Gospel Story Finder

Sister Mary Robinson shared a heartwarming experience that she had with her family while they served. “It was easy for me to volunteer for this project as I thought it would be a great opportunity to enlist my children in service and to teach them some new skills in the process. We started with a conveyor belt system, which was great to begin with, but it didn’t take too long to descend into something like chaos. Everyone wanted it to be their turn with the sewing machine, as they were thoroughly enjoying how fast they could get it to go.
“I spent most of my efforts re-organising their work, unpicking stitches, re-threading the machine, and so on. My husband, Lee, helped the boys with the machine, and my six-year-old daughter was trimming the threads. My four-year old’s counting efforts consisted of throwing the bags in the air and hoping they’d land in some sort of pile. I was ironing them back into shape and hemming the tops with the help of my 11-year-old daughter, Rosa, and musing to myself that it would be so much quicker and easier for me just to do them myself.
“Just as I’d finished that thought, Rosa quietly whispered to me, ‘Mum, this is great seeing my prayers come true. I’m always praying that the poor will get what they need, and now I’m helping them too.’ My heart melted, and I was so grateful for every tiny hand and for every loving heart that was so willing and happy to help. I didn’t see the mess or chaos after that, just the love they each had for their fellowmen. I was reminded of how richly we are blessed as we reach out and serve, and how willing the Holy Ghost is to teach and mould us into a more Christlike version of ourselves as we do. And more than that, how incalculably valuable it is to teach these lessons to our children.”

When an LDS classmate invited Horváth Attila, 16, to sacrament meeting, Attila liked what he saw.

“Then, when my friend told me the Church was very family-centered, I became even more interested.”

Within weeks, Attila was baptized.

Three months later, his father asked to hear the discussions. “I knew enough about the Church by that time,” says Attila, “that I could help my father learn about it. The knowledge I had received in seminary helped me explain the scriptures to him. But since he smoked and drank coffee a lot, I didn’t have the faith that he would be baptized. I was amazed when I saw how—with the help of our Heavenly Father—he was able to rid those things from his life. Two months later, I baptized my father!

“Then when my mother saw how happy my father and I were in the Church, she also started to be interested. I baptized her three months after baptizing my father! The next day, my whole family came to church and bore their testimonies. It’s not possible to describe what kind of feeling it was for me.”

“I’m tired of doing all the work around here,” Jason complained when Mom asked him to pick up his toys. “I wish I could do what you do.”
Mom raised her eyebrows. “You really think you do all the work?”
Jason nodded. It seemed to him that he had more chores than any of his friends.
“All right, Jason,” Mom said. “Tomorrow we’ll change jobs. I’ll do your chores, and you can do mine. I will make a list for you so you won’t forget anything.”
Jason let out a whoop and quickly sat down to make a list of chores for his mom. He made it as long as possible, leaving a couple of extra spaces in case he thought of some more things later.
Pick up all the toys.
Make my bed.
Take out the garbage.
Hang up clean clothes.
Put dirty clothes in the clothes hamper.
Keep drawers neat.
Feed the dog.
Clean the cat’s litter box.
“I’ll have time to play my new video game and go skateboarding,” he thought.
At bedtime, Dad came in to say good-night. “Mom tells me you two have a deal. Are you sure you want to do her chores?”
Jason grinned as he gave Dad a hug. “Oh, I’m sure.”
The next morning Dad gently shook Jason awake. “I’m ready for breakfast, and I need you to fix my lunch.”
Jason opened one eye. It didn’t feel like it was time to get up.
“Remember, you and Mom are changing chores today,” Dad said. “Mom always fixes my breakfast and a lunch before I go to work.”
Reluctantly Jason arose and went to the kitchen. He was cleaning up an egg that hadn’t quite made it to the dish when Dad came in, shaved and ready for work. “Is my food ready? I have to leave.”
Jason shook his head.
“I guess I’ll pick up something to eat for breakfast and lunch today instead. Do you think it would be fair to take the cost out of your allowance?”
Jason opened his mouth to protest, but Dad gave him a quick kiss and said, “We’ll talk about it when I get home.”
By now baby Jill and four-year-old Matt were awake, but Mom had turned on the television instead of getting them dressed. Soon Jill began to cry.
“Jason, Jill’s hungry,” Mom called. “Why don’t you feed her a banana and some cereal? I’m hungry, too. Toast sounds good.”
Jason couldn’t believe this was happening! It didn’t seem fair.
“Maybe Matt will set the table,” Mom added. “I’ll help him get dressed, if that’s OK.”
Jason remembered all the times he hadn’t helped unless asked. “Thanks, Mom. Uh, could you maybe watch the toast, too?”
“Sure, Jason, but in a minute. I want to see how this program ends. It’s an art show I recorded last week, and I haven’t had time to watch it.”
Jason frowned. He was about to complain until he remembered how often he insisted on finishing a program before doing what he was asked to do. He burned two more pieces of toast.
“Oh, never mind, Jason,” Mom said cheerfully when she came into the kitchen. “Matt and I will have cereal instead. I’ll fix his and mine. You feed Jill.”
Somehow Jason got Jill fed and dressed. He was about to remind Mom to take out the garbage when he noticed it was already done, and the dog also fed.
When he ran to get his skateboard, Jason was pleased to see how tidy his room was. “Thanks, Mom, for cleaning my room,” he called as he opened the door to go out to play.
Mom gently reminded him that he needed to put in a load of laundry. Sure enough, it was on the list. So was vacuuming. He felt tears welling up as he saw his friends Timmy and Peter speed by outside on their bikes. Did Mom really do this much stuff every day?
When the first load of laundry was in the dryer and a second load in the washer, Mom asked Jason to change Jill’s diaper. Then Matt and his friends came running in just long enough to get crackers and drinks of water. They left a mess. It wasn’t fair that he had to clean up after someone else! Mom smiled and said, “I’d help, but I just painted my fingernails.”
After lunch, Jason put Jill down for a nap, but Matt insisted that he didn’t need one. “Why don’t you read him a story for quiet time instead?” Mom suggested. That made Jason angry. Would he have no free time all day? He jerked a book off the shelf and began reading grouchily, which made Matt cry.
“Be quiet, Matt, or you’ll wake Jill,” Jason hissed. Matt cried louder.
Jason sighed. “I’m sorry, Matt. Do you want to play with my new toy truck?” He got out his favorite toys, and the two boys played for the next hour. Jason was surprised at how much fun they had.
Soon Mom asked, “Have you thought of something for supper? Dad will be home soon.” Jason was about to suggest going out for hamburgers until he remembered that Dad had eaten out for both breakfast and lunch.
“How about macaroni and cheese?” It was one of the few things he knew how to make.
“Would you mind if I made a salad to go with it?” Mom offered.
“That would be great.” Jason was relieved that Mom wasn’t going to make him cook all alone. “I didn’t know you did so much, Mom,” he said as he stirred the macaroni. “Thanks for helping me.”
“Well, Jason, how did your day go?” Dad asked when he walked in the door. “Did you enjoy doing Mom’s chores?”
“It was OK,” Jason said carefully, “but I didn’t know Mom worked so hard. I found out that she does lots of things when I’m not here.” Jason bit his lip in thought. “I just want to do my own chores and be a kid for now, but maybe I’ll be a better kid than I was.”
Jason was true to his word. When he felt like complaining, he remembered the day he did Mom’s jobs and instead pitched in to lend a hand. The funny thing was, he soon found it was fun to help.

I learned about the power of such a vision when I joined my 12- and 13-year-old sons for a 50/20 competition. A 50/20 consists of walking 50 miles (80 km) in less than 20 hours. We started at 9:00 p.m. and walked all that night and most of the next day. It was an excruciating 19 hours, but we succeeded.
Upon returning home, we literally crawled into the house, where a wonderful wife and mother had prepared a lovely dinner, which we didn’t touch. My younger son collapsed, totally exhausted, on the couch, while my older son crawled downstairs to his bedroom.
After some painful rest of my own, I went to my younger son to make sure he was still alive.
“Are you OK?” I asked.
“Dad, that was the hardest thing I have ever done, and I never want to do it again.”
I wasn’t about to tell him that I would never do it again either. Instead, I told him how proud I was that he had accomplished such a hard thing. I knew it would prepare him for other hard things he would face in his future. With that thought, I said, “Son, let me make you this promise. When you go on your mission, you will never have to walk 50 miles in one day.”
“Good, Dad! Then I’m going.”
Those simple words filled my soul with gratitude and joy.
I then went downstairs to my oldest son. I lay by him—then touched him. “Son, are you all right?”
“Dad, that was the most difficult thing I have ever done in my life, and I will never, ever do it again.” His eyes closed—then opened—and he said, “Unless my son wants me to.”
Tears came as I expressed how grateful I was for him. I told him I knew he was going to be a much better father than I was. My heart was full because at his young and tender age he already recognized that one of his most sacred priesthood duties was to be a father. He had no fear of that role and title—the very title that God Himself wants us to use when we speak to Him. I knew I had the responsibility to nurture the embers of fatherhood that were burning within my son.
These words of the Savior took on a much deeper meaning to me as a father:
“The Son can do nothing of himself, but what he seeth the Father do: for [whatsoever things He] doeth, these also doeth the Son likewise” (John 5:19).
“I do nothing of myself; but as my Father hath taught me” (John 8:28).
I love being a husband and father—married to a chosen daughter of heavenly parents. I love her. It is one of the most fulfilling parts of my life. My hope that night was that my five sons and their sister would always see in me the joy that comes from eternal marriage, fatherhood, and family.

As we develop these necessary attributes, how do we still keep our own personality? As I mentioned, I have not completely developed the Christlike attribute of patience, especially on the road. I do not usually cut people off or yell, but as I pass, you may see me saying to myself, “Come on, people, let’s go!” I don’t think my frustration makes me a horrible person, but it definitely is not Christlike.

A while ago I decided to start listening to Spanish teaching podcasts while driving to help with my impatience. Now if you see me talking in my car, I am no longer asking you to go faster. Instead, I am practicing very important phrases, such as, “¿Dónde está el queso?”

This practice of trying to become more patient has also taught me to learn by listening and repeating. I have always been the type of person who needs to see things in addition to hearing them. Now I have the capability of learning in a new way. Thus, in the process of becoming more Christlike in patience, I have developed a new personality trait that defines who I am, and it is one that I am much more proud of than road rage.

Some time ago I received, without solicitation, a letter whose writer has given permission for me to share it:
“Dear President Hinckley:
“An hour ago I had a very special experience that led me to writing this letter. I was walking on my way home and a sudden feeling came over me that somewhere there is a young man who, except for money, qualifies to serve a mission for the Lord, and that I was to provide him with the necessary funds to serve a mission. I don’t have any idea who and where this young man is, but the feeling came over me that you would know, and I was to put the funds into your hands and see to it that he serves his mission. That left me in tears. I arrived home and asked my wife how she felt after I had told her of the experience that I had just had. [She], of course, consented.
“I am enclosing a check for $3,000, but the figure that came to my mind was $4,000. This is all the money that is available to us at present, but on January 27, we will send in another check for $1,000. I am still in my training as a physician. I have to work extra hours to earn a living for my wife and three daughters, and we do not have money for a down payment on a house. We have been trying for five years to save for a house, and the Lord has blessed us beyond measure.
“Three years ago, a similar feeling came over me, but as we thought about it we felt that the Lord was giving us a signal to be prepared to put at the altar what he requires of us. We decided then that once I am through with my training we will support as many missionaries as our finances will allow us. Tonight there was no doubt that the Lord has asked us to put that money on the altar.
“I am a convert to the Church, … and my wife was born under the sacred covenant. I left my home in Beirut [Lebanon] thirteen years ago. Since age eleven I dreamed of finding the true religion, and fifteen years later I found it. … I have missed death as a child on more than one occasion, but a divine power has saved me every time.
“When I came to America, … I was given no hope of gaining acceptance into a medical school simply because I was not a United States citizen. A voice within me whispered that I would be a physician one day.
“I have attended one of the best schools in the United States on a scholarship. I then went [to another medical school] for a reason totally unknown to me then. … A year later I was miraculously led to Church literature and joined the Church. Nine months later I met my wife, and we were married in the temple three months after we had met.
“As you see, I owe the Lord more than $4,000! He has given me my eyes, my hands to work and earn a living. …
“We … leave the money in your hands to [use] according to the inspiration of the Lord vested in you. … We love all those who labor in this great cause.
“May God bless us all in our service to him!
“Sincerely yours.”
He then signs his and his wife’s names.
That letter, better than any feeble words of mine, breathes the spirit of Christmas, exemplifies the Golden Rule, and speaks with eloquence of the love of Him who gave His life as a sacrifice for all.

I had the privilege of seeing this on a grand scale in the U.S. Senate, where there is normally an imbalance between the show horses and the work horses. I can vividly remember standing next to Lyndon Johnson, then majority leader, one day in a Senate chamber anteroom as we both read the ticker tape with a news story about a major bill coming out of a Senate committee after months of labor. One senator, who had not been attending the sessions while the hearings were being held and the tedious testimony was being taken, had managed, nevertheless, to show up the very day the bill was reported out of committee to take his bows before waiting TV cameras. He was one of those senators who would show up for the opening of an envelope. The man at my side, later to become president, profaned in his disgust for the show horse senator, declaring that the show horse senator was also a lazy liberal who let other liberals do the work while he took the bows.

So often in human affairs I have learned the many depend upon the few to lead, to set the pace, to show the way, to deal with the detail.

I attended Kahuku High and Intermediate School until the 10th grade, and then my parents said we were moving to the big city of Honolulu, where I was also raised by the Auwaiolimu and M?noa Wards.

I then attended the private Punahou School, the same school that U.S. President Barack Obama attended. It was a very difficult transition, socially and academically, as one of three new 10th graders. I remember eating lunch alone in the bathroom because I didn’t have any friends at first, and it seemed like most of my peers already had their cliques. I especially struggled with mathematics and received Ds and Fs my first quarter. I was physically and mentally working as hard as I possibly could, but I still wasn’t passing. There were many times I thought about giving up, but each time someone—a coach, teacher, friend, family member, Heavenly Father—said, “Keep going, you can do it!” From my childhood experiences, and at Kahuku and Punahou, I learned that Heavenly Father’s world is a textbook filled with stories from mountains to sea—and that what occurs outside of the classroom is equally important as what occurs inside.

My wife and I had been serving as full-time missionaries in the Caribbean Area for a few months and enjoyed the opportunity to labor there. We loved the Latter-day Saints we had met and were lifted by their faith and friendliness. Neither one of us knew Spanish before our assignment and had worked hard to understand and communicate in this new language. Despite these efforts, we continued to struggle to with Spanish.
As I was asking myself why I was assigned to an area where I could not communicate with others, I remembered something about the temple we served at near our home. In this temple there is a small chapel next to the baptismal font and at the front of it are several large glass panes that extend from the floor to the ceiling, allowing people to watch as ordinances are being performed. One day I noticed an imperfection in one of the panes of glass and wondered why this imperfect pane of glass was still there. I could not detect any flaws in the other panes and wondered why this one was allowed to remain.
As I reflected on this, the thought came to my mind that even though it had an imperfection, the pane of glass was still performing the function it was asked to do, allow people to view ordinances. People in the chapel would look past the imperfection and be grateful that the pane of glass was doing what it had been asked to do, even though it was not perfect.
In 1995, President Russell M. Nelson taught us about being perfect. While he confirmed the Lord’s commandment to be perfect 1 , he reminded us that to become perfect as Christ is perfect is not something that will come easily, quickly, or even in this life. He encouraged us to “do the best we can and try to improve each day. When our imperfections appear, we can keep trying to correct them. We can be more forgiving of flaws in ourselves and among those we love.” 2
These thoughts encourage me to keep trying, despite the inability to communicate. Perhaps, like the pane of glass, people that I serve will see past my imperfections and be helped by the service provided.

In my association with some dear friends, I saw how we can be supported by the Savior’s Atonement through difficult times in our lives as we “hold fast the confidence” in Him. I first met Bishop Mervin and Dorothy Prince of New Harmony, Utah, when I was called as stake president of the Cedar City University 3rd Stake in March of 1999. They were both healthy, energetic members of the Church. Bishop Prince was the bishop of one of the young single adult wards in our stake, and Sister Prince was our stake librarian. I came to know and love them deeply, and I learned some of life’s most important lessons from their example. Their experience gives convincing evidence of how the Savior reaches out to us in our time of trouble. I realize that their story of faith and courage is like many others who have also suffered—some of whom are attending this devotional today. I share the Prince’s story today with their permission.

Being the bishop of a young single adult ward requires a considerable amount of time. In addition to the regular church meetings on Sunday, there are many administrative meetings and activities to attend. But what takes a great deal of time are the hours of interviewing and counseling members. Being a bishop of a young single adult ward is a big job. During many of those hours of service, rarely did I ever see Bishop Prince without Sister Prince. They would drive together from New Harmony to Cedar City, about a 30-minute drive, almost every Sunday. She would serve in the stake library, attend the block of meetings and then wait by her husband’s office door until he was done interviewing so they could go home together. Many times she would do her cross-stitch while she waited and visit with the members. The precious time they spent with those young people was something they both cherished.

Early in the fall of 1999, several weeks had gone by, and I had not seen Sister Prince. So, I asked Bishop Prince one Sunday afternoon where his wife was. He said the reason why I had not seen her was due to a terrible cold, which had turned into pneumonia. Hearing this, I asked if there was anything I could do to help. He said that I should not worry. He reassured me that she was starting to feel a little better. He felt she would be back to her daily routine within the upcoming week. Fortunately, I did see Sister Prince that next Sunday, but I could tell she still wasn’t back to full strength, and I noticed that she had developed a deep cough. In spite of this, she seemed happy and in good spirits. As the weeks went by, I saw less and less of her. In a monthly priesthood interview I had with Bishop Prince, I inquired again about Sister Prince. He said that she still had a bad cough that just would not go away. He said that she had made another appointment to see her doctor.

Several weeks after that interview, I received a telephone call one evening at home. It was Bishop Prince. He said, “I’m calling to tell you that Dorothy visited the doctor to see if he could help her with the cough she had. He ordered an x-ray of her lungs. When he examined the x-ray, he noticed some spots there and referred her to another doctor. More tests were done. She was then referred to a cancer specialist and he has discovered that Dorothy is full of cancer. She has been told that she only has four to six months to live. She is wondering if you would give her a blessing.”

The blessing was given but with no promise of healing. Then came the brutal treatments of chemotherapy with one gloomy prognosis after another and little help to stop the spread of the cancer or the pain. Through it all, I witnessed from them complete submission to the Lord without complaint or blame. In every conversation I had with them during this difficult time they lovingly expressed their deep gratitude and faith in Heavenly Father and for the atonement of Jesus Christ. They “held fast to the confidence and rejoiced in the hope” of the power of the Atonement “firm unto the end.” They did not let go of the Lord, and He did not let go of them. The Lord had promised them that “even to your old age I am he; and even to [gray] hairs will I carry you: I have made, and I will bear; even I will carry, and I will deliver you.”[18] He supported them and filled them with hope, lightened their load, and calmed their troubled hearts. With that support, on a beautiful spring day surrounded by her loved ones, Sister Dorothy Prince quietly and peacefully was delivered from her pain and suffering and passed from mortality to the world of spirits. Bishop Prince confidently and patiently now waits for the day when they will be united together again forever.

George Albert Smith and his wife, Lucy, took seriously the divine mandate to “bring up [their] children in light and truth” (D&C 93:40). Their daughter Edith told of one occasion when her father took advantage of a teaching opportunity. She had taken the streetcar home from a piano lesson, and the conductor neglected to collect her fare. “Somehow he passed me by,” she recounted, “and I reached my destination still holding my nickel in my hand, and frankly quite elated that I had made the trip free.
“… I ran gleefully to Father to tell him about my good fortune. He listened to my story patiently. I was beginning to think I was a great success. …
“When I had finished my tale, Father said, ‘But, darling, even if the conductor doesn’t know about this, you know and I know and Heavenly Father knows. So, there are still three of us who must be satisfied in seeing that you pay in full for value received.’”
Edith returned to the street corner and paid her fare. She said later, “I am indeed thankful for a Father who was wise enough to kindly point out the error to me, because if it had been overlooked, I could have thought he approved.”13

A number of years ago my brother called me and as we visited, I asked him that same question, he said he had had better days. He then asked me how my day was and I told him that I no longer had bad days; of course he wanted an explanation.

That day some unusual things happened. I was at work trying to keep pace with a busy schedule. I had just finished my morning surgeries and hurried to exam room one to see my first patient, in our practice there is a small slot in the door that holds the medical records where the technicians write their findings as they interview clients and examine the patient. Today the card was empty. That was strange and as that fact was beginning to register, something else out of the ordinary happened. The door softly closed behind me, and the technician who normally followed me into the room was on the other side of it. There was a scruffy white and black dog sitting on the exam table, you have never seen such an emaciated mess in all your life. He had one red swollen eye and what looked to be a large dirt clod on his head. His coat was dirty and unkempt and he was very gaunt.

Having no idea what we were doing, and learning only that the dogs name was Cholo from the record, I asked, "What are we doing for Cholo today?" For a moment no one answered, there appeared to be a whole family there, grandparents a mother and father and several kids, and they all looked at the floor. They were Hispanic and as is often the case an older woman touched a young girl on the shoulder and she began to speak. "We had Cholo put to sleep a week ago." With that flat statement my gut tightened slightly, I could envision that we had put Cholo to sleep a week ago and that somehow we had not done a very good job, and he had come back to life, you know that can be considered as one of the ultimate failures. That is a hard decision for people to make and if it had gone poorly, I could imagine that they were not happy, so tentatively, I asked, "Did we put him to sleep?" They smiled and the little girl said "no". Now relieved but still confused I prompted them to continue. This time the mother in broken English began to explain. "A week ago Cholo ran into the road and was hit by a car, it didn't kill him but he was badly hurt." "His eyeball was popped out and his skull was fractured, we could see his brain!" "We knew he could not live and so my husband's friend took him into the desert and put him to sleep." I asked, "How did he put him to sleep?" She answered that he had shot him five times. I laughed and commented, "He must not have been a very good shot." "Oh no", came the reply, "Cholo was dead, and we buried him in a shallow grave."

This was becoming more bizarre by the moment. Still perplexed, I ask, "How did he get home." She said, "An hour ago the phone rang and my husband's boss said your dog is out here and he doesn't look very good, you better come and get him. We tried to explain that it could not be our dog that he had been dead for a week, but he said he was sure it was our dog and that we had better come down. It was Cholo and so here we are." Still not sure what they wanted, I ask, "What do you want us to do, put him to sleep?" The mother became excited and began to shake her head, "No, no, Cholo is a good dog, after all of this, he came home to us. We want you to fix him."

Cholo had had a bad day. He set a new standard for bad days. He had been hit by a car, had his skull fractured, his eyeball popped out of its socket. He had been taken out into the desert away from his family and shot five times. Then to end this bad day, he was buried alive. So with this as our standard, I would submit that I have never had a bad day and neither have most of you.

These were poor people so I began to explain that we would want to take x-rays and run some tests to see what would be best for Cholo. The mother looked at her hands and said "We only have $1200.00." I am sure this was all the money they had in the world. I told them to have a seat and we would see how extensive his injuries were and then we could talk of the costs involved.

I really expected to find very little when we x-rayed Cholo, but when the pictures were developed, he had been shot five times in the head and neck. I don't know how he was alive, but he was. The dirt clod on the head turned out to be a large laceration and a fracture into his frontal sinus. What they thought was the brain was actually the sinus cavity. We cleaned it up and sutured his wounds. The eye was very red and hemorrhagic; it had been proptosed and because of the loss of blood it had sunk back in to the socket and his vision was fine, even though the eye was very blood shot. Cholo required very little attention, a few sutures and some antibiotics and pain killers. He was a modern day miracle.

Of course, love conquers fear not just in missionary work but in all aspects of life. When young Gordon B. Hinckley and Marjorie Pay were engaged to be married, Gordon began to worry about the economic realities of marriage during the depression-ridden 1930s. He called his fiancée and said they needed to talk. They agreed to meet over lunch.

“I think you should know,” he told her, “that I only have $150 to my name.” He added that he only made $185 a month.

Marjorie put his fears to rest with her unexpected, optimistic response: “Oh, that will work out just fine; if you’ve got $150, we’re set!”

Reflecting on her thoughts that day, Marjorie said, “I had hoped for a husband and now I was getting $150 too!” Sister Hinckley’s love and faith empowered her to “fear not” as they started their lives together—a marriage that would become nearly seven decades of love and faith and service.

One Sunday morning, more than a year ago, we awoke to a beautiful day in Santo Domingo in the Dominican Republic. The Caribbean sun was shining, and the sky was clear. A gentle breeze was blowing, barely ruffling the leaves on the trees; it was warm and peaceful and still. But far out to sea, beyond the reach of our physical senses that day, the deadly destroyer was coming our way, implacable and irresistible. The Hurricane Center, with responsibility to track and predict the path of Hurricane Georges, was constantly updating the information available on the Internet. In the peaceful, placid quiet of that morning, by virtue of those seeing eyes in the sky, I saw the predicted path of the storm, aimed like an arrow at the heart of Santo Domingo.
Within 48 hours the storm struck the island with intense and insensate fury, leaving in its path destruction, desolation, and death. The raw, elemental power of nature was astonishing. From the relative safety of our house, we saw trees doubled over by the force of the wind, which alternately shrieked and howled and roared; the punishing power of that wind drove rain into the house around the window frames, and the surging three-foot river of water in the street outside, brought about by the intense rain, finally crested and began to subside when it was within an inch of coming into our house.
Around the area where we lived, most of the trees were either uprooted or split by the fierce winds. Trees, branches, power lines, and telephone poles were down all over town. Streets were blocked, traffic was difficult, and power was cut off for more than a week. Although the damage was great, it would have been much greater but for the warnings from those who track and predict and counsel people to be prepared. Virtually all of those who were adequately prepared came through the hurricane relatively unscathed. I am grateful to those men and women who devote time and attention to track and monitor those storms. Their timely warnings and counsel save lives and protect people. Those who disregard the warnings pay the price of willful failure to listen to those guardians whose calling it is to watch and warn and save.

Some years ago I became acquainted with the story of a young family whose little son was tragically ill with cancer. Every night the father sat with his boy, holding him in his arms. The pain seemed less when daddy held him close. The father slept on a mattress on the floor beside his son so that he could reach him whenever the boy cried out. The parents bore their sorrow with courage. They prayed, they loved, they served. Faith gave them strength to meet the test.

I recall the time I approached baptism, when I was eight years of age. My mother talked with me about repentance and about the meaning of baptism; and then, on a Saturday in September of 1935, she took me on a streetcar to the Tabernacle baptistry which, until recently, was here in this building. At the time it was not as customary as it is now for fathers to baptize their children, since the ordinance was generally performed on a Saturday morning or afternoon, and many fathers were working at their daily professions or trades. I dressed in white and was baptized. I remember that day as though it were yesterday and the happiness I felt at having had this ordinance performed.
Over the years and particularly during the time I served as a bishop, I witnessed many other baptisms in the Tabernacle font. Each was a special and inspiring occasion, and each served to remind me of my own baptism.

Our grandchildren are learning that when they make a choice, they also choose its consequences. Recently one of our three-year-old granddaughters refused to eat her dinner. Her mother explained, “It’s almost bedtime. If you choose to eat dinner, you are choosing ice cream for dessert. If you choose not to eat dinner, you are choosing to go to bed now, without ice cream.” Our granddaughter considered her two choices and then stated emphatically, “I want this choice—to play and eat only ice cream and not go to bed.”

Matthew, Andrew, and Isaac aren’t the only brothers in the Clarkson family. There are four more: Levi (9), Eli (7), Sam (4), and Titus (2), and a baby on the way.
When President Nelson invited the women of the Church in October 2018 general conference to read the Book of Mormon before the end of the year, Matthew, Andrew, and Isaac, along with their father and younger brothers, decided to offer Mom their support. “We’ll read it with you!” they said. Every morning before seminary, they woke up to read together.
“When we took on this challenge, I thought it was going to take a lot of time,” Andrew says. “I worried that I wouldn’t have enough time to do everything I wanted to do, like play the guitar or hang out with my friends. But I realized that it just doesn’t work like that. The more I was into reading the Book of Mormon, the more time I actually seemed to have. I realized that if I keep up on reading the scriptures as much as possible, my life is balanced. I have more time in the day.”
Matthew was going through a hard time when the family started reading every morning. He says, “I wasn’t doing well in school. I struggled with my personal scripture study and my relationship with Heavenly Father, and I kept it all to myself. I didn’t talk about it with my parents.”
However, as Matthew spent more time reading the Book of Mormon, the gospel began to take first priority in his life. He also put more effort into school. He worked hard and got his grades up.
“I also realized how much Heavenly Father and my parents love me and how much they help me. And I have a greater testimony of Jesus Christ. He has helped me overcome bad habits and helped me get my life headed in the right direction. I’m so glad we took President Nelson’s challenge as a family. It changed my life.”
Accepting President Nelson’s invitation also strengthened Isaac’s testimony. “We circled the words God, Lord, Redeemer, Savior, and Christ every time we found them,” he says. “On the day we finished, I flipped through the Book of Mormon and saw all the words I had circled. I thought, ‘Man, that’s a lot!’ I had never noticed how many there were. I felt much more spiritual reading the Book of Mormon. I’m glad we did it.”
Matthew, Andrew, and Isaac are amazed that their family finished the Book of Mormon in just two months. “It usually takes us a year,” Isaac says. Together, they discovered the blessings of following the prophet’s invitation.
“If you do what you’re supposed to do,” Andrew says, “like building a relationship with Heavenly Father through prayer, scripture study, and staying fully active in the Church, life is so much better.”
These three brothers have helped each other progress in the gospel. They follow the prophet, who has called on members “to increase their faith in our Lord Jesus Christ and in His Atonement, to … [make] and [keep] their covenants with God, and to strengthen … their families.”1

I feel to express thanks to my Heavenly Father for His countless blessings to me. I can say, as did Nephi of old, that I was born of goodly parents, whose own parents and grandparents were gathered out of the lands of Sweden and Scotland and England by dedicated missionaries. As those missionaries bore humble testimonies, they touched the hearts and the spirits of my forebears. After joining the Church, these noble men, women, and children made their way to the valley of the Great Salt Lake. Many were the trials and heartaches they encountered along the way.
In the spring of 1848, my great-great-grandparents, Charles Stewart Miller and Mary McGowan Miller, who had joined the Church in their native Scotland, left their home in Rutherglen, Scotland, and journeyed to St. Louis, Missouri, with a group of Saints, arriving there in 1849. One of their 11 children, Margaret, would become my great-grandmother.
While the family was in St. Louis working to earn enough money to complete their journey to the Salt Lake Valley, a plague of cholera swept through the area, leaving death and heartache in its wake. The Miller family was hard hit. In the space of two weeks, four of the family members succumbed. The first, on June 22, 1849, was 18-year-old William. Five days later Mary McGowan Miller, my great-great-grandmother and the mother of the family, died. Two days afterward, 15-year-old Archibald passed away, and five days after his death, my great-great-grandfather, Charles Stewart Miller, father of the family, succumbed. The children who survived were left orphans, including my great-grandmother Margaret, who was 13 years old at the time.
Because of so many deaths in the area, there were no caskets available, at any price, in which to bury the deceased family members. The older surviving boys dismantled the family’s oxen pens in order to make caskets for the family members who had passed away.
Little is recorded of the heartache and struggles of the nine remaining Miller children as they continued to work and save for that journey their parents and brothers would never make. We know that they left St. Louis in the spring of 1850 with four oxen and one wagon, arriving finally in the Salt Lake Valley that same year.
Others of my ancestors faced similar hardships. Through it all, however, their testimonies remained steadfast and firm. From all of them I received a legacy of total dedication to the gospel of Jesus Christ. Because of these faithful souls, I stand before you today.

As a child, Isaiah John attended the Pentecostal church with his mother. At a certain point, he went to live with his brother in Monrovia. He continued attending the Pentecostal church after his move. One day he met a missionary who asked him about his beliefs and then asked him if he would be willing to visit The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Isaiah agreed. Right away he noticed a difference that he liked and that felt good. Isaiah began taking the lessons and prayed about what he should do. He wanted to do the right thing. He was baptized in October 2018. Isaiah was so happy to be baptized and confirmed. He was grateful for the gift of the Holy Ghost.
His mother came to visit and asked Isaiah if he was still going to church. He said “Yes, but not to the Pentecostal church”.
Isaiah said he will never forget what she said to him: “Brother Isaiah, do you know that the Church you are going to is a perfect church that has embraced the gospel of Jesus?”
He replied, “Yes, mom, I love the Church” and he explained that at church they talk about Heavenly Father, Jesus Christ, the Holy Ghost, and they teach how to live. Before she died in 2022, she told him to continue attending his church if he knew it was true, which made him very happy.
One day he was attending church and felt strongly that he needed to help others learn about Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. He had friends that were getting ready to go on a mission. That caused him to start thinking about a mission and recognized that it would make Heavenly Father happy. He prayed about it and asked Him for help getting the passport and other things ready. His sister and bishop answered that prayer by helping him get everything prepared.
Before he came to the missionary training center, he was discussing with a missionary about temple work. The thought came to him that his parents had given him life and done everything for him, and this was something he could do for them. He printed the temple ordinance cards and brought them with him. Elder John had the opportunity to attend the temple and to do the necessary ordinances for his mother and father. On 12 December 2023, Elder John was able to participate in having his parents sealed together, and he was then sealed to his parents. He felt as if his mother was asking him again “Brother Isaiah, do you know that this Church is the perfect Church?”
In his mind he, once again, answered “Yes, mom, I love the Church and know it is true.”
He knows that someday they will all be together, and that brings him great joy and peace.