Gospel Story Finder

Whitman wrote: “The ice storm [that winter] wasn’t generally destructive. True, a few wires came down, and there was a sudden jump in accidents along the highway. … Normally, the big walnut tree could easily have borne the weight that formed on its spreading limbs. It was the iron wedge in its heart that caused the damage.

“The story of the iron wedge began years ago when the white-haired farmer [who now inhabited the property on which it stood] was a lad on his father’s homestead. The sawmill had then only recently been moved from the valley, and the settlers were still finding tools and odd pieces of equipment scattered about. …

“On this particular day, it was a faller’s wedge—wide, flat, and heavy, a foot or more long, and splayed from mighty poundings,” which the lad found in the south pasture. A faller’s wedge, used to help fell a tree, is inserted in a cut made by a saw and then struck with a sledge hammer to widen the cut.

“Because he was already late for dinner, the lad laid the wedge … between the limbs of the young walnut tree his father had planted near the front gate. He would take the wedge to the shed right after dinner, or sometime when he was going that way.

“He truly meant to, but he never did. [The wedge] was there between the limbs, a little tight, when he attained his manhood. It was there, now firmly gripped, when he married and took over his father’s farm. It was half grown over on the day the threshing crew ate dinner under the tree. … Grown in and healed over, the wedge was still in the tree the winter the ice storm came.

“In the chill silence of that wintry night, … one of the three major limbs split away from the trunk and crashed to the ground. This so unbalanced the remainder of the top that it, too, split apart and went down. When the storm was over, not a twig of the once-proud tree remained.

“Early the next morning, the farmer went out to mourn his loss. …

“Then, his eyes caught sight of something in the splintered ruin. ‘The wedge,’ he muttered reproachfully. ‘The wedge I found in the south pasture.’ A glance told him why the tree had fallen. Growing, edge-up in the trunk, the wedge had prevented the limb fibers from knitting together as they should.”

Five months ago, my wife, Diane, and I went to Africa with Elder and Sister David A. Bednar. The sixth and last country we visited was Liberia. Liberia is a great country with a noble people and a rich history, but things have not been easy there. Decades of political instability and civil wars have worsened the plague of poverty. On top of that, the dreaded Ebola disease killed nearly 5,000 people there during the latest outbreak. We were the first group of Church leaders from outside the area to visit Monrovia, the capital city, since the World Health Organization declared it safe to do so after the Ebola crisis.

On a very hot and humid Sunday morning, we traveled to a rented meeting facility in the center of the city. Every available chair was set up, totaling 3,500 seats. The final count of attendees was 4,100. Almost all who came had to travel by foot or some form of inconvenient public transportation; it was not easy for the Saints to gather. But they came. Most arrived several hours before the appointed meeting time. As we entered the hall, the spiritual atmosphere was electric! The Saints were prepared to be taught.

When a speaker quoted a scripture, the members would say the verse aloud. It did not matter—short scripture or long; the entire congregation responded in unison. Now, we do not necessarily recommend this, but it was certainly impressive that they could do it. And the choir—they were powerful. With an enthusiastic choir director and a 14-year-old young man at the keyboard, the members sang with vigor and strength.

Then Elder Bednar spoke. This, of course, was the anticipated highlight of the gathering—to hear an Apostle teach and testify. Clearly with spiritual direction, partway through his remarks, Elder Bednar stopped and said, “Do you know ‘How Firm a Foundation’?”

It seemed that 4,100 voices roared in response, “YES!”

He then asked, “Do you know verse 7?”

Again the entire group answered, “YES!”

The arrangement of the mighty hymn “How Firm a Foundation” sung by the Mormon Tabernacle Choir for the last 10 years has included verse 7, which was not sung much previously. Elder Bednar instructed, “Let’s sing verses 1, 2, 3, and 7.”

Without hesitation, the choir director jumped up and the Aaronic Priesthood–bearing accompanist immediately began to energetically play the introductory chords. With a level of conviction I have never felt before in a congregational hymn, we sang verses 1, 2, and 3. Then the volume and spiritual power was elevated when 4,100 voices sang the seventh verse and declared:
The soul that on Jesus hath leaned for repose
I will not, I cannot, desert to his foes;
That soul, though all hell should endeavor to shake,
I’ll never, no never, I’ll never, no never,
I’ll never, no never, no never forsake!10

In one of the most remarkable spiritual events of my life, I was taught a profound lesson that day. We live in a world that can cause us to forget who we really are. The more distractions that surround us, the easier it is to treat casually, then ignore, and then forget our connection with God. The Saints in Liberia have little materially, and yet they seem to have everything spiritually. What we witnessed that day in Monrovia was a group of sons and daughters of God who knew it!

If you’re ever asked how you’re dating, I hope that “intentionally” is one of your first responses. Let me try and illustrate this with an example.
More than half of my and my wife’s time dating was long-distance. I met Catherine while we were in school in Santiago, Chile. We started dating, but she moved back home to Antofagasta before I finished my degree. Because we wanted our relationship to develop, once or twice a month, I made the 20-hour bus ride back to Antofagasta on Thursday afternoons, spent weekends with Catherine (including church services), and took the bus another 20 hours back to Santiago to be at my 8:00 a.m. class on Monday morning.
On the days we couldn’t be together, we talked on the phone. Since we didn’t have cell phones at that time, I bought a phone plan that allowed me to make unlimited calls on public phones. I spent hours tethered to a phone booth, and if anyone else needed to use it, I would have to hang up and call Catherine back as soon as they were done.
Throughout this experience, because of the many obstacles in our relationship, I had to learn to be intentional about how I communicated with Catherine.
I invite you to make dating deliberate and intentional. President Russell M. Nelson has asked us to be intentional with our discipleship. We can also seek to be intentional in the way we date.
We should ask important questions:
What do you think about life, family, and most importantly, the Savior?
I know what kind of things you do and don’t like to do, but what are your feelings about the gospel?
What are your standards and morals?
Intentional questions should be accompanied by doing a variety of intentional activities. Have fun, but be sure to do spiritual things together too. Do activities that will help you understand and truly get to know each other.
After you’ve been dating for a while, it can seem like a daunting decision to choose to get married. I was still nervous right up until the moment Catherine and I were married!
Choosing to get married might be a hard decision, but it’s not a decision you make just one time. Choosing to get married means choosing to recommit to your eternal companion throughout your life and strengthening that commitment together.
When you have questions about marriage or the gospel, you should “study it out in your mind; then you must ask [the Lord] if it be right” (Doctrine and Covenants 9:8) You should also ask yourself, “Am I willing to choose to be part of this for the rest of my life?”
When I got married, some people asked me if I was nervous that I would end up getting divorced like my parents. My answer has always been no. When I got married, I decided that I would do whatever it took to make my marriage work out. That meant choosing every day to follow the Savior and be joyfully married to my wife. I chose not to let fear of divorce drive me away from a good and righteous decision.
President Jeffrey R. Holland, Acting President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, said: “Once there has been genuine illumination, beware the temptation to retreat from a good thing. If it was right when you prayed about it and trusted it and lived for it, it is right now. … Face your doubts. Master your fears. ‘Cast not away therefore your confidence.’”
The reality is that there are many of you who have very good and sincere desires to find a companion. You know this is a good and righteous desire, but when you’re struggling to find someone you’re compatible with, you feel stuck in your progress on the covenant path.
Regarding this, Sister Kristen M. Oaks said: “If you find yourself marking time waiting for a marriage prospect, stop waiting and start preparing. Prepare yourself for life—by education, experience, and planning. Don’t wait for happiness to be thrust upon you. Seek out opportunities for service and learning. And most important, trust in the Lord, ‘calling on the name of the Lord daily, and standing steadfastly in the faith of that which is to come’ [Mosiah 4:11]. And I promise as you do, happiness will come to you.”
Your journey on the covenant path has not stopped because you are not married yet. You still have your covenantal connection with the Savior. If you are struggling with rejection, loneliness, or fear, bring Him into your struggles. He will succor you. He will help you.
For some, dating with the intent to find an eternal companion will not bear fruit immediately. For others it will. No matter what, I know that God will fulfill every single promise He has made to us if we are intentional and trust in Him.
No matter where you are in the world or what is happening or not happening in your life, because of Jesus Christ, you can have joy in all circumstances. He and His teachings are always the answer.

I am 16 years old and am encountering some dangerous temptations. If I had not heard President Hinckley’s talk, I might not have known how to react to one of these.
One day at school, a friend called a group of us to come over and see something. When we went to see what she had, we discovered it was a drug, marijuana. I became pale with fear. My friend asked me to try it. Without thinking, I yelled, “You are crazy. You shouldn’t have this. Let’s go!”
My friend did not listen to me, and I began to pray silently for the power to touch the hearts of each of my friends in the group. I grabbed the package and threw it away. At first my friends were angry, but I could not contain my relief and happiness. I used the opportunity to explain that marijuana is wrong.
As we talked, I remembered what President Hinckley said about drugs, and I was able to pass on those words to my friends. I know the Spirit of the Lord was whispering to me the words I had in my heart.
Daniela Brocca, age 16,Jardim da Saúde Ward, S•o Paulo Brazil Parque Bristol Stake

In February 1847, the Saints were in Winter Quarters, preparing for their journey to the Salt Lake Valley. They were wrestling with a difficult doctrinal problem, and Brigham Young felt inadequate to solve it. One night, Joseph Smith, who had now been dead for more than two and a half years, appeared to Brigham Young in a vision. Brigham explained the problem and asked Joseph if he had any counsel.

Rather than answering the question outright, Joseph said:

Tell the people to be humble and faithful, and be sure to keep the spirit of the Lord. . . . If they will, they will find themselves just as they were organized by our Father in Heaven before they came into the world. . . .

. . . Tell the people to be sure to keep the spirit of the Lord and follow it, and it will lead them just right.14

“Another thing that I enjoyed as I was growing up was playing the piano. I studied it and played it in Church. In fact, my first calling was ward organist. I earned a music merit badge from Alvin A. Beesley, who ran a music store. He was the son of Ebeneezer Beesley, an early Church composer. Alvin Beesley was absolutely the most enthusiastic man that I have ever known. Before he signed my music merit badge, he said, ‘All right, George, I will pass you on the condition that you come and play in the Sunday School orchestra.’ I said that I would. Playing in that orchestra was a horrible experience because I didn’t know how to follow an orchestra leader. But Brother Beesley was so encouraging and so enthusiastic and so understanding with us that I suffered through it happily.”

What do you imagine when someone says the best gift ever? Toys? A bike? Some new clothes? Well, I got something better! I watched my adopted sister get sealed to my family forever.
Six months ago my family adopted a baby girl, Ava. This little infant brought so much love and joy into our house. We loved her so much that we wanted to have her sealed to our family, but we had one problem.
In our state a baby has to be six months old before you can finalize an adoption. When the court date finally arrived, we went to the judge. He said, “This baby will be yours, just as if she had been naturally born to you.” Ava was officially adopted! Jumping for joy, we got back in the car and drove to Utah to get Ava sealed to us.
I was so excited as we drove to the Bountiful Utah Temple. I was going to the temple! Ava and my older sister, Bailey, and I were taken to the children’s center in the temple. When I told the temple workers the size for my white dress, I finally realized that this was really happening.
When we walked into the beautiful sealing room, right away I felt the Spirit. I knew this was an experience that most children don’t have. I was able to be in the sealing room when Ava was sealed to my parents.
Afterward, the sealer let the five of us stay in the sealing room by ourselves. My dad pointed out the mirrors on both sides of the altar. When you stand in between both mirrors, you can see hundreds of your own reflections looking like they go on forever. This reminds us that now we are sealed for eternity. Seeing the five members of my family standing there made me feel like we would all be together forever.
Now that I have gone through this experience, I know how important temples are. When I grow up, I want to get sealed to my husband and have our children sealed to us for time and all eternity.

About a hundred years ago, Sarah Young Vance qualified as a midwife. Before she began serving the women of Arizona, a priesthood leader blessed her that she would “always do only what was right and what was best for the welfare of her patients.” Over a period of 45 years, Sarah delivered approximately 1,500 babies without the loss of a single mother or child. “Whenever I came up against a difficult problem,” she recalled, “something always seemed to inspire me and somehow I would know what was the right thing to do.”3

My wife and I tried to think of ways to help our four children remember who they are. We had a Family Home Evening lesson on obedience when they were young, I think ages 6 to 12. In that lesson we talked about the temple and how much we wanted our family to be together forever. I wrote up a contract which said, "I promise to remain worthy so that I can go to the temple with my whole family on the day that the last child gets married." Each of us signed our name to the contract. Over the years, that promise became a regular part of our family conversation. When someone would leave the house on a school trip or a sleepover, or later when they went to college or on their mission, we would say, "Remember who you are. We'll see you in the temple."

About 15 years later, in our last Family Home Evening before we left on our mission to Brazil, our children surprised us by redoing the contract. Two of the children had been married in the temple by then, and the third was engaged. We talked about it again, how we all wanted to be together in the temple on that important day, and then we renewed our promise by signing our names again. I'm happy to report that we were able to keep our contract. Our youngest daughter was married on January 12, 2007. On that day all of our children and all of their spouses were gathered in the sealing room of the Salt Lake Temple. As we looked in each other's eyes we saw tears and we saw commitment and we caught a glimpse of the Celestial Kingdom.

In April 2021, the second wave of the coronavirus outbreak swept across Fiji. My family, like many others, had to adjust quickly to all the contingency plans that were put in place to prevent the spread of the virus. Because the initial outbreak was a four-hour drive away from where I live, I didn’t think that it would have that much of an impact on my immediate family, as I was hoping that the spread would be quickly contained.
Right before the second wave of COVID hit Fiji, I had just received news of the death of my paternal grandfather. My dad, who lives on the western side of Viti Levu, wasn’t able to make it to his dad’s funeral in Suva because of the limitations in movement across Fiji as our health workers tried to contain the virus. This made me realize that the virus was a lot closer to home as it was affecting my family’s ability to physically gather in comfort for my grandfather’s funeral.
The virus continued to spread throughout Fiji. At that time, I was running a business and still had to run errands and deliveries so that I could contribute financially to my family’s income. We continued to work and put measures in place to keep our family as safe as possible. It was a difficult time trying to adjust to the changes because we couldn’t meet and gather with our extended families, which is usually what we would do on the weekends. It became mentally and emotionally challenging not being able to gather and see our families physically.
The reality of the virus hit me even more when my little family came down with flu-like symptoms. I thought to myself, “Maybe it’s just the seasonal flu that usually goes around,” but we ended up getting tested as a precautionary measure. Our results came back positive: my husband, my 18-month-old daughter, and I all had COVID-19.
The news of our positive results affected us mentally, especially for my husband and me. It felt like our symptoms grew worse and that our recovery took longer the more we dwelled on the fact that we were infected with coronavirus. Focusing on our sickness built up more fear, which crippled us mentally, emotionally and spiritually—we had no room for faith. After two weeks of being down with the virus, we realized that we weren’t showing faith in Jesus Christ because we let fear in the way by focusing on being sick. So, to counteract that, we started shifting our focus to the Saviour and the power that comes from acting on our faith in Him.
The minute we chose to have faith in Jesus Christ and to act on it, our mentality and attitude began to change, and our actions started to align with our faith. We prayed with real intent and kept expressing in our prayers that we have faith in Jesus Christ and in His ability to heal us physically. We started reading more of the scriptures and quoting scripture around the house and to each other.
We started to be a lot more optimistic, and we continued to build on hope. We didn’t feel any more fear or worry. We were happier around the house and enjoyed each other’s company. When we really started to show our faith in Jesus Christ by doing these things, we noticed that our recovery started to pick up and we were able to fully recover shortly after.
I firmly believe that faith in Jesus Christ can bring about healing power as we exercise faith in Him. We can overcome our fears and worries when we put our trust and focus on the Saviour Jesus Christ. I am so grateful that my family managed to get through COVID-19 together with the help of the Saviour’s healing power.

I was preparing for my first assignment to preside at a stake conference as a new Area Seventy when President Packer called me. He asked if it would be convenient if he attended the conference with me, and I readily accepted. When we arrived for the meetings, President Packer said to the stake president, “You are probably wondering why I am here.” He then pointed to me and said, “I am here to whip him into shape.” It wasn’t long before I realized that he meant what he said.
Following our planning meeting with the stake presidency, President Packer suggested we take our seats on the stand. It was 20 minutes before the leadership meeting was to begin. Nearly everyone was in their seats, and I leaned over to compliment the stake president. Suddenly I received an elbow in my side, and President Packer said firmly, “No talking.”
I was shocked to receive a reprimand from an Apostle, and it took me a moment to recover. As I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that he was writing some notes on a fresh notepad, including a few scriptures that he planned to share. I was filled with the Spirit as I realized that President Packer was receiving revelation for what the Lord would have him teach. President Packer’s previous general conference address came to mind, “Reverence Invites Revelation” (Ensign, Nov. 1991). It was imperative that I keep quiet so as not to interrupt the whisperings of the Spirit.
A few moments later, President Packer leaned over and asked me to have the stake president request that the organist play the prelude more reverently. She had been playing energetically and perhaps with some added fanfare. I prayed in my heart that she would not be hurt by the request, and I passed the word on. The stake president somewhat hesitatingly spoke to the sister and almost immediately the volume, tempo, and spirit of the music changed. As I listened to the prelude, I was reminded that reverent, worshipful music adds immeasurably to the spirit of a meeting.
As the congregation began singing the opening hymn, President Packer whispered to me, “Not everyone is singing. Please have the stake president stop the hymn and invite everyone to sing the hymn ‘thoughtfully’ as suggested in the hymn book. This hymn communicates an important message that we will be learning about today.” Once again I passed the message on to the stake president. The spirit of the meeting changed as the entire congregation participated in singing.
Our meetings that weekend were reverent. There was a spirit of worship. Many of us received personal revelation and communed with God. I learned that reverence truly does invite revelation. I also learned that sometimes the difference between a mediocre meeting and a powerful meeting is in the planning and in the details.

And my final example is of Karen Baker of the Aliso Creek Ward, Santa Margarita, California; she saw a need to teach her own and other neighborhood children the joy of service, so she started an organization to help. Her organization, Kids Who Care, offers children 13 and under—generally too young to volunteer on their own in community agencies—the opportunity to learn about service early. Founder Karen Baker enlisted her own younger children and invited other mothers and their children as well. Several embraced the idea, and now the regular service projects carried out by Kids Who Care involve 20 to 30 children.

Their monthly projects can range from recycling plastic trash and planting trees for an Earth Day activity to pooling their money to help provide dinners for the homeless at Thanksgiving. One of the most meaningful and enjoyable activities for the children, Sister Baker says, was taking valentines they had made to senior citizens at a retirement home.

When Kids Who Care came to the attention of syndicated columnist Elaine St. James, her comments appeared in the Los Angeles Times. The organization changed children’s focus, she wrote, from “What am I going to get?” to “What can I do for someone else?” Not only have the children become less materialistic, but “when kids are involved in service activities with their peers, it becomes a socially acceptable way to spend time and to have fun.” The parents have learned, she reported, that a monthly activity “has a much more long-lasting impact on the child than a once-a-year happening, such as serving a holiday meal at a homeless shelter. It inculcates the ‘helping others’ mentality at an early age, so it becomes a habit in a child’s life” (“These Children Help Raise Their Village,” Los Angeles Times, county edition, 13 Apr. 1998).

In the opening exercises of our priesthood meeting, the bishop announced that many of the teachers would be assigned new senior home teaching companions. Filled with the gentle excitement that accompanies such changes in assignment, I left the chapel wondering who my new companion would be. I strolled down the hallway hoping that I had been chosen as the companion of one of the young, dynamic elders in the ward. I looked in the open classrooms that lined the hallway and imagined working with a powerful, spiritual man intent on fulfilling his calling. At the end of the hallway was the Relief Society room where the high priests met.
Turning to go up the stairs, I looked into the room and my eyes caught a glance at an old man sitting in an almost tattered gray suit. He was sitting alone, thoughtfully, with his fingers intertwined. He wore round, wire-rimmed glasses and had a slightly blotchy, leathery complexion. I had seen this brother before, but I did not know him by name. And it seemed to me at the moment that he represented the companion I would like not to have. Please not him, I said to myself. He’s too old.
Upstairs the teachers quorum adviser informed me that I would be the companion to a brother Oliver Johnson. The name did not mean anything to me, but he was soon described as an elderly high priest who had round glasses, often wore a gray suit, and kept bees. That was him. That was the man I had seen downstairs a minute before. I was deeply disappointed. I reasoned that I deserved it after what I had thought about him, but that did not diminish my dissatisfaction. If anything, it made my yearning for a powerful young man—someone I knew—even greater.
Though I wanted to be a good home teaching companion, I still begrudged my assignment as the companion of this old, slow-walking, slow-talking brother. I remember in particular how critical I was of his driving. I was in the process of getting my long-awaited driver’s license, and I thought there was no better driver than myself. The first time we went out as companions, Brother Johnson drove up in a 20-year-old worn out car. In that outdated vehicle it seemed to me that he drove well below the speed limit.
But to accompany the slow, steady pace of his driving, he talked slowly and steadily, perhaps sensing my impatience and reluctance—my youth. As we visited our families monthly, I came to realize that dressed in that gray suit and tattered old hat was a man whose power was experience. He talked about the mission he and his wife had been called on. (During the course of the mission his wife had died, but after she was buried he returned to finish his calling.) He talked about Indian trails, about his bees, and about people who seemed to me to be out of another time period.
The more we talked the less critical I became. The slow driving no longer irritated me. It gave us more of a chance to talk. His old car, his funny glasses, his withered hat, and his pocket watch with the broken crystal no longer bothered me. It was as if he got younger, and as his years shed in my mind, some of them must have fallen to me.
Of all the topics we discussed, I was most drawn to Brother Johnson’s activities as a beekeeper. One early summer day, he called me and told me that he was going up the canyon to see how some of his bees were doing. He asked if I would like to come. We drove casually up the canyon, and he told me how he had started in beekeeping and what he did to help the bees produce their honey. We drove off the paved road, up a bumpy dirt road, through some streams. Periodically I had to get out, open sheep fence gates, let Brother Johnson drive through, and join him after I closed the gate.
We finally got to the hives. He gave me an old veil—a hat with material mesh that came down in front to protect my face from the bees. He told me to be sure my long-sleeved shirt (which he had warned me to wear) was buttoned at the wrists. Then he gave me some rubber bands to put around the wrists. He told me to push my pant legs inside my socks. As Brother Johnson did these things himself, he explained to me that if the bees flew or crawled up a sleeve or pant leg, they would not be able to get out, so they would become afraid and sting. I marveled that he did not wear any gloves. As he got the smoker ready with which he subdued the bees, I asked him if he got stung very often.
“Oh, you get stung every once in a while—usually if the bee gets scared or doesn’t know you. Or they may sting if you don’t know what you’re doing. And they sting if they get trapped.” As he said that he looked at me, and from beneath that distorting veil I saw the bright, shining eyes and the quick smile of one who knew what he was talking about. Brother Johnson was slow, methodical, careful as he lifted the tops off the hives and puffed in the smoke to relax the bees. Some landed on him, crawled on his gloveless hands. Some even buzzed agitatedly around his head, but he never cringed or moved away. I kept a safe distance where I could watch. I was not going to let bees crawl on me and have a chance to sting me.
Some of the hives were doing better than others, and I marveled that Brother Johnson could tell what was wrong, why some hives were not producing, and then correct the problem. He did not take any of the honey that day, but he promised me that when he did he would bring me some. He told me that you chewed the honey out of the honeycomb and spit the wax out. He said it was better than eating the honey itself because you had to work for what you got. I didn’t understand then how that could be. But once I had tried it, I knew.
A few years later in the mission field, I received a letter from my mother with a newspaper clipping. At the top of the clipping was the picture of the man who had so kindly taught me something of bees, something of aged men, and something more. The face in the picture of that obituary notice was strangely lifeless—so unlike the face I had seen in the Relief Society room the first time I remember seeing him, but much more unlike the face behind the beekeeper’s veil that day in the canyon. And though I could ask with Paul, “O death, where is thy sting?” I felt a quick pain of regret and sadness at the passing of this gentleman, this brother. And yet my mind is ever soothed by the memory of that rich, sweet honey he encouraged his bees to produce and which he gave to me—with the wax to chew out for myself.

Of all the religious festivals, Kajri Shah loved Dewali best. Tomorrow evening, on the first night of Dewali, a myriad of oil lamps would be lit throughout Bombay, transforming the city into a sea of gold. According to Hindu belief, the tiny lamps would burn for nine nights so that the goddess Lakshmi could find her way as she brought good luck for the new year to each home.
It was Kajri’s job to clean and fill the oil lamps for the holidays, and usually she and Angeli, her neighbor and best friend, helped each other. Kajri leaned over the railing. “Angeli,” she called, “come over after breakfast. We’ll do my lamps first this time.”
But Angeli said, “I forgot to tell you. Daddy got a promotion, so he bought colored electric lights for our doors and windows. We’re going to have a very special celebration tomorrow.”
Kajri’s face fell. Electric lights! The mansions on Malabar Hills were always decorated with garlands of such lights on Dewali, but those people were rich. Everyone Kajri knew set out oil lamps to guide Lakshmi and to welcome the new year.
“Besides,” Angeli continued, “oil lamps are old-fashioned, don’t you think?”
Kajri didn’t answer. She turned her back on Angeli and headed for the kitchen.
“Old-fashioned!” she muttered.
“Good morning, sleepyhead,” her mother greeted her. “Whom were you talking to?”
“Morning, Mummy (Mommy),” Kajri said. “Just Angeli—they’re putting up electric lights for Dewali.” She squatted next to her mother on the spotless floor and began rolling out the wheat dough her mother had prepared for chapati (thin, unleavened bread). She worked in silence while her mother fried the bread and spread each piece with honey.
As she cleared away the breakfast things, her mother asked, “What’s wrong?”
“Are we going to light those old oil lamps again?” Kajri asked. “They’re so—so old-fashioned!”
“Why, Kajri Shah!” her mother said indignantly. “We always use oil lamps. Besides, where would we get money for electric lights? Your father’s a clerk, not a bank president. And Raj …” Her voice trailed away.
“What about Raj?” Kajri said angrily. Her brother had gone to Ahmadabad for a job nearly three months ago, and they hadn’t heard from him yet. “He’s forgotten all about us!” She bit her lip. I shouldn’t have said that, she thought.
“You had better get started on the lamps,” her mother said softly, ignoring her daughter’s outburst.
The family had three hundred lights. Kajri had counted them last year. She had been excited then, because they had more than anyone in their neighborhood. Of course, Raj had laughed at her. She missed her brother, even though he teased her.
Kajri cleaned the small clay lamps and cut lengths of cord for wicks. Then she placed the lights around the balcony, in all the windows, and along the wall enclosing the flat rooftop. The roof was her favorite place on Dewali. At night she could see miles and miles of tiny fires glowing softly against the tar-black sky, and the sparkling rainbow of lights on Malabar Hills. Tomorrow Angeli’s house will be beautiful, she thought, and mine …
Suddenly her mother cried, “Aiiee! My dhal (lentil soup) is ruined!”
Kajri ran into the kitchen. Her mother was trying to take the lid off the leaking pressure cooker while dhal bubbled onto the burner.
“What happened?” Kajri asked.
“I don’t know,” Mother answered. “Just look at this mess!” She finally got the lid off and began stirring the dhal. “Now what? We don’t have money for a new cooker.”
“Can’t it be fixed?” Kajri asked.
“No,” Mother said, shaking her head. “The lid has cracked right through where the pressure valve fits.” She poured the remains of the soup into a copper pan and put it back onto the gas burner. “It just wore out. I’ll have to get along without it, that’s all.”
Kajri felt sorry for her mother. The pressure cooker was her mother’s prize possession because it saved her so much time in the kitchen, especially during the holidays.
Early the next day Kajri poured oil into all the lamps she had set out. “I wish Raj were here,” she murmured. They had always filled the lamps together, along with Angeli. This Dewali was so different. I don’t even feel like celebrating, she thought unhappily.
When the last lamp was filled, Kajri hurried to get ready for the special noon meal. After bathing in perfumed water, she put on her best skirt and blouse and plaited her black hair into a long braid down her back. Her mother and father, dressed in their finest clothes, were already waiting at the table, and she slipped into a chair between them.
Reaching for the bowl of steaming rice, her father said, “Everything looks delicious!”
“Well,” Mother sighed, “I guess I can get along without my pressure cooker.”
Father cleared his throat. “As soon as we can save enough money, Nilu, you will have a new pressure cooker.” He patted her hand. Kajri knew that they were both upset, partly because of the pressure cooker, but mostly because they missed her brother.
Just then someone knocked on the door. “Who can that be?” her father asked. “It’s too early for visitors.” He opened the door, and there stood Raj!
“Happy Dewali!” Raj shouted. He hugged his father, who was too surprised to say anything, and then his mother, who started to cry. Then he lifted Kajri off her feet. “How’s my favorite sister?”
“Raj! Put me down.” Kajri giggled. “I’m your only sister.”
“That’s why you’re my favorite,” he said, laughing.
After everyone had settled down, Raj explained that he was working in a textile mill. “All the workers got a whole week’s vacation for the holidays,” he said.
“Why didn’t you write?” Father asked.
“I wanted to surprise you,” Raj replied. “Besides, I was saving every rupee (about ten cents) so that I could come home.” He paused and looked at his sister. “I saved enough to buy you a Dewali present, and I bet I know what you want. Lights! Just like the ones on Malabar Hills.”
“Raj!” Kajri squealed. “Really? Can we get them right now?”
“Sure,” her brother said, “if it’s all right with Mother.”
“Go ahead,” Mother said. “I’ll keep the food warm. But hurry back.”
As they left the house, Kajri chattered excitedly, but as they neared the market, she grew quiet. “Raj,” she said at last, “Mummy needs a new pressure cooker, and, well, I can do without the lights.”
Raj looked at her thoughtfully, then pulled out his wallet and counted his money. “OK, little one,” he said. “Let’s see what Mr. Patel has in stock.”
When Kajri and Raj went home with the present for their mother, she exclaimed, “This is the best Dewali I’ve ever had. Raj is home, and I have a new pressure cooker. Now we really have something to celebrate!”
She hugged her son, but he said, “Thank Kajri. It was her idea.”
Mother hugged Kajri hard. “Thank you, dear, I know how much you wanted those lights.”
That afternoon Angeli came to visit. “I brought you a present,” she said to Kajri. “Happy Dewali.” She thrust a paper sack into her friend’s hand.
“But, Angeli,” Kajri said, her eyes shining as she pulled a string of colored lights out of the bag, “don’t you want these?”
“Daddy bought more than we could use,” Angeli said, “and I know how much you wanted electric lights too.”
“Mother was right,” Kajri said. “This is the best Dewali. Come on. Help me string these over the front door.”
When night came, the Shah family sat on the roof to admire the soft yellow glow illuminating the city. Thousands of oil lamps flickered on rooftops while, in the distance, electric lights glittered on Malabar Hills.
“You know,” Kajri said slowly, “I think I like our old-fashioned lamps best.”
Everyone looked at her in surprise.
“They’re like stars,” she explained.
Raj burst out laughing. “Well, Mother,” he said, “I’m glad we bought the pressure cooker instead of colored lights.” “So am I,” said Kajri.

That was the year my father transplanted our family of nine from our home in Hawaii to the foreign land of Michigan. While he was enjoying a sabbatical leave at the University of Michigan, I was wearing transparent rubber galoshes, cat glasses, and a second-hand grandma coat to school, and enduring the snubs of my classmates.
I was naive and ignorant about midwest fashion. How was I to know it wasn’t kosher to wear white socks in the winter? In Hawaii we didn’t wear socks. In fact, most of the time we didn’t even wear shoes. Even if I had deciphered the fashion code, I couldn’t have done anything to remedy the problem because my father was earning half salary that year. Without money, fashion was out.
I admit I enjoyed many happy times with my family in Michigan, but nonetheless was greatly relieved when the sabbatical ended and we returned to Hawaii where fashion was largely ignored and I had many friends.

Elder Donald L. Hallstrom of the Seventy offered a present-day example in an article in the January 2006 Ensign, where he recounted the experiences of Brother Toshio Kawada and his wife Miyuki:

Like all of us, Toshio Kawada of the Obihiro Ward, Sapporo Japan Stake, has had to make crucial choices when faced with life’s difficulties. He joined the Church in 1972, and he and his wife, Miyuki, were sealed in the Laie Hawaii Temple in 1978. They have two sons. . . .

More than 20 years ago, when his family was still very young, Brother Kawada was working for his father as a dairy farmer. Tragically, one day the large barn where they kept their milk cows and all their equipment burned down. Financially devastated, his father went to the farmers’ union for a loan but was turned down. Subsequently, his father and older brother filed for bankruptcy. Although not legally responsible, Brother Kawada felt obligated to help pay back all the debts.

As Brother Kawada was pondering a solution to his problem, he decided to plant carrots. He had grown potatoes, but he did not know how to grow carrots. He planted the seeds and prayed earnestly for his carrots to grow.

All this time, Brother Kawada faithfully served in the Church, kept the Sabbath day holy, and paid his tithing. When he and his family dressed in their best clothes and went to their Sunday meetings, many neighbors scoffed at them. It was difficult to lose one day a week in their fields, especially at harvesttime. It was not always easy for them to pay their tithing, but they offered it to the Lord obediently and cheerfully.

Fall came and Brother Kawada’s carrots turned out to be unusually sweet and large, with an exceptionally rich color. He had an abundant harvest and went to the farmers’ union for help, but they refused to sell his carrots through their distribution system. He fasted and prayed and felt inspired to try to find a produce distributor in Tokyo—something that is very difficult to do without introductions or connections.

Brother Kawada was blessed to find a large distributor in Tokyo. Since then he has been very successful and has repaid all his father’s debts. He currently has a large agricultural operation with many employees, and he is teaching young farmers how to effectively organize their businesses.

Even in exceptionally trying circumstances, Brother Kawada chose to be true to the promises he made in his baptismal, priesthood, and temple covenants.

Let me read you some of Brother Kawada’s own words from his testimony:

Sometimes we worked until midnight on Saturday to keep from breaking the Sabbath. We went to church the next day, often without much sleep. Once we came home from church, and a cow had gotten caught in the pasture fence and died. There were times when we had millions of yen worth of damage to our cut hay because it had lain in the rain on the Sabbath. We knew accidents didn’t happen because it was Sunday. If you worry about that kind of thing, you would never be able to keep the Sabbath. Accidents can happen anytime. . . .

We planted carrots with great success. Finally we were getting some kind of order in our lives. With carrots, it didn’t matter if it rained or we took every Sunday off. We could make our own decisions. We could serve more easily in any calling we were called to.

In our business, we use a lot of part-time help. When we are really busy, our employees suggest that we work Sundays. I tell them that we just don’t work on Sundays. When our workers know that, they work hard and rarely take days off. On Sundays the younger workers spend the day with their children, and the older workers visit with their grandchildren.

One morning I said our family prayer. I asked that we could show Heavenly Father how kind we could be that day. Later I got upset with my brother and was sent to my room to calm down. When my mom came to talk to me, I told her I remembered what I had said in my prayer that morning and that I didn’t feel upset with my brother anymore. She said the Holy Ghost was helping me remember those words about being kind. I was able to make better choices the rest of the day. I’m grateful for prayer and for the Holy Ghost.
Maren E., age 5, Utah, USA

The moon was big and round and bright, just as it should be on the night of the Moon Festival. I held my glowing paper lantern higher, hoping that the Old Man in the Moon would see me amid the other children. The whole park gleamed with brilliant Chinese lanterns.
I dashed up the hill to where my parents and sisters sat on a blanket, nibbling moon cakes. My eldest sister, Mei Lai, was gazing at the moon. I knew that she was probably dreaming about that boy who took her to the dance last Saturday. That’s a girl for you! I thought. I’m glad that I’m not a girl.
Not that Mei Lai didn’t have a right to think about love tonight. Everyone thought about love during the Moon Festival, or Mid-Autumn Festival, the proper name that my sister preferred to call it. On this night the Old Man in the Moon supposedly wove an invisible red thread around couples who would one day get married.
Even I was thinking about love. But not that kind. I was thinking about how I could love my neighbors. My Primary teacher had told us last Sunday that we should, and ever since then, I had been wondering how I could ever do it. I couldn’t think of any neighbors in our apartment building that I even liked—especially not that new boy down the hall! Why, he didn’t even speak Chinese! The first time I saw him, I just kept looking at his eyes. I had never seen such blue eyes, except maybe on TV.
Once I had tried talking to him in the English that I was learning in school. “Where are you from?” I asked.
Looking at me oddly, he lifted up his nose and declared, “I’m an Aussie.”
Whatever an Aussie was, I certainly didn’t know. I went home and asked Mei Lai, who knew English well.
“An Aussie is someone from Australia,” she told me.
My mother’s voice interrupted my thoughts. “Sun Ling, it will soon be time to go home.”
“Oh, let me run once more through the park.”
“Well, you be careful with that lantern. Remember that you have a lighted candle in it.”
“I will.” As I sprinted down the hill, I looked up at the Old Man in the Moon to see if he was still watching me and my glistening paper lantern. I ran and ran, with my eyes turned upward toward the beautiful full moon.
Suddenly—CRASH! Was it a wall? No, it was a body. Another person and I tumbled over and over each other. It was the Aussie. When we finally stopped, we raised our tousled heads and looked at each other. I blurted out, “What are you doing here? This is a Chinese holiday!”
It was a good thing that he couldn’t understand my Chinese. I indignantly grabbed my lantern, which miraculously lay unharmed on the grass. In my mind I grumbled, Even if I wasn’t looking where I was going, it wasn’t really my fault. After all, he’s the one who doesn’t belong here.
A sizzle and a flare made us both jump up. His colorful paper lantern was in flames. My mother’s words flashed through my mind, “Be careful with that lantern.”
I looked at him. Then I cocked my head in amazement. Out of those blue, blue eyes tears were dribbling! It had never occurred to me that an Aussie could cry too.
The boy’s lips began to quiver, and he said, “My dad gave me that lantern.”
I didn’t understand all his words, but I understood what he meant. And I felt awful! I tried to remember how to say I’m sorry in English, but all my words came out in Chinese.
Suddenly, in Chinese, he said, “I’m sorry too.”
I blinked with surprise. Why he knew some Chinese words after all. He smiled at me. I smiled back.
The next day I strode into the house, banging the door happily behind me.
“What’s that huge grin for?” Mei Lai asked as she stirred vegetables and pork together in the wok.
“Oh, I’ve been learning to love my neighbor. Jim’s my friend now.”
“Who’s Jim?” she asked
“He’s the Aussie I told you about,” I replied, peering over the sizzling wok. I perched on a tall stool. “Do you know what? Before he came here, Jim had never even heard of moon cakes. So I gave him one with an egg-yolk center. When he bit into it, he sort of shriveled up his nose and tried to smile. I could tell that he didn’t like it.”
“So, do you think he’s still your friend?” Mei Lai laughed.
“Well, I did let him try a lotus-seed moon cake after that, and he ate every bit of it and smacked his lips.”
“I’m glad that you gave him something he likes,” said Mei Lai.
“I did give him one other thing that I hope he likes. I gave him my Book of Mormon.”
“Your Book of Mormon!” exclaimed my sister. “Whyever did you do that?”
“Well, because it’s the most special thing that I could share with a friend,” I answered.
“But how do you expect him to read it?” she said. “He doesn’t even read Chinese.”
“Joseph Smith translated the characters of the Book of Mormon from another language. Maybe God will give Jim the gift to translate too.”
“Look,” Mei Lai explained, “Joseph Smith was a prophet. Not everyone receives the gift to translate another language.”
I looked at my sister intently. “Mei Lai, I’m still glad that I gave the Book of Mormon to him.”
It was the week before Christmas. Someone knocked at our door, and Mei Lai opened it to blond-haired Jim. My friend didn’t see me sitting in the corner, so he spoke in English to my sister. “I read your book,” he said, holding up a blue book with Chinese characters of the Book of Mormon engraved on it.
“You read it!” she gasped. “But—but you don’t know Chinese, do you?”
“No. What I meant to say,” Jim explained, “was that my tutor read it to me. He comes every day to teach me Chinese, and so we have been reading it together. In fact, my tutor was wondering if he could get a copy of his own. Also, would it be possible to get a copy in English for my father?”
My sister finally closed her mouth from her astonishment. She smiled, motioning to me.
Jim turned and saw me. “Oh, Sun Ling,” he said in halting Chinese, “this book you gave me is very interesting. I am curious to find out more about it. Can you help me?”
“I’ll be happy to help you,” I replied slowly to make sure that he understood my words. “I can think of no better way to love my neighbor from Australia.”

On the day I received my endowment, my family and I ran into a few obstacles before we got to the temple. But despite the challenges we had getting there, once I was inside I felt that nothing mattered but the sweet and peaceful feeling of joy that comes as we perform temple ordinances. One of the greatest feelings I had that day was, “I made it! I know this is where I am supposed to be.”
I knew in my heart that I’d done everything I could to be worthy and ready to receive what Heavenly Father had prepared for me. I could feel His love and His gratitude for my desire to follow Him and make and keep covenants so that I can return to live with Him someday.

Before Cliff went overseas the colonel in charge of his unit called him into the office. He said, "Lieutenant Johnson, I see by your record that you are a Mormon. Is that right?" Cliff answered, "Yes sir." The Colonel continued "I had a Mormon boy with me over in North Africa and through Europe, a Captain Glen Cassidy. I wonder whether you knew him." Cliff said, "Yes sir, I knew him well, I went with him through school. He was a mighty fine person." The Colonel responded, "You don't need to tell me about him. He was the best officer I ever had serve under me, period."
Cliff was chosen over thirty other officers to accompany the Colonel based on the decisions made by another person to hold fast to that which is good. Likewise, decisions you make influence not only yourself, but others around you.
Cliff experienced the ugliness of war and was in several battles, including the Battle of the Bulge, the largest land battle of the war that raged from mid December 1944 through the end of January 1945. At the end of the war General John Francis Uncles, a three star general, came to inspect the outfit Cliff was in. Cliff was chosen to show the General and his staff around the camp. Afterward, General Uncles asked Cliff to be his Aide-de-camp, a position where he would assist the general in his responsibilities. Cliff responded, "Sir, I need you to know I am a Mormon, so I don't drink or smoke." The general responded, "I know that, but the job is still yours if you care to have it."
Cliff was promoted to the rank of Captain and was again experiencing change as he went from the battlefront to the general's staff. Can you imagine how the new Captain Johnson must have felt when another officer began to make fun of him because he didn't drink and smoke in the presence of General Dwight D. Eisenhower, a five star general and the Supreme Commander of the Allied Forces in Europe? What happened next would be forever etched into my father's memory. General Eisenhower rebuked the officer who had been ridiculing Cliff. General Eisenhower demanded, "You stop that for Captain Johnson! I smoke, and I wish I didn't! And I don't want you making fun at him."
One of General Uncles' responsibilities was to inspect the military establishments across Europe. Among the officers at one of the establishments was the tack officer who had kicked Cliff out of OCS. By this time Cliff outranked the lieutenant. When the general gave the outfit a showdown inspection, the tack officer looked up to Cliff and respected him. The promises given in the blessing before he entered boot camp were fulfilled. Those who would have as their purpose to destroy his ideals would be rebuked and later would come to respect him.