Gospel Story Finder

President Spencer W. Kimball, the twelfth president of the Church and for whom one of our buildings on campus is named, once wrote of his great internal struggle when he received the call to be an apostle:
“I was telling [the Lord] that I had not asked for this position, that I was incapable of doing the work, that I was imperfect, and weak and human, that I was so unworthy of so noble a calling…. How I prayed! How I suffered! How I wept! How I struggled!” [6] And yet, despite these concerns, our dear President Kimball later served for 43 years as an apostle and prophet. During the 12 years of his presidency, the number of operating temples literally doubled and missionaries serving around the world increased by 50 perecnt. [7] He helped bring about tremendous good for both the Church and the world.

“I’m bored!” sighed Angie. “Why can’t we play a video game?”
Once again Mother patiently explained. “You know that Dad and I talked about it and decided that you were spending too much time playing those things. You need to get outside and use your imagination.”
Angelina had heard all this before, but what was she supposed to do outside? She was reminded of camping last summer. There was no TV, no computer, no video games. It seemed that her parents expected her to play with pinecones or something.
The doorbell rang, and Robin, one of Angie’s third-grade classmates, bounced in. “Angie, they have a new video game at the arcade. I’m dying to try it! Would your mom take us there?”
“I don’t know, Robin. She’s kind of down on video games right now. But maybe if I ask her while you’re here, she’ll say yes.”
The girls found Mom in the backyard. “Mom,” Angie began tentatively, “would you take Robin and me to the video arcade?”
“No, but I’ll take you to the park on Willow Street on my way to the store.”
“No!” yelled Angie. Then she turned in astonishment as she heard Robin yell, “OK!” at the same time. Angie looked at her friend. “You mean you want to go to the park? What would we do? It’s boring!”
“We can be anything we want there,” Robin explained. “Those orange trees have neat rooms underneath their branches. They could be our fort. Or we could be rich ladies in a fancy apartment, or famous veterinarians looking for rare birds to cure. Use your imagination.”
That word again! Angie didn’t think imagination sounded all that great, but the park would be better than being bored at home.
She thought that the park “fort” could have used a TV, but it was kind of fun imagining you were a famous movie star living in a mansion. Now, how did they walk and talk? Angie wasn’t very good at it, so Robin coached her. She was amazed to discover that three hours passed swiftly, and she and Robin laughed all the way home.
The next Saturday, Mother again refused to take them to the video arcade.
“Then let’s go to the park again,” Angie suggested, remembering the fun they’d had the week before.
“We can’t,” Robin told her. “It’s closed for repairs.”
“Oh, fudgits,” Angie whined, flopping down on her bed. “Another boring day.”
“Come on, Angie. Let’s go collect pop cans. Maybe we can make enough money to buy something fun.”
Several hours later the girls returned with their treasures. They hadn’t made enough money to buy the exotic colored birds they’d looked at in the pet store window, but they’d each purchased a goldfish. Now they were hunting for a large glass container to put them in.
“Let’s name them Tweedledum and Tweedledee,” Robin suggested.
“Or Punch and Judy.”
They finally settled on Hansel and Gretel and vowed that their fish would be best friends forever, just as they were.
The following Saturday, Robin went to visit her grandmother. Angie was dreading the day. Mother was still being unreasonable about video-game playing, and the park wouldn’t be any fun alone. Angie shuffled to their new refrigerator. Same old food, she noticed. Then, turning away, she saw something that made her exclaim aloud, “Wow!”
The refrigerator box was still outside by the trash. She could make a playhouse in the backyard, and when Robin returned, they could play lots of games there! They might even decorate it like a real house and put their fish in it. Hey—this imagination stuff isn’t so hard, after all!
Mother gladly helped Angie find a little table, two chairs, and some curtains for the window they cut out. Angie could hardly wait for Robin to come over. They’d have such fun!
Monday was a holiday, and it was bright and sunny. After rushing through breakfast and chores, the girls met to inspect the new playhouse.
“Angie, this is great!” Robin exclaimed, jumping up and down. “I wish I had a doll so we could play house.”
Angie thought for a second. Her dolls were all china and were locked in a glass case. She never played with them. Then she remembered—there was an old doll in the bottom of the toy chest. But she hadn’t played with it in months, and its hair was a mess, and it had no clothes.
“Robin,” Angie began, “I know a poor, starving orphan with no clothes that we can adopt and take care of.” She ran to find the doll.
“What a great idea, Angie!” Robin said. “You’re beginning to have a terrific imagination.”
“Just wait until you hear what this baby will be when she grows up,” Angie went on. “I have it all figured out.”
At that moment Angie’s older brother, Marco, poked his head in the playhouse window. “Hey, Angie, Mom says that she’ll take us to the video arcade. Come on!”
Angie and Robin looked at each other for a moment, then laughed. “No, thanks, Marco.” Angie told him. “We’d rather stay here and sew clothes for the lost princess of Matagambi.”

I have had the privilege, as a member of the Quorum of the Twelve, of ordaining a number of patriarchs, but the first one I ordained said to me, “I don’t believe I can fill that important office.” I had a letter from him a few weeks after he had been ordained, and he said something like this: “I did not think I could do it, and now I have been reading over the blessings that I have given, and I know I did not do it. The Lord did it, or it could not have been done as it has been done.”

Have you ever found yourself at a crossroads in life? That is where I found myself more than 10 years ago. As I look at the blessings I am enjoying today, I realize that my life would be quite different had I made a different decision at my crossroads.
During my years in junior high and high school, I was a fence-sitter. I didn’t really do bad things, but at the same time I wasn’t nurturing my testimony and seeking out the Savior. So, shortly out of high school, I found myself at a crossroads. I made friends with some people who weren’t living gospel standards. They all liked to drink, especially on the weekends. I was spending a lot of time with these friends. In fact, I started dating one of the guys. We were spending a lot of time together.
I then had an experience I will never forget. I went to church with my family to my grandma’s ward. She was performing a musical number, and we went to support her. As I sat in sacrament meeting, I looked around at all of the families. The Spirit then gave my mind an impression I will never forget: “If you marry this man you are dating, he will never bring you and your kids to church.” I knew I had to make a decision. I had to decide what I wanted for the rest of my life. I knew what I needed to do—stop dating him. I also knew that I needed to stop hanging around my friends who were negative influences.
It was hard to make this decision. I gave up a boyfriend and all of my friends. The following days, especially weekends, became very lonely, but I knew what I did was what I needed to do.
I am so grateful that the Spirit whispered to my mind that day at church. It was indeed a tender mercy that the Lord guided me. I have since married a worthy priesthood holder in the temple, and we have four wonderful children. My husband faithfully takes us to church each week. My life has been blessed beyond anything that I ever could have imagined. I feel so much joy and happiness in living the gospel.

I would like to share with you the experience of a friend of mine from the mission field that illustrates the power of scripture. Terry Barrett was sent to fight in Vietnam in 1966. He returned home in 1967 with a Purple Heart and a Bronze Star Medal for valor and heroism. To deaden the emotional pains associated with the atrocities of the war, Terry turned to alcohol and soon became addicted. Then, in 1998 he faced a major surgical procedure. Not being LDS, he was hesitant to receive a priesthood blessing from an LDS friend. Finally, however, Terry consented and received the blessing. Concerning that blessing, he says, “I felt a peace I had never felt before, and a voice said, ‘It will be all right, Terry.’”

As a result of the blessing, his hunger and thirst for alcohol was instantaneously and miraculously transformed into a hunger and thirst for the scriptures. He says, “To this day I cannot get enough of the scriptures and the Spirit.” He attends institute three days a week. Terry, his wife, and his daughter were baptized and have been to the temple. He is eternally grateful for the scriptures and the relationship that he now has with the Lord.

Long ago I sought to learn physics and mathematics in my college years. I felt overwhelmed. I began to feel that I was trying to learn something that was beyond me. The more I felt overwhelmed, the less I felt the strength to keep trying. My discouragement led me to feel that my efforts were almost fruitless. I began to think of quitting, of doing something easier.
I felt weak. As I prayed, I felt the quiet assurance of the Lord. I felt Him say to my mind, “I am proving you, but I am also with you.”
I did not know then all that those words meant. But I knew what to do—I went to work.
By pondering and working during the years that followed, I came to understand this message of encouragement in the scriptures: “I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me.”
I learned that my struggle with physics was actually a gift from the Lord. He was teaching me that with His help, I could do things that seemed impossible if I had the faith that He would be there to help me. Through this gift, the Lord was working to prove and strengthen me.

When we stopped at the O’Briens’, there was only a small pile of newspapers, hardly enough for the stop, but before we left, Mrs. O’Brien came out and asked, “Is there a little girl in this family?”
“Trina’s four,” Jason replied.
“I have a doll—one I bought years ago, thinking I’d have a girl. I had five boys instead.” She smiled shyly. “Boys don’t take to dolls. I’ve been meaning to do something with it.” She left and came back with the biggest, prettiest doll I’d ever seen in my life. “It’s never been used,” she explained.
“Gee!” we gasped. “Are you sure you want to just give it away?”
She looked at the doll for a moment and wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “I would have just given it to one of my girls had I had one.” She sighed. “If Trina will like it, I want her to have it. I would like to see her face Christmas morning when she sees it.” She took a deep breath and flashed a weak smile. “Oh, well. I guess Christmas morning I’ll have to imagine what Trina is doing.”
By the end of the day the old truck had made six trips and was about to die a second time after our rigorous demands, but we had collected just under 150 dollars worth of newspapers, not to mention the donated gifts we had received. We bought shoes and coats for the kids; a gift certificate for Sister Bradley; and two boxes of groceries, candies, and nuts for the stockings and Christmas dinner.
Christmas Eve everything was ready. Dad helped us fire up the old truck one more time. Jason and I filled it to overflowing and sputtered down the street to the Bradleys’, coasting the last block so as not to announce our arrival.
It was starting to snow as we climbed out of the truck and sneaked to the Bradleys’ front steps with our arms bulging with gifts. We could hear Sister Bradley and her three kids singing Christmas carols, and we paused for a moment in the shadows to listen before returning to the truck for the trike, the rocker, and the table and chairs.
When we had placed the last box of groceries on the step, we rapped loudly on the door and then sprinted to a clump of bushes where we could observe unseen. Sister Bradley opened the door and peered into the darkness. She was beginning to close the door when she spotted our Christmas project all over her front steps. She gasped and looked up and down the street, then back at the pile of presents. Slowly she dropped to her knees and began to cry.
My vision blurred with tears, and something swelled up inside of me until I could hardly breathe. Starting from deep in my chest and finally reaching to the tips of my fingers and toes, a gratifying warmth overwhelmed me. Never in my life had I felt such an all-consuming fulfillment. I was sure I would burst, and I wondered why I had waited so long to discover this side of Christmas.
When we returned home, all the lights were off except those on the tree, and everyone but Dad was in bed. He was there waiting for us in the dim light next to an enormous package—addressed to Jason and me!
“Where’d that come from?” I asked as soon as I saw it.
Dad smiled and shrugged his shoulders. “Someone left it on the doorstep while you were over at the Bradleys’.”
“Left it for us?” I groaned. He nodded. “You mean a Christmas package for us?” He shrugged again, obviously amused. “Well, we don’t want it!” I flared. “That’s exactly what we didn’t want.”
“They can just keep it,” Jason rebelled. “I’m not opening it.”
“It’s an insult,” I added. “I’m not taking anybody’s care package.”
Dad held up a restraining hand. “Talking isn’t going to change a thing,” I insisted, anticipating his argument. Dad motioned for us to sit down. We did, grumbling irritably. He waited for our protests to subside, and then he asked quietly, “Has this been a good Christmas?”
I looked over at Jason and he at me. “Yeah,” I muttered, staring at the floor but avoiding the package.
“Why? What’s so special about this Christmas?”
“Because … because we were giving something. We were making somebody happy.”
“Does taking this package change that?”
“It’s charity,” I flared. “We don’t want charity.”
Dad nodded. “Do you know what charity is? Real charity? Love, pure love. This package is a token of someone’s love, not of their ridicule or pity. It is the offspring of charity, of love, just as your gifts to the Bradleys sprang from love.”
“But Dad,” I protested.
Dad shook his head. “How would it have been had the Bradleys reacted to your gifts like you’re reacting to this one?” He looked at Jason and me and waited for an answer, but all we could do was shrug our shoulders and stare at the anonymous package. “You know, sons, there can never be a giver without a receiver. Both are necessary and good.”
He paused a moment. “When Luke went on his mission, I wanted to support him all by myself. I thought it only right that a father support his own son. My pride had a lot to do with it. I was being a little selfish. I didn’t realize until I started getting secret contributions that there were those who wanted to give also. I came to understand that I didn’t have the right to deny them the opportunity.”
He looked at our package. “I don’t know who left this for you. I wouldn’t tell you even if I knew. But whoever it was has as much right to the joy of giving as you two. Unless you accept the gift, they can’t enjoy the full satisfaction of giving.” He placed his hands on our knees and concluded, “At Christmas time we give generously and receive graciously. That’s the spirit of Christmas. When you can do those two things, equally well, you will have taken a giant step toward manhood.”
Long after Dad went to bed, Jason and I stayed by the tree contemplating our unexpected gift. It was the hardest gift for us to accept, but we knew Dad was right.
“I wonder what’s in it?” Jason finally mused.
We glanced at each other. A spark of curiosity glowed in our eyes. I looked around to determine whether we were alone. “We could always peek,” I suggested furtively.
Jason nodded. “I never could wait till Christmas morning.”
We both grinned, nodded our agreement, and then eagerly pulled the package toward us and began peeling off the wrapping.

Skip forward two years. Having received my National Athletic Trainers’ certification I pursued looking for an athletic trainer job hoping to stay in Hawaii, but also realized that there were barely a handful of jobs on the island and they were all filled. A co-worker at one of the schools, had cut out and brought to my attention a job posted by University of Hawaii-Manoa Athletic Department. It was a part-time Athletic Trainer position. I applied anyway figuring I could still continue to teach. About two months went by and I heard nothing from UH.

So I made plans to fly to Southern California for job interviews in hopes of landing employment as an athletic trainer. The short version, I turned down two lucrative position to take a token $9,000 a year job at University of Hawaii because “it felt right” even though it did not make any logical sense.

President Boyd K. Packer, President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles described spiritual communication:
“The Holy Ghost speaks with a voice that you feel more than you hear. It is described as a ‘still small voice’ [D&C 85:6]. And while we speak of ‘listening’ to the whisperings of the Spirit, most often one describes a spiritual prompting by saying, ‘I had a feeling. . . .’
“Revelation comes as words we feel more than hear.” (Ensign, Nov. 1994, 60). (6)
That decision was based simply on a feeling of peace and the load lifted, even when on paper it did not make financial sense, but I was single and had a widowed mother that was happy to have me live with her.

A little more than one year later, the pay match the full-time status that I was already working. Doors had opened to other venues of my profession, working with Olympic level athletes at various national and international events. Opportunities and travel I had never even dreamt of.

But in the days that followed, both of us felt unsettled—not about marrying each other but about the ring. Let me explain.
In the weeks leading up to our engagement, Shelley and I had spent significant time talking about how we wanted to raise our family and what we wanted our marriage to be like. One of the things at the center of that discussion was our determination to always follow the prophet.
Two months before we were engaged, we listened to lots of talks at the October 1976 general conference reinforcing the principles of self-reliance. This was a topic that President Spencer W. Kimball (1895–1985) and others had been consistently teaching for several years. Both Shelley and I had grown up knowing the importance of growing a garden, having a supply of food, and being generally prepared. But in that general conference, the theme of preparation seemed especially prevalent. Some speakers made reference to the Teton Dam flood that had occurred in June. Among them was Barbara B. Smith (1922–2010), the Relief Society general president, who emphasized the importance of self-reliance—specifically, acquiring a year’s supply of food, as was counseled at the time.1 President Kimball, in the closing session of the conference, reminded Latter-day Saints of the scripture in Luke 6:46, where the Savior says, “Why call ye me, Lord, Lord, and do not the things which I say?” President Kimball then exhorted the Saints to let the messages of conference follow them into their “homes and … future lives.”2
After our engagement, as Shelley and I contemplated the beginning of our marriage and family life, these messages were ringing in our ears. Unbeknownst to each other, both of us were thinking about how to start home storage for our family. To obey the counsel of that time, we needed to start acquiring a year’s supply of food. But how were we supposed to do it? We were students—and would be for years to come—and didn’t have a lot of money. The Holy Ghost gave both of us, separately, the same answer: we needed to sell the engagement ring.
But how was I supposed to ask Shelley to do that? I had just given her the ring. What would she think about my asking her to sell it so we could buy some oats and flour and rice? Meanwhile, she was worrying too. What would I think, she wondered, if she were to approach me about selling the ring I had picked out for her? Would it hurt my feelings?
But the prompting each of us had felt was too strong to ignore, and the more each of us thought about it, the more glaring that diamond ring became. When Shelley raised the subject a few days after Christmas, I was relieved that she had arrived at the same conclusion I had. In many ways, it was a tremendous confirmation to both of us about the choice of whom we were going to marry. To know that our priorities and values were in sync with the other’s and with the prophet of God was tremendously reassuring. I was so grateful for her willingness to make such a sacrifice to follow the prophet.
Please don’t misunderstand me and please don’t sell your rings! Buying or wearing an engagement ring isn’t wrong. In fact, our married children all have lovely and appropriate rings. There are many ways we can follow the prophets and apostles and apply their counsel to our personal lives. But because the Spirit had directed us to follow the prophet by selling our engagement ring, in our case the choice was between keeping the ring and following the prophet. This helped us establish two patterns in our home from the very beginning: following the prophet and following the personal, spiritual promptings we received.

I had filled out a lot of job applications before I finally received a part-time offer at a restaurant. I was filled with gratitude for the job offer, yet for some reason, I began to feel uneasy about the job. As the time drew closer for me to start work, the feeling of uneasiness persisted. I decided to pray about the situation and include the Lord in my decision.
After I prayed, I felt that I shouldn’t accept the job. I wondered why I would be blessed with a job offer and then prompted by the Holy Ghost not to take it. I prayed multiple times to know what I was supposed to do. Each time I prayed about it, the same feeling continued to surface, stronger than ever.
Finally, I decided to contact the restaurant manager and explain that I wouldn’t be working there after all. Telling the manager my decision was very difficult because I still didn’t have a job and needed one, but I felt peace.
A few days later, I found out about another job. I applied for this job and was offered the part-time job not only for the remainder of the school year but also for the summer. If I had taken the first job at the restaurant, I wouldn’t have found out about this better opportunity. Choosing to include the Lord in my employment decisions and following spiritual promptings taught me valuable lessons and paid off in more ways than one.

I don’t think I will ever forget that Christmas. I suspected it would be the last Christmas I would spend in my parents’ home. We all knew that soon after Christmas I would leave on my mission. Then would come marriage, and Christmases from then on would be spent with my own little family.
Oh, I knew there would be years when I would spend Christmas Day with my family, but never again would I be there for the “season”—the days of baking, the nights spent caroling, the hanging of the stockings, and the other activities that filled the weeks before Christmas. I was growing up. I was leaving home, and the thought scared me.
I had anticipated that last Christmas for months, and the week before Christmas was wonderful. I savored every minute of making gingerbread houses, acting out the Nativity, decorating our tree, and all the secrets and surprises that seemed to invade every corner of our warm house. Yet, despite the happy feelings, I kept remembering that this would be the last year things would be the same.
My family had many holiday traditions. One that we children looked forward to the most took place on Christmas Eve. Starting with the youngest, Papa would take each child downstairs to the living room. Then, holding him or her in the old rocking chair, Papa would sing us a special Christmas song. It was the same song every year, and we all knew it by heart. The song talked about angels and dancing toys on Christmas morning. Sitting there in Papa’s arms with the Christmas tree lights shining in the dark room, you couldn’t help but feel secure. Somehow you knew tomorrow would reveal all the joys that Christmas morning could bring. No matter how old or how big we grew. Papa always rocked us on Christmas Eve.
As I lay in my bed that night, I watched each of my older sisters and brothers in turn be taken down the stairs. I was the oldest child at home that year, since my sister had left on her mission. Below me in the living room, I heard the song over and over as each child was sung to. Then it was my turn. I followed Papa down the stairs into the living room. He sat in the big chair and opened his arms.
“Do you still want me to sit on your lap?” I asked.
“Of course,” he smiled. Gratefully, I climbed onto his lap and pulled my knees up to my chin, snuggling up next to him.
“This is my last night to be rocked,” I said.
“I know,” came his quiet reply.
As the first few strains of the familiar tune began, I thought back to all the years I had heard this song on Christmas Eve. Suddenly something in me wanted to stay. I was so warm and comfortable, and I had no idea what the future months and years would hold. I started to cry.
Don’t let this song end, I thought.
Papa began to sing.
Heaven bless you, little one, while you’re fast asleep.
You’ll awake to dancing toys,
Candy canes, Christmas joys.
And I pray your whole life through,
Angels will watch over you,
Loving you the way I do,
My little one, sleep well.
Every year before, the song had made me think of what the next morning would bring. But this last time, I knew Papa was singing about life and the years ahead—not toys that would break or wear out, but eternal joys I would find on my journey through life, joys I was not even aware of now. On this night I heard the emotion of his voice as he sang for angels to watch over me, not just for tonight but for all the nights that would follow when he wouldn’t be there.
I let my tears flow, as the last strains of music faded away. Papa and I watched the lights of the tree in the darkness, and we rocked and rocked, long after the song had ended.
I found comfort as I thought of my Heavenly Father that night, while my earthly father rocked me. Even though Papa couldn’t be there every day in the future to help me with each struggle, my Father in Heaven would be there. No matter what the years ahead would bring, I would have the support not only of an earthly father, but of my Heavenly Father as well. And he would guide my paths and bring me home for good.
That night I felt he, too, was singing, “Loving you the way I do, my little one, sleep well.”

While serving as a mission president, I had the responsibility to interview any individuals who were studying the gospel who came from Muslim backgrounds. The reason for this was certain countries could persecute and cause severe problems for not only the investigators, but their immediate families. On one occasion, I interviewed a man, his wife, and daughter—we will call him Zara and her Ali and their daughter Sara.

While talking to Zara, I became impressed with his understanding of the doctrines of the gospel and even more impressed with the depth of his spirit. As I explained our concern for his safety while studying the doctrines of the Church and what might be imposed from some of his family or country officials, he made a statement that I'll never forget. He said, “No man, not even you, can keep me from being baptized if this is what God wishes.”

He was right, and I was more than happy to allow him and his family to enter into the gospel of Jesus Christ. They were baptized and lived the gospel for a time in our mission and then moved to Melbourne, Australia.

Zara saw evidence in the lives of the members of the ward and the teachings of the missionaries. He acted boldly on that evidence and was then blessed with a strong assurance from God through the Spirit.

Mariah (as she preferred to be called) is one of the reasons my family is even in the Church. She was baptized in 1840 in England, was endowed in Nauvoo, Illinois, was sealed to her husband in Winter Quarters, Nebraska, and died in Utah. My thoughts about her while I was in the temple were not about her need to have ordinances performed but about how those ordinances bound her and me together across time and space.

When others see the only known photograph of my grandmother Mariah, they often comment on how grim or unpleasant she appears to them. I immediately defend her because I know her. I know the person that walked along the River Severn as a young girl and as a mother with small children. I know the person who sailed across an ocean, giving birth to her fourth child during the journey. I know the person who sent a husband to war and lost an infant child during his absence. I know the person who walked 1,000 miles (1,609 km) to a new home in the western American desert. I know the person who worked and covenanted and farmed and loved. And in knowing her, I get a taste of our heavenly parents’ love for her and for each of their children.

For example, immediately after being confirmed a member, bishop Doug Holladay of the Mesa 16th Ward asked me to speak in church. I protested because I had never spoken in front of a large audience before. He persisted, and I thought he had lost his mind; I mean, my hair wasn't even dry yet. I told him that I couldn't speak in church. He then said you can bear your testimony. I told him no again. To this day, I am amazed that he was able to persuade me to bear my testimony on that Sunday because I was terrified. Yet, these opportunities to serve continued - I was assigned as a home teacher. I remember calling my first home teaching companion, and after exchanging the normal courtesies I told him the purpose of my call. He, in essence, commended me for doing my duty, but said that he wasn't interested in doing home teaching. As I hung up the phone, I had a little bit of anxiety because even though I had never had home teachers, nor had I been home teaching, I knew that wasn't the way it worked. So I reported to my Elder's Quorum President what had happened. A change was made and I was given a new companion: Daniel Zimmerman. He taught me what it was like to be a true and faithful home teacher - we made appointments in advance, we prayed for our families prior to the visit, we visited with the families, we delivered a message, and we left with a prayer. I am grateful to have passed this pattern on to my own sons.

Here is a story about my friend Mariam who woke up one morning feeling all tingly and excited, but she didn’t know why. Then she remembered. It was the day of the Easter fete.
She jumped off the straw mattress, put on her school dress and thongs, helped her mother carry firewood to the three stones where they cooked, and tidied up the case (adobe house with a thatched roof). Then she rolled up her pagne (colorful cloth wraparound skirt), tucked it under her arm, reminded her mother to come for them at two thirty, and walked to school with her brother Hervé.
Finally they arrived at school. “There’s Zié and Eric and Souleymane and Loukou,” said Hervé.
At last it was time for the mothers and fathers to come. When they were all sitting and waiting, they heard singing and the schoolchildren came marching in. Then they sang another song, did their drill, and marched away still singing.
After that the dancers came on the stage. They sang an African song which went like this:
Belé belé, bedio, belé belé.
Belé belé, bedio. …
This was the dance that Mariam was in. The girls brought their pagnes for costumes to dance in.
After this skits were performed by the other grades. The skit Hervé liked best was “The Teacher and His Students.” It was very funny because the teacher was smaller than his five boy students.
After the fete was over everyone talked and had something to drink and then went home. As Mariam and Hervé walked home, they talked about what a good day it had been.

Once when I was secretary to a congressman, I felt that President J. Reuben Clark, a Republican, was injecting politics into the Church because of his prejudice against the Democrats. I was a bishop, and I felt guilty because I wanted to think well of my Church leaders. I prayed earnestly to know from the Lord whether my observations were justified, and if not, what attitude the Lord would have me take. I went to general conference at Salt Lake in this spirit of inquiry. President Clark rose to speak. He gave some of the soundest advice I ever heard, and a witness came into my heart that said, “This man is a servant of God; you won’t get off the track if you follow him.” Now it didn’t say that he wasn’t an ardent Republican, but all I wanted to know was whether I should not in my heart accept him as my leader. Later I worked intimately with him on a Church manual, and my love and respect for him is one of my choicest possessions. But my choicest possession was the knowledge that this member of the First Presidency, in whom I could have great trust, put the Lord first in his life and was accepted by my Father in heaven.

Several years ago I interviewed a young woman for a temple recommend to receive her own endowment and to be married and sealed for time and all eternity. As I completed the interview and signed the recommend, tears were streaming down her cheeks. I said, “Please share with me your feelings.” Then she told me the following story.
Since her youth she had sought to find truth and direction in her life. She had yearned to find peace and happiness, but no matter where she looked, she could not find it. It had come to a point where she was very distraught, assuming there was really nothing in life that had true meaning or was fulfilling. In this frame of mind, one evening while visiting a dear friend and recounting her concerns and despair she said: “I looked behind the sofa where I was sitting to the bookshelf. My eyes fell upon a particular volume, and a compelling feeling came over me. I knew I needed to find out what was written on its pages.”
She took the book from the shelf and read the title, the Book of Mormon. She asked her friend where she had received it. Her friend indicated that two young missionaries stopped her on the street and gave her the book but only after a commitment to read it. Due to a lack of time, she had just put it on the shelf.
“I started to read,” she said. “I could not put it down.” A feeling came over her that she had never felt before. Her friend told her that she could take the book with her. She went home and continued to read through the night. The next morning she went into the streets looking for the two young missionaries. It didn’t take long to find them. They agreed to teach her the gospel, and in a few weeks she was baptized a member of the Church.
Through her tears, she explained that since that day she had found a joy and inner peace that she never dreamed possible.
Living in a small town with few members and even fewer opportunities to marry in the Church, she didn’t dare hope that she might one day marry in the temple. But she felt it was through the guidance of the Holy Spirit that she met a young man while vacationing in another country. He was a member of the Church and honored his priesthood. They had fallen in love, and he had asked her to marry him in the temple. The realization that she could now go to the house of the Lord and be sealed for time and all eternity brought joy to her soul and feelings of thankfulness and gratitude that were overwhelming and impossible to describe.
“I continue to ask myself,” she said, “why me? Why me? I am so blessed.”
Her humble, sweet spirit and testimony touched me deeply. As she left, we both shed tears of joy and appreciation.

The day after Mother’s Day, Eric and his mom went to the local pharmacy to fill a prescription. Eric walked around the pharmacy while his mother purchased the medication. When they got back in the car, Eric asked if he could talk to his mom for a minute.
“Sure, Son,” Mom said, reaching for the ignition.
Eric grabbed her hand and said, “Don’t go. Can we talk right here?” Mom turned off the ignition and shifted in her seat to listen.
Eric then told her about a boy in his school class named Josh.* His mother had died of cancer during the previous Christmas holidays. He said that ever since then, Josh was often very sad at school. Sometimes his dad even had to come and take him home from school because he couldn’t stop crying.
Mother’s Day had been very hard for Josh. He had brought a stuffed bear to school that next day and had hugged it for comfort all the time. During recess, he had taken the bear out onto the playground. Some of the bigger kids took Josh’s bear away from him. While they teased him by throwing it back and forth, the bear had ripped apart. Eric felt bad because he knew that Josh’s family didn’t have a lot of money and that they might not be able to buy him another bear. While in the pharmacy, Eric had seen a bear just like Josh’s. He wanted permission to spend his allowance money to buy it for him.
Eric and his mom went back into the pharmacy and bought the bear. Eric took it to school in his backpack the next day. Mom told Eric not to give the bear to Josh until she’d made sure it was OK with their teacher. The teacher said that she would be glad to arrange for Eric to give the bear to Josh.
That evening, Mom asked Eric how it went. He said that their teacher had asked the two of them to stay in for a few minutes while the rest of the class went to recess. She’d asked Josh what had happened to his bear the day before. Josh’s first words were “Eric didn’t do it.”
She said that wasn’t the reason she’d had them stay in and then explained that Eric wanted to give him another bear. The bear went from backpack to backpack for safe keeping. Eric said that Josh almost cried when he gave it to him. Eric said that the best feeling of all was to see Josh smile, and, as he left for the day, Josh gave him a big high-five.

In the Lord’s inspired pattern, the bishop has responsibility for everyone in the ward. He blesses the parents of youth as well as the youth. One bishop found that as he counseled with a young man struggling with pornography, he could help the young man in his repentance only as he helped the parents react with love and understanding. The young man’s healing was a healing for his family and was possible through the bishop working in behalf of the entire family. The young man has now become a worthy Melchizedek Priesthood holder and full-time missionary.

I am so grateful that when the Lord established this Church, He gave us the law of tithing. I talked at one time with an officer of another church which, I understand, relies on the playing of bingo for a substantial part of its income. I said to this man, “Have you ever considered tithing to finance your church?” He replied, “Yes, and oh, how I wish that we might follow this practice instead of playing bingo. But I do not expect this change in my lifetime.”