Gospel Story Finder

A group of missionaries, also in Jamaica, understood their duties to teach the gospel to everyone who would hear their message. As all missionaries are, they were very dependent on their monthly checks from home, but in Jamaica the banking rules dictated that after the checks were presented at the bank for cash, a two-month waiting period had to elapse before the cash could be provided. This was very inconvenient and frustrating to the missionaries, and they agreed that it would be impossible for them to continue to endure such an arrangement. They would have to do something about it—and do something they did! The bank manager was taught the gospel, was baptized, and as a result the check-cashing problem was magically solved. Those elders knew their duty and accomplished it with faith and diligence.

Illustration by Mark Robison
Before Christmas my parents bought a box full of copies of the Book of Mormon to give to people. That was when I had the idea to take some to school and give them as presents to three of my teachers.
When I got to the music classroom, I saw my music teacher and thought, “Go ahead, Sophia. Give one to her!” I walked slowly up to my teacher. But I didn’t have the courage to give her the book.
I went to a corner of the room and prayed very quietly. “Heavenly Father, I ask Thee to help me give this book to my teacher.” When I finished my prayer, I felt very strongly that I should give the book to her. Suddenly I had courage.
I went up to her. She looked at me, and I gave her the Book of Mormon and said, “Teacher, I love you from the bottom of my heart, and I want to give you this Book of Mormon!”
She took it and looked at the cover. “Look inside!” I said. She saw that I had written a few words.
She hugged me and said, “Oh, Sophia, thank you for giving this to me!”
After I sat down, she said to the class, “Look what Sophia gave me. I am going to read it during the holidays!”
When I got home, I ran to my mother and said, “Guess what! I gave my teacher a Book of Mormon.”
She smiled and said, “That’s wonderful! You’re a great example to me, Sophia.”
We decided to pray to thank Heavenly Father for giving me the courage to give my teacher the Book of Mormon.

When I was 22 years old, I went to live with my grandmother to save money for college. I worked as a security guard, which meant that from 10:00 at night to 6:00 in the morning I walked around an empty office building, turning off coffee pots. My grandmother, however, thought I spent my nights carousing. It didn’t matter how many times I reminded her I was working; she thought I left the house every evening to hang out with all the wrong people and do all the wrong things. She worried about me constantly and told everyone she knew about her troubles. One morning I came home to find that our home teacher, Fred Van Wert, had put a sign in my bedroom saying, “Repent ye: for the kingdom of heaven is at hand.” I loved that sign. I stared at it every morning as I fell asleep and every night when I woke up. My grandmother thought it was a warning to turn me from my wicked ways. To me, it was just a reminder that she loved me.

Not long ago, a young missionary stopped by my wife’s office at the Missionary Training Center in Provo, Utah, to make a special personal request. Since he knew that we were personally acquainted with his parents, he wondered if Sister Christensen would call his father and find out when his mother was going to have her surgery. He explained, “When my youngest sister was born, my mother almost died. All of us, including my five-year-old sister, fasted for her and she got well. Since that time, I worry when I think of operations. They make me nervous. I need to know when the surgery is going to be scheduled so that I can begin my fast.”
My wife willingly dialed his father’s telephone number and asked the elder if he would like to speak personally to him. He felt he should not because he knew it was against the policies and he thought it would make him homesick. When his father answered and learned that the call was from the Missionary Training Center, his first question was, “Is anything wrong?”
“No,” he was told, “not at all, but your son needs to know when the surgery on his mother is going to be so he can begin his fast.”
“Oh,” he said, “he’s going to be disappointed, because he can’t fast before the surgery; she already had it yesterday. It lasted for five hours and she is doing very, very well. We are so thrilled.”
The elder’s face brightened as he realized what was being communicated on the telephone.
“Tell my father I love him and send him a hug and a kiss. Tell him to give my mother a hug and a kiss from me and to all the family.”
After the telephone call ended and the details about the surgery were explained, this great young elder said, “Oh, I’m so thankful; I will fast anyway for gratitude!”
My wife, Barbara, wrote in her journal, “We shook hands and he left my office, and I sat down and cried!”

Let me give you an example. One evening a few years ago, I was interviewing adults for renewal of their temple recommends. A middle-aged woman came in for her interview. She had been married in the temple and was active in the Church all her life.

I sensed a deep sadness in her soul. As the interview progressed, I received a spiritual impression. I said to her, “Sister, I have the impression that you made a serious mistake when you were a teenager that you haven’t confessed to a priesthood leader. Would you be willing to tell me about it?”

She immediately began to cry. She told me that was true, but she had always felt too embarrassed to confess it to a bishop. As she confessed what she had done, she shared sufficient detail for me to make a determination of her worthiness.

The confession of her sin to a priesthood leader marked the end of her repentance process rather than the beginning. She had unnecessarily carried the burden and sorrow of that sin for more than 30 years.

Because she had completed the final step of repentance, her guilt was swept away. I would occasionally see her after the night of that interview. Her countenance became bright, and she was happy.

I want you to know that I do not remember her name. The Lord can remove such memories from bishops. What I do remember is that through confession to her priesthood leader, a middle-aged woman was relieved of feelings of guilt that she had carried far too many years.

When I went on a mission to the British Isles, that testimony quickened. Each morning, my companion and I read the Gospel of John together, commenting on each verse. It was a wonderful, illuminating experience. That marvelous testament opens with a declaration of the divinity of the Son of God. It states:
“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.
“The same was in the beginning with God.
“All things were made by him; and without him was not any thing made that was made. …
“And the Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us, (and we beheld his glory, the glory as of the only begotten of the Father,) full of grace and truth” (John 1:1–3, 14).
I thought of that declaration much then, and I have thought of it much since. It leaves no doubt concerning the individuality of the Father and the Son. To the Son the Father gave the great responsibility of creating the earth, “and without him was not any thing made that was made.”

That testimony grew in my heart as a missionary when I read the New Testament and the Book of Mormon, which further bore witness of Him. That knowledge became the foundation of my life, standing on the footings of the answered prayers of my childhood.

Connor was hot and thirsty. He had been playing outside all morning, and his mouth was dry as he pulled open the back door. A rush of cool air greeted him, and it felt wonderful. He hurried into the kitchen to get a glass of water.
As he drank his water, he thought about the red toy helicopter he had seen in the store two weeks before. Connor couldn’t wait to finally have enough money to buy it. He had been saving his allowance money and doing extra chores ever since he had seen the helicopter.
He finished his glass of water and went into the living room to ask his mom if she had any more chores she could pay him to do.
“Mom,” he said. “Do you …”
“Shh, Connor. Wait just a minute,” Mom said. “I want to listen to this.”
Connor turned to look at the television.
On the news there were pictures of things that had been wrecked—buildings had fallen down, streets were full of stuff, and there were people who looked like they were hurt. He saw the word earthquake at the bottom of the screen, but it was in a place he’d never heard of.
“There was a terrible earthquake,” Mom explained. “Almost everything was destroyed. They have no electricity and no running water, and a lot of people are hurt and need help.”
Connor had a funny feeling in his chest. He wondered what it would be like to be thirsty and not have any water to drink, or to be hurt and not have someone to help you.
“Mom, can’t anyone help them?” he asked.
“A lot of people want to help, but right now it’s almost impossible for people to get into the country,” she said. “Most of the runways and roads are blocked or destroyed.”
“I wish there was something we could do,” Connor said. He felt sad for the people in the earthquake. Then suddenly he had an idea. “Mom, can we pray for them?” he asked.
His mom smiled. “That’s a great idea,” she said. They turned off the television and knelt on the floor. As Connor said the prayer, the sick feeling he had was replaced with a good, calm feeling.
After they said “Amen,” Connor had another idea. He knew how he could help. He ran into his room and found the jar of money he had been saving to buy the red helicopter. He took it to his mom.
“Mom, is there a way to get this money to the people in the earthquake?” he asked. “Maybe it could help get a real helicopter to bring them food and water and maybe even a doctor.”
Connor’s mom gave him a hug. “That is a very kind and thoughtful thing to do, Connor,” she said. “Let’s take it to the bishop on Sunday. He’ll know what to do with it.”
Connor was glad that even though he lived far away from where the earthquake happened, he could still help in a small way. He knew he wouldn’t be getting the toy helicopter any time soon, but he loved the good feeling he had inside. He was glad he followed the promptings of the Holy Ghost to help someone in need.

Recently, at the dedication of the Columbus Temple in Ohio, I had an interesting experience. My wife and daughter were with me. A granddaughter and her husband and children drove up from St. Louis.

As I sat in the celestial room, I thought of my great-grandfather, the first in my family to join the Church. I had recently visited his place of burial in Canada just to the north of the New York boundary line. He accepted the gospel when the first missionaries came there from Kirtland. His children were too young for baptism. He died at the young age of 38. Tradition has it that he was the victim of a smallpox epidemic that raged through that part of the country. I do not know of anything of significance that he did in the Church other than he kept the faith.

Then there was my grandfather, who was baptized in Nauvoo and who subsequently crossed the plains in the migration of our people. His young wife and his brother-in-law both died on the same day. He made rough coffins and buried them and picked up his infant child and carried her to this valley.

At the request of Brigham Young he built Cove Fort, was the first president of the stake in Fillmore, and did a thousand other things to move this work forward.

Then came my father. He came here to the BY Academy as a very young man and was taught by President Karl G. Maeser. He went east to school, and then he taught here in the business department until the Brethren asked him to move to Salt Lake City and take over responsibilities there. He became president of the largest stake in the Church with more than 15,000 members.

These three good men represent the three generations of my forebears who have been faithful in the Church. Reflecting on the lives of these three men while I was seated in the temple, I looked down at my daughter, at her daughter, who is my grandchild, and at her children, my great-grandchildren. I suddenly realized that I stood right in the middle of these seven generations—three before me and three after me.

In that sacred and hallowed house there passed through my mind a sense of the tremendous obligation that was mine to pass on all that I had received as an inheritance from my forebears to the generations who have now come after me.

I thought of an experience I had long, long ago. In the summer we lived on a farm. We had a little old tractor. There was a dead tree I wished to pull. I fastened one end of a chain to the tractor and the other end to the tree. As the tractor began to move, the tree shook a little, and then the chain broke.

I looked at that broken link and wondered how it could have given way. I went to the hardware store and bought a repair link. I put it together again, but it was an awkward and ugly connection. The chain was never, never the same.

As I sat in the celestial room of the temple pondering these things, I said to myself, “Never permit yourself to become a weak link in the chain of your generations.” It is so important that we pass on without a blemish our inheritance of body and brain and, if you please, faith and virtue untarnished to the generations who will come after us.

Imagine a young elder, whom we will call Bill. He learned this in Primary. He believed it then; he believes it now. For some time, however, Bill has been plagued with pornography. He has found its allurements powerful and addictive. After each encounter with this sleazy stuff, Bill has felt sickened, ashamed, and worthless inside.

Bill attended general conference a few weeks ago. In the priesthood session, he heard President Hinckley say:
There is not a man or boy in this vast congregation tonight who cannot improve his life. And that needs to happen. After all, we hold the priesthood of God. . . .
With this priesthood comes a great obligation to be worthy of it. We cannot indulge in unclean thoughts. We must not partake of pornography. We must never be guilty of abuse of any kind. We must rise up above such things. “Rise up, O men of God!” and put these things behind you, and the Lord will be your guide and stay.12
Bill decided, “It is time for me to stand up for my faith!”

He went to that secret place, retrieved the filthy pictures, the vulgar films and literature, and destroyed them. He purged his library of the hard, raucous music and sordid lyrics. He deleted from his computer all references to pornographic sites, installed a protective filter, and placed his computer in a more public place so as to fortify himself against repeating his sin.

Bill acknowledged his transgressions before God. He prayed fervently for the strength to repent, to expel this evil from his life. He sought help from his bishop and loved ones. In his extremity, Bill has felt the quiet assurance “My son, you are on the right path.” His faith, because of his works, is being affirmed and strengthened.

Much remains to be done. There will be fasting, prayer, scripture study, and many tears. A good bishop will provide indispensable help. The faithfulness and prayers of parents and loved ones will provide needed support. Nevertheless, the benchmark shows: Bill is beginning to exercise faith unto repentance—he has made the right choice!

Let me tell you of a recent experience that is part of the lives of General Authorities of the Church. As you may know, the Seventies serve in area presidencies and most live away from here in many nations of the earth. Each year the Quorums of the Seventy receive new or extended assignments for the coming year. Some of these assignments may mean that the General Authority and his wife will spend from three to five years away from their homes and families.

The First Presidency, because of their great love and concern for the Brethren and their wives and children, always have interviewed each Seventy personally before giving him an assignment. During this interview the members of the First Presidency inquire into the many issues that surround the Seventy and his family. These interviews have required great time and effort on the part of the First Presidency.

Recently all of the General Authorities and their wives were invited to a special meeting with the First Presidency and the Quorum of the Twelve. There President Thomas S. Monson explained that the First Presidency simply had not had the time to conduct their regular interviews. Then he informed all of us to prepare ourselves because he would announce, from the pulpit, our assignments for the coming year.

The suspense was great as President Monson announced the list of assignments, which would require great sacrifices by those leaving their homes and families. Personally, I have never witnessed a greater demonstration of willing sacrifice. I heard no complaints. I heard not a single negative comment. No one objected to either the method or the nature of the assignment. All of the Seventies and their wives simply returned from that meeting to begin the preparations that would take many from their homes and families for several years.

After I graduated from high school, the bishop called me into his office. “I want you to prepare for a mission,” he said. He looked me in the eyes, and the word prepare was there.
At supper I told my parents and saw the light in their eyes. “If you decide to go, we will support you in every way.”
There was no pressure. As usual the decision must be mine.
At the mission home in Salt Lake City, the General Authority who set me apart placed his hands upon my head and called me by name. Then, as if he were looking into the windows of my life, he said, “As of this moment, all of your sins are forgiven you.”
I served my mission and am now married to a wonderful woman. We have a little boy and have already started a missionary fund for him. I am sure that as he grows older there will be times when he will say, “Okay, dad, okay.” I will understand, and I will pray for the faith and understanding of my own dad and mother.

Christmas Eve in the Philippines was a bright, sun-drenched day. The evidence that it was Christmas boomed from the jeepney radios as we made our way along the crowded streets to the barrio where our investigators, the Juguilons, lived.
They were not only our investigators; they were our friends. We were going to share Christmas Eve with them. They didn’t have much, but they wanted to share what they did have. We found that the Filipinos were very generous: you could never give them something without them wanting to give you much more. As missionaries in the Philippines we were always receiving from the kindly people we served. The Juguilons were such a family. Their home was modest, but it was filled with love, love they were always willing to give away.
Their home was one of the smallest in the barrio; its one room was clean and tidy. All of the family’s belongings were tied in neat little bundles which hugged the walls. When we came to teach the gospel we sat on the floor with the family.
Our meetings with the family were wonderful and productive. Brother and Sister Juguilon worked hard to understand all that we were telling them. They read the Book of Mormon we gave them. They had to read from our Bible because they could not afford to buy their own. They were diligent; they listened and studied and prayed so they could become a part of the Lord’s true church.
When we arrived on Christmas Eve, the room was almost filled by two borrowed, king-sized wooden chairs. We were invited to sit while our friends sat at our feet.
Sitting in the middle of the circle of children was a scraggly little Christmas tree which had been delivered anonymously to the Juguilon home that evening. Underneath it was a gift for each of the children. With beaming faces our friends shared their joy with us. The small, green symbol of Christmas was, to this family, the world’s most beautiful. It boasted of widely spaced branches draped with candy-filled ornaments and a popcorn garland which hung lazily from its limbs.
Six pairs of children’s eyes focused lovingly on the tiny tree. A small hand lifted to touch a branch, as if to confirm its reality. Another softly coaxed a hanging ornament into gentle movement. We all enjoyed watching the children until the Christmas festivity began. This festivity was a quiet, yet joyful one.
With grateful reverence, Sister Juguilon placed a white box in front of her. Each of us waited in anticipation as she knelt and carefully began to unfold the sides of the box. Even the Christmas tree could not hold the children’s attention now. Inside were swirls of snow-white frosting that blanketed the enticing Christmas feast—it was a cake, a beautiful, store-bought cake. For the Juguilon family this was a most unusual and rare treat.
All eyes were turned upon us as we received the first pieces. No one else ate, just us. We were their guests; they waited to eat until they were certain that we desired no more. Their joy came in giving.
Together we celebrated the birth of our Savior. We left filled with the joy they shared. However, their story continued in our absence on Christmas Day.
Mealtime on that Christmas Day was attended by Brother Juguilon, but not partaken of. Finally Sister Juguilon asked her husband why he would not eat that day. He quietly answered that this day was, for him, a day of fasting, and a day of thanksgiving. Knowing that it was Christmas she agreed that it was a day for thanksgiving. “But fasting?” she asked.
Quietly he answered. “This year was different. This year each of our children received a gift for Christmas.” This, to him, was cause to return thanks to God.

I have to add this one. They were teaching a class of young people. A young boy told them about a high school French teacher in one of the countries from which they came.

During one of the late political regimes, she had been unfairly punished. She had watched vicious things and suffered vicious things and had sworn that she would never again utter another word to anyone as long as she lived. She had kept her vow since 1975, even during the time she and her mother walked clear across Cambodia to Thailand. She and her mother had been unable to obtain entrance to a third country since she would not talk. No amount of coaxing or threatening would bring her out.

One of our returned Thai missionaries who is helping in the camp found the young teacher, knelt by her, took her hand in hers, and said hello. The teacher answered! Her first words in six years, to one she had never before seen. A spirit of love reached her heart.

Benja returns to work with her each day. Now she has cut her hair and has enrolled in a basic English class. She talks every day. She is going to get to go to a new country with her mother.

In a recent Sunday Relief Society meeting, I listened to a young mother share part of her journey of conversion. She had grown up in the Church, with parents who taught her the gospel. She attended Primary, Young Women, and seminary. She loved to learn and discover truths. Her constant quest was to know why. Elder Russell M. Nelson has said, “The Lord can only teach an inquiring mind.” And this young woman was teachable.

After high school she attended a university, was sealed in the temple to a returned missionary, and was blessed with beautiful children.

With the spirit of inquiry, this mother continued to ask questions. But as the questions grew harder, so did the answers. And sometimes there were no answers—or no answers that brought peace. Eventually, as she sought to find answers, more and more questions arose, and she began to question some of the very foundations of her faith.

During this confusing time, some of those around her said, “Just lean on my faith.” But she thought, “I can’t. You don’t understand; you’re not grappling with these issues.” She explained, “I was willing to extend courtesy to those without doubts if they would extend courtesy to me.” And many did.

She said, “My parents knew my heart and allowed me space. They chose to love me while I was trying to figure it out for myself.” Likewise, this young mother’s bishop often met with her and spoke of his confidence in her.

Ward members also did not hesitate to give love, and she felt included. Her ward was not a place to put on a perfect face; it was a place of nurture.

“It was interesting,” she remembers. “During this time I felt a real connection to my grandparents who had died. They were pulling for me and urging me to keep trying. I felt they were saying, ‘Focus on what you know.’”

In spite of her substantial support system, she became less active. She said, “I did not separate myself from the Church because of bad behavior, spiritual apathy, looking for an excuse not to live the commandments, or searching for an easy out. I felt I needed the answer to the question ‘What do I really believe?’”

About this time she read a book of the writings of Mother Teresa, who had shared similar feelings. In a 1953 letter, Mother Teresa wrote: “Please pray specially for me that I may not spoil His work and that Our Lord may show Himself—for there is such terrible darkness within me, as if everything was dead. It has been like this more or less from the time I started ‘the work.’ Ask Our Lord to give me courage.”

Archbishop Périer responded: “God guides you, dear Mother; you are not so much in the dark as you think. The path to be followed may not always be clear at once. Pray for light; do not decide too quickly, listen to what others have to say, consider their reasons. You will always find something to help you. … Guided by faith, by prayer, and by reason with a right intention, you have enough.”

My friend thought if Mother Teresa could live her religion without all the answers and without a feeling of clarity in all things, maybe she could too. She could take one simple step forward in faith—and then another. She could focus on the truths she did believe and let those truths fill her mind and heart.

As she reflected back, she said, “My testimony had become like a pile of ashes. It had all burned down. All that remained was Jesus Christ.” She continued, “But He does not leave you when you have questions. When anyone tries to keep the commandments, the door is wide open. Prayer and scripture study became incredibly important.”

Her first step to rebuild her faith was to start with basic gospel truths. She bought a Primary songbook and began reading the words of the songs. They were treasures to her. She prayed for faith to lift the heaviness she felt.

She learned that when she came up against a statement that caused her to doubt, she “could stop, look at the whole picture, and make the gospel personal.” She said, “I would ask, ‘Is this the right path for me and my family?’ Sometimes I would ask myself, ‘What do I want for my children?’ I realized I want them to have temple marriages. That’s when belief came back to my heart.”

Elder Jeffrey R. Holland has said, “Humility, faith, and the influence of the Holy Spirit [will] always be elements of every quest for truth.”

Though she had questions about how the Book of Mormon came to be, she could not deny the truths she knew in the Book of Mormon. She had focused on studying the New Testament to better understand the Savior. “But eventually,” she said, “I found myself back in the Book of Mormon because I loved what I felt when reading about Jesus Christ and His Atonement.”

She concluded, “You have to have your own spiritual experiences with the truths in that book,” and she was having them. She explained, “I read in Mosiah and felt completely directed: ‘Believe in God; believe that he is, and that he created all things … ; believe that he has all wisdom, and all power, both in heaven and in earth; believe that man doth not comprehend all the things which the Lord can comprehend.’”

About this time a call came to serve as Primary pianist. “It was safe,” she said. “I wanted to have my children in Primary, and now I could be with them. And I wasn’t ready to teach yet.” As she served, she continued to feel from those around her the invitation “Come; we want you, whatever stage you are at, and we will meet you there. Give us whatever you have to offer.”

Playing the Primary songs, she often thought to herself, “Here are truths I love. I can still bear testimony. I will just say those things that I know and trust. It may not be a perfect offering of knowledge, but it will be my offering. What I focus on expands inside of me. It is beautiful to get back to the essence of the gospel and feel clarity.”

On that Sunday morning, as I listened to this young sister share the story of her journey, I was reminded that “it is upon the rock of our Redeemer” that we all must build our foundation. I was also reminded of the counsel of Elder Jeffrey R. Holland: “Hold fast to what you already know and stand strong until additional knowledge comes.”

My FSY experience was amazing. I loved every bit of it. I made many friends, I had a lot fun, I learnt several lessons that I believe are going to help me so much in my life and I felt the Holy Ghost. We watched a video one morning about families. I was very inspired by the things I saw, felt, and heard. It was a feeling of warmth and peace and love. Sister Marley told me it was the Holy Ghost manifesting and testifying of truth to my heart. I was glad. Very glad.
—Martha A., age 16, Tema Stake

Long years ago, when I served as a bishop, I learned that Mary Watson, a member of my ward, was a patient in the county hospital. When I went to visit her, I discovered her in a large room with so many beds that it was difficult to single her out. As I identified her bed and approached her, I said, “Hello, Mary.”
She replied, “Hello, Bishop.”
I noticed that a patient in the bed next to Mary Watson covered her face with the bedsheet.
I gave Mary a blessing, shook her hand, and said good-bye, but I could not leave her side. It was as though an unseen hand were resting on my shoulder, and I felt within my soul that I was hearing these words: “Go over to the next bed, where the little lady covered her face when you came in.” I did so. I have learned in my life never to postpone responding to a prompting.
I gently tapped the other patient on her shoulder and carefully pulled back the sheet that had covered her face. Lo and behold, she, too, was a member of my ward. I had not known that she was a patient there. Her name was Kathleen McKee. When her eyes met mine, she exclaimed through her tears, “Oh, Bishop, when you entered that door, I felt you had come to see me and bless me in response to my prayers. I was rejoicing inside to think that you knew I was here. When you stopped at the other bed, my heart sank, and I knew that you had not come to see me.”
I said to Kathleen McKee: “It does not matter that I didn’t know that you were here. It is important, however, that our Heavenly Father knew and that you had prayed for a priesthood blessing. It was He who prompted me to come to you now.”
A blessing was given, a prayer was answered. I bestowed a kiss on her forehead and left the hospital with gratitude in my heart for the promptings of the Spirit. It was the last time I saw Kathleen McKee alive.

When Josiah heard about the tornado, he was scared. He kept thinking about pictures he’d seen—pictures of the tornado and pictures of all the damage it caused. In one picture, Josiah saw a little girl in pink rubber boots. She looked about his age and was standing on a heap of rubble that used to be her home. What would happen to her? To all the people who lost their homes?
“You look so sleepy,” Mom said the next morning. “Are you feeling OK?”
Josiah shrugged.
Mom felt his face. “No fever. Should we see how you feel at breakfast? Dad’s making pancakes.”
In the kitchen, Dad stood next to the stove, flipping pancakes. He kept glancing at his phone.
“Lots of damage from the tornado,” he said. “Thousands still don’t have power.”
“I hope they get it back soon,” Mom said. She and Dad kept talking about the tornado. Josiah sat down at the table. He put his head in his hands.
“You OK, bud?” Dad asked.
Josiah looked up. “I’m scared,” he said. “Are we gonna have a tornado? I don’t want our house to blow away.” He started to cry.
Mom sat down and put her arm around Josiah.
“We don’t know if something scary will happen to us, but we can trust Heavenly Father to help us no matter what happens.”
“But what about all those people in the tornado?” Josiah said. “Why didn’t Heavenly Father help them?”
“Heavenly Father is helping them,” Dad said. He put a big stack of pancakes on the table. “He won’t stop all bad things from happening, but Heavenly Father always helps His children.”
“How?” Josiah said.
“Well, sometimes He sends little miracles, or helps people feel comfort, or inspires other people to help out.”
Mom nodded. “A lot of times, Heavenly Father helps other people through us.”
“Remember when the Johnsons had a fire and we invited them to stay with us? You shared your room,” Dad said.
“And you played with the baby so we could help them rebuild their house,” Mom added. “That was a big help. Now the Johnsons are back in their home.”
Josiah smiled. He liked helping the Johnsons. Was that Heavenly Father helping through him?
“And then there was that spaghetti dinner to raise money for the people in the earthquake,” Dad said.
“I helped sweep the floor,” said Josiah.
“Yes, you did,” Dad said.
“What about the people near the tornado?” asked Josiah. “Can we help them?”
“I think Heavenly Father is inspiring you to help. What do you think we could do?” asked Mom.
“Would my birthday money help?” asked Josiah. “I still have it.”
“Yes, it would,” said Mom. “Dad and I have some money we can send too.”
Josiah looked at the pancakes. They looked yummy. “Can I say the prayer?”
“You sure can,” Dad said.
Josiah bowed his head. He thanked Heavenly Father for their food and for always helping His children. Then Josiah prayed for the people hurt by the tornado. He asked to know more ways he and his family could help.
Afterward, Josiah took a big bite of pancakes. There were lots of ways to help! And Josiah felt much better.

Recently I was taking stock of my own life, and I realized that I needed to be better at taking the time to make better and more fair measurements of people around me. As I began working on this goal, I expected the results to be a reminder that I shouldn’t rush to judgment about people based on their appearance. However, as is often the case, I was taught in a different, unanticipated way.

Steve is a friend of mine. Steve is one of those people who always has a smile on his face, who has an incredible number of friends, and who seems to have the ability to turn everything he touches into gold. He is one of those people who seems to be the best at everything and makes everything look easy. He’s completely and totally infuriating! However, because I had a goal to try to be patient in my measurements before rushing to judgment, I decided I would practice on Steve.

As I began to observe Steve more closely and learn a bit more about him, I realized that he had been struggling with some fairly serious family issues. I also found out that Steve was experiencing some difficult financial woes as a result of some misplaced investments. In fact, Steve, despite appearing totally perfect on the outside, had struggles that were, in many ways, far more difficult and challenging than any that I had struggled with. In fact, I was just as embarrassed by this snap judgment as I was by the one I made on the lonesome highway in central Utah that cold winter night. Indeed, we are given different trials at different times. Being patient and taking time to make proper measurements of our fellow brothers and sisters before passing judgment is part of what leads us on a path of discipleship rather than on other less straight and less narrow paths.

Joseph was always willing to help children in need. Once, in Nauvoo, Illinois, Margarette McIntire and her brother Wallace were walking home after a rainstorm. The ground had become very muddy, and the two children became stuck in the mud. Unable to get out, they began to cry. Soon, when they looked up, they saw the Prophet Joseph. He got them to higher ground, wiped the mud off their feet, and took out his handkerchief to wipe away their tears. He spoke kind words to them and sent them home with smiles on their faces.

Abel Seiko was born on Lifou but was living in Nouméa when the missionaries knocked on his door. He and his future wife, Louise, received the discussions for two months and decided to be baptized. However, they faced two serious obstacles. In Melanesia, the tribe is considered an extension of one’s family, and all major decisions must be approved by a person’s parents and tribal chiefs. Abel and Louise had not received permission to marry.
The second problem was perhaps even more difficult. Protestant missionaries from London had come to Lifou in 1842, and Abel’s tribe had been members of that religion ever since. Changing religions was paramount to rejecting the tribe.
Still, Abel had received a testimony. He knew he needed to join the Lord’s Church, and he knew he needed to be married. He gathered his courage and went to Lifou to ask permission of his parents and tribe.
“I first asked permission from my father to marry. He said, ‘No. That is not the custom. You must wait until your oldest brother is married.’
“I said, ‘I can’t wait, because I know I’m not living the law of God, and I want to join the true Church.’
“My father said, ‘I will not give my permission, but you’re free to do as you want. If you decide to marry, I will not go to the wedding.’”
When Abel met with the tribal elders, he felt he was on trial. They told him not to be married or baptized into another church. Abel’s response was that he had received permission from his parents to do as he wished. And he wished to be married and join The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
That was when the elders asked for a big piece of wood with which to beat him. Fortunately, the high chief arrived before the beating began. “‘No one will be hurt here,’” Abel recalls him saying. “‘But we don’t want another religion in our tribe. If you want to join another religion, you’re out of the tribe.’”
So Abel returned to Nouméa and was married. He and Louise were baptized in 1977. They had a simple marriage, “not like on Lifou,” he says. “There it is very expensive, and everyone must give the couple whatever the chiefs tell him or her to give. Sometimes people must rent their homes or take out bank loans to come up with the money. We did it the way the Church advises—we had a simple ceremony with friends and family.” Abel’s mother attended the wedding, but true to his word, his father stayed away.