prevents you from studying. You had a test today. How did you do? Did you study?”
Toby hung his head as he answered, “I didn’t do very well, Papa.” Raising his head again, he continued hopefully, “But Saffron is different, Papa. Can’t I please keep her? What’s one bird? The mine owner doesn’t have to know.”
“Mr. Mallory certainly would know, Toby. You know that I have to account for all expenditures, including the money spent for the canaries and their upkeep. Besides, keeping even one bird is dishonest, and your education is more important than any bird. You must spend more time with your studies.”
“That’s right, Tobias,” Mother agreed. “When will you learn how lucky you are? It took Papa a long time to get Mr. Dawson to allow you to attend his school. How would you like to have to go down into the mine as other boys your age do and as your father did when he was younger? He had to work very hard just to become a foreman. Papa and I want more for you than that.”
“Yes, Mama.”
“Come on, Son. Let your mother do the dishes, and we’ll go choose the bird for Monday.”
Father and son went out together, but Toby’s reluctance was undisguised. More than anything else, he hated choosing a canary for the safety test.
In the building where the canaries were kept, Papa moved among the cages, commenting about this one or that one. Toby was not really paying attention, and when his father finally stopped in front of one of the cages, Toby bumped into him. When the boy lifted his head, he was horrified to see that his father was in front of Saffron’s cage.
Toby poked his father’s arm and pointed to a bird farther down. “How about that one, Papa?”
Not looking at his son, Mr. Thornock said, “No, I want this one. That other one isn’t big enough yet.” Hearing Toby gasp, he turned and looked steadily into his son’s eyes. Then he looked again at the bird. “So this is Saffron. She’s a fine bird. I’m sorry, Son, but she’s the one that I’ve chosen, and you know that I don’t change my mind once I’ve chosen a bird.”
Feeling tears come to his eyes, Toby turned and ran. His father shook his head, tagged the cage, then went back to the house.
After receiving an “I don’t know” from his wife as to his son’s whereabouts, he decided that Toby was off crying somewhere and left it at that. Sometime later Toby came home and went to his room.
The next morning was Saturday, and Toby was up and gone before his father. Because Toby had already done his chores, his father went unconcernedly to the mine.
That evening at dinner Toby was quieter than usual, and Papa finally said, “Toby, this has gone on long enough. I’m as sorry as you that we have to use those gentle birds for testing, but the men must be protected. Now, what did you do today?”
“Nothing, Papa.”
“Nothing! You must have done something.”
“No, Papa. After my chores, I just went to the creek and watched the birds and fish.”
Toby would say no more, and Papa gave up, deciding that maybe it was best to let his son talk about it when he was ready.
Sunday passed quietly, but as Toby ate his breakfast Monday morning, Papa went to get Saffron to take with him to the mine. Soon he came back into the house. “Tobias,” his father said, trying to control his anger, “where is the canary?”
Toby was afraid to look up but managed to answer him clearly. “In my secret place, Papa. I had to take her. I couldn’t let you have her.”
Glancing at the clock on the mantle, Mr. Thornock said, “I don’t want you to be late for school, so this evening you and I will have a serious talk. For now, I’ll have to choose a different bird.”
“Yes, Papa,” Toby whispered and fled the house.
All day Toby wished that school would never end. When it did let out, he slowly started home. Mrs. Wickstead, the postmistress, stopped him and gave him a letter for his father. The letter took his mind off his problems until he read the return address. It was from Mr. Mallory, the mine owner! Toby hoped that it wasn’t bad news and that maybe, because of the letter, his father would forget about Saffron.
“Well, that does it,” his father said that evening when he read the letter. “Tobias, you must bring the bird back. Mr. Mallory will be here in a few days to check on things. He says that expenses are too high and that I must cut back. I have to account for everything—even the canaries and their food. He says that if I can’t, I’ll no longer be a foreman.”
“Please, Papa. I can’t. Couldn’t you say that the bird died?”
His mother was shocked. “Tobias! You know that your father doesn’t lie.”
“Tobias, get the bird.”
“No, Papa. You can’t make me.” Tears streamed down Toby’s cheeks.
“If I can’t get through to you one way, it’ll have to be through another. Tomorrow you won’t go to school; you’ll go to the mine with me instead.”
Eyes wide and wet, Toby turned to his mother, who only lowered her eyes. The boy swallowed hard and looked again at his father. “Yes, Papa.”
Down in the mine the next morning Mr. Thornock introduced Toby to a few of the miners. He asked one of them, Mark Grayson, to show Toby around.
Mark took Toby to the newly opened tunnel and explained what Toby already knew—that when the tunnels were opened, sometimes there were poisonous gases that could kill because, having no odor, they were undetectable. “The birds are affected by the gas before we are,” Mark explained. “If the birds die, we have enough time to get everyone away so that the gas can thin out and mix with the less harmful air until it is safe to breathe. I like those birds, but I’d rather have a dead bird than be dead myself.”
That evening as Toby walked home with Papa, his thoughts were in a turmoil. He pictured Saffron down in the mine, dead from the gases. Then he imagined his father and all the miners dead in the mine. What if it actually happened! Toby loved his father very much.
After supper Toby said to his father. “Papa, I’ve put Saffron back with the other birds. And from now on I’m going to work really hard in school because I’ve decided that I want to be a scientist. I’m going to find a way so that we won’t have to use canaries.”
His father looked at him, opened his arms, and, when Toby went into them, hugged him tightly.

Feeling especially limited one day, I went to speak at a Primary on overcoming disabilities. The Primary had invited four people with disabilities to teach the children about the different handicaps that people face. Upon entering the cultural hall, I was upset that it had taken me so long to get ready that morning and that I had missed breakfast because no one was around to cook it for me. I was thinking of things that I could do if I only had more access to my physical body.
Three of the guests that the Primary had invited were in wheelchairs, and as I looked closer I noticed that one of the men was a quadriplegic with an injury like mine. I did not understand why the Primary had asked two of us to come with the same limitations. Confused, I continued to watch him, and as I did I noticed that he moved his arms when he spoke. Looking closer, I was amazed. He was using sign language—the man was deaf. He had the same disability that I had, but more than that, he was deaf. He had someone help him get dressed, cook his food, and get into his van. And on top of that, he did it all by communicating in sign language. As if that weren’t enough, the sign language he used employed his arms, for his disability, like mine, had taken from him the ability to use his hands.
His spirit refused to give up. He had limitations, but his spirit was constantly taking him outside of his barriers. In my life since my accident, I had heard people say that it would be impossible to live with such an incredible physical disability and be deaf. People probably told him the same things, but his spirit yearned to live and be functional, and so he was.
My life changed that day as his spirit inspired me to change. I left with a renewed belief in myself and in the things that I could do. He gave me the strength so that when people said I could not do something, I just asked for the chance to try. He had an indomitable spirit, and when my spirit touched his, it was inspired to be indomitable as well. All this came from a man who, unknowingly, taught me that it does not matter what our physical situation is; but what does matter is the thankful spirit with which we receive the blessings the Lord gives us. The greater man is not the one with a hundred blessings which he takes for granted, but the man with one blessing who praises his God for his bounty.

On August 15, 2007, Peru suffered a massive earthquake that all but destroyed the coastal cities of Pisco and Chincha. Like many other Church leaders and members, Wenceslao Conde, the president of the Balconcito Branch of the Church in Chincha, immediately set about helping others whose homes were damaged.
Four days after the earthquake, Elder Marcus B. Nash of the Seventy was in Chincha helping to coordinate the Church’s relief efforts there and met President Conde. As they talked about the destruction that had occurred and what was being done to help the victims, President Conde’s wife, Pamela, approached, carrying one of her small children. Elder Nash asked Sister Conde how her children were. With a smile, she replied that through the goodness of God they were all safe and well. He asked about the Condes’ home.
“It’s gone,” she said simply.
“What about your belongings?” he inquired.
“Everything was buried in the rubble of our home,” Sister Conde replied.
“And yet,” Elder Nash noted, “you are smiling as we talk.”
“Yes,” she said, “I have prayed and I am at peace. We have all we need. We have each other, we have our children, we are sealed in the temple, we have this marvelous Church, and we have the Lord. We can build again with the Lord’s help.”
This tender demonstration of faith and spiritual strength is repeated in the lives of Saints across the world in many different settings. It is a simple illustration of a profound power that is much needed in our day and that will become increasingly crucial in days ahead. We need strong Christians who can persevere against hardship, who can sustain hope through tragedy, who can lift others by their example and their compassion, and who can consistently overcome temptations. We need strong Christians who can make important things happen by their faith and who can defend the truth of Jesus Christ against moral relativism and militant atheism.

When the First Presidency announced that a new temple would be built in Tuxtla Gutiérrez, México, Church members rejoiced. One young girl was so excited she told the news to almost everyone she knew.
“Temples are where dads and moms can be married for eternity!” she told them. “Temples are where families can be sealed together forever!”
Each time she passes the temple, she announces, “That’s where I’m going to be married someday.”
Seven-year-old Íngrid Fabiola Martínez Barredo knows something about temples. When she was five years old, she and her parents were sealed as an eternal family in the México City D.F. México Temple. The trip took 18 hours each way on a bus crowded with members from their ward and stake. Like many members in Tuxtla Gutiérrez, Íngrid is thankful now to have a temple just minutes away in her own city.
Even though the long journey to the temple was uncomfortable, Íngrid and the other Primary children accompanying their parents to the temple did their best to make it pleasant. “They sang their favorite hymns and songs on the way, such as ‘Count Your Many Blessings’ and ‘I Am a Child of God,’” says Íngrid’s dad, Javier. Several members who traveled on the bus thanked the children for helping make their journey more enjoyable.
Traveling a long distance wasn’t the only sacrifice Íngrid and her family made to get to the temple. Although her dad gave his employer plenty of notice when requesting time off from work, he lost his job because he left on the temple trip. However, after returning home he was able to get a better job.
While Íngrid was waiting to be sealed to her parents, she helped the temple nursery workers care for the younger children and babies. When it was time for her to leave, the workers said, “Oh, don’t take her! She helped us so much. She put the babies to sleep.”
A couple of years after they went to the temple, Íngrid’s mother, María Carmelita, gave birth to a baby boy. Later, Íngrid’s parents had a baby girl. “Luis Fernando and Mari Carmen are children of the covenant,” Íngrid says proudly. She explains to her nonmember relatives that since her family was sealed in the temple before her baby brother and sister were born, the babies are also members of their eternal family. Íngrid loves her brother and sister and helps her mother take care of them. “She often puts them to sleep by singing Primary songs to them,” says her mom.
Her dad says with a smile, “She tells us that when she grows up, she wants to be whatever she is thinking of at the time—a doctor, an artist, a teacher.”
“But mostly she wants to be a mother,” her mom adds. “Besides helping me with the babies, she holds her dolls and hugs them and sings to them. She has told me, ‘When I’m big, I’m going to get married. And I’m going to study a lot so my children don’t lack anything.’”
Íngrid enjoys drawing pictures of animals, running races, playing ball, and riding her bicycle. She especially loves to dress up in costumes and perform folk dances.
Her bishop, Juan José Albores Gallegos, of the Las Lomas Ward, Tuxtla Gutiérrez México Stake, says Íngrid participates with great energy in Primary and in ward activities. Bishop Albores especially appreciates the care Íngrid gives younger Primary children. “She loves them and gives them her time and attention,” he says. “She plays and sings songs with them.”
Never at a loss for words, Íngrid has told her nonmember friends and relatives about the Church and has invited several of them to attend. Although none of them have joined the Church yet, she isn’t discouraged.
“Wherever we go,” her dad says, “she tells people about the Church.”
For example, when her family was invited to a picnic one Sunday, Íngrid said, “No, we can’t go on the picnic because it’s Sunday, and we are members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.” When someone offers her a drink that is not in keeping with Church standards, she says, “No, we can’t drink it.”
“Íngrid has learned a lot in Primary and in our family home evenings,” her mother says. “She is often the one to remind us to say our prayers before going to bed. ‘Did you say your prayers, Papi, Mami?’ she will ask. And at mealtime, she will say, ‘Let’s bless the food before eating.’ She is teaching us all the time.”
“On fast Sunday, Íngrid is the first in our family to get up and bear her testimony in sacrament meeting, and she bears her testimony like an adult,” says her dad. “Sometimes she’ll ask me, ‘Are you going to bear your testimony today?’ I’ll usually tell her I’m not sure, because it’s hard for me to speak in public. And she’ll tease me by saying, ‘If you don’t, I’ll call you from the pulpit to come up and do it.’ I’ll say, ‘Don’t you dare!’ She smiles happily if I do go up.”
Íngrid’s parents are thankful for her strength and example. “She makes sure we obey the commandments,” her dad says. “Maybe she understands the gospel better than I do!”

“When I was nine, my family moved to Phoenix, Arizona,” Elder Gibbons continued. “Even as a young boy I had wanted to be a court reporter. So at the age of seventeen I studied shorthand and qualified to become one. Soon after that I lost my desire to be a court reporter. However, I used the skills that I learned, both in school and in my work as an attorney.
“In 1970 Joseph Anderson, secretary to the First Presidency, was sustained as a General Authority. I was Joseph’s bishop, and he told my wife, Helen, and me of the difficulty the Brethren were having trying to get someone to replace him. They needed someone who had had administrative experience in the Church, someone who could work well with the General Authorities and who could take rapid shorthand because they don’t use recording devices in the First Presidency meetings or in the temple.
“When we got home that night, my wife said, ‘Frank, I could hardly restrain myself from telling Joseph that the man the Brethren are looking for is you.’ We prayed about it. I called Joseph the next morning and said, ‘Can I see you?’ He said, ‘Yes, why don’t you come in at ten o’clock.’ Joseph told me later that he hung up the phone, turned to his wife, Norma, and said, ‘Frank Gibbons is going to come in and offer his services to the Brethren.’ Norma said, ‘You’re mistaken. Frank wouldn’t give up his legal practice for that.’ And he said, ‘Well, we’ll see.’
“I saw Brother Anderson at the appointed time and told him ‘I just wanted you to know, Joseph, that if the Brethren have need of my services, I’m available.’
“He called me the next day and said, ‘The Brethren would like to see you in the morning.’ So I went in that Thursday morning, and the Brethren asked me how long it would take me to free myself from my law practice. I said that it would take several months. Then President Tanner asked, ‘How can you afford to do it?’ President Lee spoke up and said, ‘Frank has come to the point in life where he knows that he can’t afford not to do it.’
“When I was a teenager, the thought of learning shorthand in order to work for the First Presidency never occurred to me. But I had a strong desire to learn shorthand, and I acted on it. Likewise, you children ought to dream, have ambitions, and set goals. It doesn’t make any difference if over the years those goals change. The fact that you’re striving to attain a goal means that you’re developing skills. And you can never tell how those skills will be used in the years ahead.”

One day, I was playing a trivia game with two of my neighbors. In the game you draw a card and answer the question on it. If you answer correctly, you get to advance on the game board. I drew a card that asked this question: “One of the world’s major religions was established by a man named Joseph Smith. What is the common name for the members of this religion?” My two neighbors are not members of the Church, so they looked confused, but I had a big smile on my face. I knew the answer! I quickly said, “Mormons!” I was so surprised to read a card about my religion. I was very happy that I knew the right answer.

In my personal life, I hear Him and His whisperings when I am striving to keep the commandments of God. In all instances when I have heard the whisperings of God, it was in still and quiet moments. One experience stands out early in our marriage. We were living in Wahiawa, and I was a teacher and coach at Leilehua High School. In the Wahiawa Ward that I grew up in, I was called as a young counselor in the bishopric to my former Boy Scout leader, Bishop Wayne Chang. Circumstances for our family changed when the home we were living in and renting at the time suddenly became unavailable to us. We needed to move and to move quickly. We did everything we could to find a place to live, but nothing seemed to be available. Our stake president even gave us permission to look within the stake boundaries, and he said he would grant approval for us to continue serving in the Wahiawa Ward. Despite this offer, we were unfruitful in our efforts to find a home to live in. I remember lying in bed one evening, and in my frustration, mentally shaking my fists towards Heaven complaining to God on high, “Why aren’t you helping us? I’m doing everything that I can. Why won’t you help us?”

The very next day, I recall sitting alone in my classroom at Leilehua High School. It was during my prep period when I had no students, and I was staring at the sun shining through the open classroom door. In that state of quiet reflection, I heard the Spirit whisper to my mind, “Apply for graduate school at BYU.” I heard that whisper in my mind, and felt an excitement in my heart knowing that this communication was from God. I immediately got online and looked at the only graduate program I had thought of one day completing, a master’s degree in educational leadership. I was disheartened to see that the date for applying for this program had already passed. As soon as I noticed that date, the Spirit whispered again to me, “Call that number and see if the date is correct.” The whisper to my mind was clear. It was not an audible voice I heard with my ears, but like President Nelson stated, words were placed in my mind, coupled with a feeling of inspiration in my heart. That is how God whispers to me. I felt enlightenment upon hearing those words, so I immediately called that number. I still remember the secretary's name that answered my call. Her name was Bonnie. When I expressed my interest in applying for graduate school, but explained that I had seen the date had already passed, she said in a matter-of-fact way, “Oh, that date is not correct. We have to update the website. The deadline has been extended by two weeks. But here are the things you need to do.” I could barely contain my excitement as she listed the things I needed to do, like take the GRE, secure letters of recommendation, etc. As difficult as those things were to complete in such a short time frame, I had no doubt that I would be able to meet these deadlines because this was revelation from the Lord. And, I had great faith that I would be accepted because I knew this is what God wanted me to do. When the acceptance letter from BYU came, it was confirmation of the faith I had in the revelation that was given to me through the whisperings of the Holy Ghost. I hear His whisperings when I am striving to live the commandments and in still and quiet moments.

When I was a young bishop, an experience in our ward taught me about covenant belonging as manifested in the strengthening of one another in the Savior’s love. Ward families Hans and Fay Ritter and Larry and Tina O’Connor, along with other wonderful families, were constantly ministering to others and were beloved by all.
One day our stake president asked if I would check on the Ritters. When I arrived at their home, I noticed some sagging in the floor and a well-used kettle.
“Bishop, it’s like this,” Brother Ritter said. “Our water heater leaked, and warm water seeped through the floor. Termites came. That’s why the floor sags a little. We had to shut off the water heater, and that’s why we heat water in a kettle.”
The Ritters agreed to let me discuss their situation with our ward council. Our ward council was amazing. Members knew someone who could help with floors or walls or carpets or appliances or paint. Volunteers came and helped in countless generous ways. Among them was Larry O’Connor, a skilled builder who was frequently at the Ritters’ house.
Larry’s wife, Tina, recalled that Larry and other quorum members would sometimes go to the Ritters on Friday and stay all night. “One Saturday morning, I took them breakfast,” she said. “There was Larry coming out of a bathroom holding plumbing tools.”
Tina added that it was from men like Hans Ritter and others “that my husband learned to become a man—kind, thoughtful, tender. As my Larry served together with such good men, including in the nursery, he became an even more wonderful husband and father.”
When the house was finished, we all rejoiced.
Hans and Fay Ritter have been gone for some time, but I spoke recently with two of their sons, Ben and Stephen. They remember that the quiet service of others maintained the dignity of their father, who worked tirelessly to take care of his family.
While at a ward activity not long after the Ritters’ home was completed, Larry and Tina O’Connor received emergency word that their home was on fire. They rushed to their home and everywhere saw broken windows (to vent smoke) and punctured walls (to check for hidden flames).
“We were devastated,” Tina said. But then the ward came.
“Everyone helped,” Tina and Larry said. “The whole ward came together in love. We were there as a family.”
And who were among the first to come and the last to leave as the O’Connor home was being rebuilt? Yes, the Hans and Fay Ritter family.
Ben and Stephen are modest but remember their family coming to help the O’Connors. “We were all there together,” they said. “That’s the way service works. We all take care of each other, sometimes by helping others and sometimes by allowing others to help us.”
To me, there can be a wondrous, virtuous, harmonious circle as we strengthen each other in the Savior’s love. The O’Connors help the Ritters, the Ritters help the O’Connors, and all the while a community of Latter-day Saints is being established. Each day in myriad ways, we each need, and can offer, ministering love and support in small, simple, powerful, life-changing ways.

When Isabelle was a young girl, her dad worked in the French military. Their family moved around a lot. When she was eight, they moved to the Sahara Desert. There were no other Church members nearby, so they got permission to have the sacrament in their home.
Every Sunday, Isabelle and her family gathered in the living room and sang hymns they had memorized. Her dad blessed the bread and water for the sacrament. Then her parents and siblings took turns giving talks.
This showed Isabelle how important it was to live the gospel. Since they lived far away from other Church members, no one would have known if they stopped having church at home on Sunday. But they chose to do the right thing.
Two years later, they moved back to France, where there were more members of the Church. Isabelle was able to be baptized. Seeing her parents live the gospel in the Sahara Desert helped her testimony begin to grow. It gave her faith in God to do the right thing, even when no one was watching.