Gospel Story Finder

“Yes. It’s a story about a little girl named Ida, who was very, very sick. In fact, she was so sick that her parents were afraid that she might die.”
“Didn’t they take her to the doctor?” asked Kristi.
“Well,” continued Mother, “this story happened a long time ago, before penicillin was discovered, so although the doctor tried to help Ida, he wasn’t certain that she would get well.
“For many days Ida stayed in her bed. She didn’t feel like eating, even though her mother coaxed her, and she became very weak. When she slept, she tossed and turned and cried out in her sleep. Then, little by little, she began to improve.
“When her strength began to return, it wasn’t easy for Ida to be patient. She wanted to be completely well immediately. The sounds and fragrances of summer came drifting through the open window. Bees droned around the snapdragons, birds chirped, and the scent of blossoms filled the air. Peals of laughter echoed across the lawn as Ida’s older brothers and sisters scrambled to fill Mother’s big blue bowl with sweet cherries from the orchard. How Ida longed to be with them, climbing the leafy branches and plucking the juicy red fruit.
“‘Perhaps in a few days you will be well enough to sit on the porch,’ her mother had said. But ‘a few days’ seemed like forever to Ida.
“Creak-bang! went the screen door downstairs as Ida’s father returned, tired and dusty from his work in the fields. Ida could hear the sound of dishes clinking in the kitchen and the soft wails of Baby Beth, tired and cross from the heat.
“‘Poor Baby Beth,’ Ida sympathized. It seemed like such a long time since Ida had played with her brothers and sisters. She missed them all, especially Baby Beth. But because her illness was contagious, the other children were not allowed to come into Ida’s room. Because it was summertime, her father spent nearly every day working in the fields. And with cherries to preserve, a hungry family to feed, and little Beth to look after, it was difficult for Ida’s mother to find time to just visit with her. For Ida, the hardest part of being sick was the loneliness.
“‘Are you asleep?’ her mother asked one day, setting a cup and bowl down on the little table next to Ida’s bed.
“‘No,’ Ida replied with a frown. ‘I was just thinking.’
“‘What about?’
“‘I was thinking about how summer evenings seem so long.’ Ida paused. ‘Mama, will it be long before I’m well again? Will there still be cherries on the tree?’ Ida peered anxiously at her mother’s tired face.
“‘It seems awfully long to you, doesn’t it?’ Her mother smiled sympathetically. ‘Try to be patient.’ She blew Ida a kiss as she turned to leave.
“Ida listened to her mother’s footsteps on the stairs, then folded her arms and closed her eyes.
“‘Dear Heavenly Father,’ she whispered, ‘I thank Thee for this food. Help me to eat it so that I can get better soon. And please help me to not feel lonely tonight.’
“After dinner, Ida closed her eyes again. The sun had nearly set. If only I could sleep, she thought. But it was no use. Her eyes just simply would not stay shut. The corners of the room were beginning to get dark, and Ida heard the sound of a lullaby floating up the stairs, accompanied by the clickety-whirr of her mother’s treadle sewing machine.
“Ida felt a wave of loneliness sweep over her. She wanted to run downstairs and tuck Baby Beth into bed or watch her mother sew or just sit on her big brother’s lap. She tried not to cry, but a big salty tear slipped from her eye and rolled down her nose. And that is when she saw it: Poised on the windowsill, ebony-black against the twilight, was a cricket. It sat silent and motionless for a moment, then burst into a chirping song.
“‘What a strange sound!’ Ida exclaimed. She caught her breath as the cricket hopped up in the air and landed again on the windowsill. Ida watched, entranced, as the cricket leaped and chirred in the fading light until, at last, her room was enfolded in darkness and she was fast asleep.
“In the morning the cricket was gone. But when twilight came, it returned to the windowsill to sing and dance until Ida fell asleep. After that the cricket came every night to sing Ida to sleep.
“One day Ida was finally well enough to leave her bed and go downstairs to sit on the porch. That night the cricket didn’t come. It never came again. But always after that, whenever Ida heard the song of a cricket in the twilight, she remembered ‘her’ cricket and felt again the assurance that there is a loving Father in Heaven who answers the prayers of His children.”

Squirrel knew that winter was coming. Owl had said it was, Blue Jay and Deer had told him too. Even Chipmunk, his best friend, had reminded him as she busily gathered food for the winter.
“You’d better hide nuts for winter,” Blue Jay chirped.
“You can’t find food in the snow,” Deer said.
“Listen to your friends, Squirrel,” Chipmunk chattered, flicking her tail. “They’re right, you know.”
But it was only September, and for Squirrel, winter was a long way off. There would be plenty of time to gather food later. He had other things to do. He liked to have fun and to play tricks on his friends. He liked jumping from tree to tree and scaring Blue Jay. And whenever Deer was standing under a tree that Squirrel was playing in, Squirrel dropped nuts on him. When a nut hit him, Deer would bound away in fright—while Squirrel held his sides and chattered with glee!
But what he liked best was stealing a nut from Chipmunk. She would chase him around and around! Up and down the trees they’d go. Finally Squirrel would drop the nut and look for something else to do.
“Squirrel, you are being very foolish,” Owl scolded. “If you don’t store food, you will be very hungry this winter.”
Chipmunk warned him again too. “Store some nuts now,” she said. “Soon they’ll be covered with snow, and you won’t be able to find them.”
Squirrel didn’t like to have Chipmunk mad at him, so he took a few nuts to his pantry, just to please her. But he thought that work was no fun, so before long, he was off playing tricks again.
Time passed quickly. Then one morning when Squirrel poked his head out the door, a blanket of white greeted him. Snow? he thought. Already? The air was crisp and cold. A breeze blew a puff of snow off the branch above his door. Plop! It landed right on his head. “Yipe!” He jumped back inside. He shook his head. “Brrrr!”
Squirrel had to think about this. But thinking always made him hungry. He went to his pantry. Two or three nuts will help me to decide, he thought. Oh, oh! Squirrel stared at the little pile of nuts in the corner. He had always planned to gather food “tomorrow.” But “tomorrow” never seemed to come. “What shall I do?” he muttered.
He ate two of the nuts from the little pile and thought about it. “I’ll go see Chipmunk,” he said. “She’ll know what to do.” So away he went.
Squirrel raced along as fast as he could. At long last he came to Chipmunk’s burrow. He poked his head in. “Good morning,” he chattered. “May I come in?”
Chipmunk looked up from her breakfast. “Wipe your feet first,” she said, after swallowing a mouthful of acorn.
Squirrel wiped his feet, then came in and sat down.
“How do you like the snow, Squirrel?” she asked.
“It’s pretty, but it’s cold,” he answered. Hanging his head, he mumbled, “And it hides the nuts.”
Chipmunk shook her tail reproachfully, “We all tried to warn you that this would happen.”
“I know,” Squirrel said, watching his feet as he shifted from one to the other. “I was very foolish. But I won’t be anymore, I promise.” He looked up. “What can I do now, Chipmunk?” he said in a small voice.
Just then Blue Jay landed on the ground outside Chipmunk’s door. “Good morning, Chipmunk. Good morning, Squirrel,” he said in a cheery voice.
“Good morning, Blue Jay,” Chipmunk and Squirrel said together.
“How do you like this fine, snowy day?” Blue Jay asked, hopping about.
“I think the snow is very pretty,” Chipmunk chattered. “But Squirrel has a problem.”
“He does?” Blue Jay tipped his head and looked at Squirrel with shiny, black eyes.
“I was very foolish. I didn’t gather nuts when I should have,” Squirrel told him quietly. “Now the snow hides them, and I don’t know what to do.”
“Hmm.” Blue Jay ruffled his feathers. “That is a problem.”
“Squirrel has promised not to be foolish anymore,” Chipmunk told Blue Jay. “What can we do to help him?”
Blue Jay hopped about and looked around. He thought and thought. Then he said, “Wait here,” and flew away.
In a little while, he came back. Owl was with him, and so was Deer. Chipmunk and Squirrel came out to join them.
Owl was perched on a limb near Chipmunk’s burrow. The others gathered around him. “Blue Jay told me about your problem, Squirrel,” he said in a deep voice. “We will all try to help you, but first you must promise to never scare Blue Jay or Deer again, and to not tease Chipmunk when she is gathering food.”
“I promise,” Squirrel agreed earnestly. “I also promise that I’ll work hard next year to be ready for winter.”
“Good.” Owl turned to Blue Jay. “You can help Squirrel by knocking the last of the nuts from the highest branches. But”—he turned to look at Squirrel—“you must help Blue Jay get berries from under the bushes when he can no longer reach them.”
Squirrel nodded.
“I’ll help dig nuts out of the snow for you,” Deer offered.
“But when the snow gets too deep for Deer to find food,” Owl told Squirrel, “you must break off tender twigs that are high in the trees for him to eat.”
Squirrel nodded again. “I’ll do that too.”
“Chipmunk can help you carry the nuts to your tree,” Owl said.
“But next fall, Squirrel, you must help me carry nuts to my burrow,” Chipmunk told him.
Squirrel agreed happily.
And that is just what they did.

“I examined the matter studiously for two years before I made up my mind to receive that book … I wished time sufficient to prove all things for myself.” (JD, 3:91, 8 August 1852.)

On another occasion Brigham explained this reserve:
“Upon the first opportunity I read the Book of Mormon, and then sought to become acquainted with the people who professed to believe it … I watched to see whether good common sense was manifest; and if they had that, I wanted them to present it in accordance with the Scriptures … when I had fully meditated everything in my mind, I completely accepted it and not until then.” (JD, 8:38, 6 April 1860.)

After about a year and a half, he was finally moved to action. He was visited by a group of Mormon missionaries from Columbia, Pennsylvania, one of whom sat him down and bore his testimony to him:
“When I saw a man without eloquence, or talents for public speaking, who could only say, ‘I know, by the power of the Holy Ghost, that the Book of Mormon is true, that Joseph Smith is a prophet of the Lord,’ the Holy Ghost proceeding from that individual illuminated my understanding, and light, glory and immortality were present. I was compelled by them, driven with them, and I knew for myself that the testimony of the man was true … My own judgment, natural endowments, and education bowed to this simple, but mighty testimony … It filled my system with light, and my soul with joy.” (JD, 1:90 13 June 1852.)

Brigham was baptized in Mendon on April 15, 1832 in his own little millstream behind his carpenter shop by that same missionary whose testimony had so influenced him.

Time continued to go by, and we were extremely content with our lives. We had our two wonderful daughters, had great neighbors, a good job, and life seemed to be going well for us. We started to think that our family would be just the four of us. Afterall, most of our neighbors only had two kids. However, one day as Caryn was putting away the clothes Chrysanne had grown out of, she could not feel peace about giving the little clothes away. She was also about to turn 40, and knew that if we were going to have another child now was the time. Her patriarchal blessing promised that she would bring forth bodies (plural), and at this point we only had the one birth. We truly believed God would fulfill his promises. As Elder Angel Abrea stated, “The faithful Latter-day Saint waits patiently because, certainly, faith, ‘the assurance of things hoped for’, is exercised with the conviction that the promises will be fulfilled ‘in his own time, and in his own way, and according to his own will’” (1992).

We started once again going to see infertility specialists, and were told that the procedure that had the best chance for us in our condition was invitro fertilization. However, this was a very costly procedure, and one that had just a 25% chance of success at Caryn’s age. We moved forward with faith knowing of the Lord’s promise to Caryn, and that we could put our trust in Him. We traveled out of state to a respected clinic and worked with an outstanding physician in this invitro fertilization process. While we were gone, our Bishop felt impressed to look for Caryn in the congregation one Sunday. The Spirit told him, “Sister Houghton needs you to tell her something.” He did not know why, and did not even see my wife in order to follow through with the prompting. Later that week we came back to our home in Oklahoma extremely disheartened, since we just had been told by the fertility clinic that the procedure had not been successful. We had spent tens of thousands of dollars, given up time away from work, put our trust in medicine and the Lord, only to have it end in failure. We were sad and wondered what the Lord wanted us to do in our lives instead.

The following Sunday after sacrament meeting the Bishop asked to see us in his office. He said, “Brother & Sister Houghton, the Lord has strongly prompted me two Sundays in a row to tell you that you will have a son.” We were dumbstruck. We had not told him of our situation, but right then at the moment we knew the Lord understood our anguish and was ready to bless us in our desire. Then in the office the bishop and I laid our hands on my wife’s head and he blessed her with comfort, and promised her that the Lord knew of her desires, and that He would fulfill His promises to her. Two months later we returned to the clinic, buoyed up with the faith we had in the Lord, knowing that he would fulfill His promise to us. Nine months later our little boy, Isaac, was born. Two months after that he accompanied us to Laie when I interviewed for a job here at BYU–Hawaii, and now has grown up as a barefoot local boy.

It is sometimes amazing to see the difference this peace can have in the lives of those who accept it. While I was presiding over the Canada Toronto Mission many years ago, our missionaries began teaching a family that was in spiritual darkness. They were poor and uneducated, and their personal appearance reflected a lack of appreciation or concern for normal hygiene and grooming. But they were good, honorable people—among the honest in heart that we always pray for our missionaries to find—and they responded spiritually as they felt for the first time in their lives the peace the gospel offers.

When we learned that they were going to be baptized, Sister Ballard and I attended the baptismal service. I happened to be standing next to the bishop of the ward when the family arrived. In all honesty, I must tell you that they were quite a sight. They looked unkempt, unclean, and somewhat scruffy. Because he had been out of town for a period of time, the bishop had not yet met the newest members of his ward; so this first impression was, to say the least, unimpressive. As they walked away, I thought I could feel his knees begin to buckle.

I put my arm around this good bishop to give him my support—physically as well as spiritually. I felt prompted to say to him: “Bishop, isn’t this wonderful? We will make good Latter-day Saints out of them!”

He looked at me, and he smiled. I just couldn’t tell if he was smiling because he agreed with me, or if he thought that I might be just another overenthusiastic missionary.

The baptismal service proceeded, and the family was baptized. The next day, we decided to attend that ward to make sure the family was well received when they came to their meetings as new members of the Church.

As the family came into the chapel for sacrament meeting, I was sitting on the stand next to the bishop. The father was wearing a clean white shirt. It was not large enough for him to fasten the top button at the neck, and he was wearing a tie that I could remember seeing on one of my elders. But his face radiated with happiness and peace. The mother and daughters looked like they had been transformed from the previous day. Their dresses were not fancy, but they were clean and lovely. They too had that special gospel glow. The little boys wore white shirts that were several sizes too large for them, even with the sleeves rolled up. And they were wearing ties that almost extended down to their knees. It was obvious that the missionaries had put their own white shirts and ties on these little boys so they could come to sacrament meeting appropriately dressed.

They sat with their missionaries, and the light of the gospel literally shone from them. Alma describes this as “[receiving God’s] image in your countenances” (Alma 5:14). I leaned over to the bishop again and said: “See, Bishop? We will make Saints out of them!”

Of course that overnight physical transformation was merely superficial when compared to the overwhelming, more significant spiritual transformation that took place in that family as the gospel entered their hearts and lives. Through the instruction of the missionaries and the subsequent fellowshipping of their good bishop and the ward members, this entire family emerged from spiritual darkness into gospel light and truth. In that light the family was warmed, refreshed, and revitalized by the peace that comes from knowing the Lord Jesus Christ lives. The light of the gospel truths restored to earth through the Prophet Joseph Smith began to show this family the way to the temple, where one year later they received their eternal blessings.

This type of ultimate concern can be seen in the example of
the young bishop who, against pressures and problems and at considerable inconvenience, traveled to another city to visit a bereaved widow on the eve of her husband’s funeral. The couple had long since moved from the bishop’s area, but he had made the effort to be with his good, wonderful old friends at this tender time. He found the elderly lady standing alone beside the body of her beloved of more than half a century. As he comforted her, she said through her tears, “Oh bishop, I knew you would come.” [Hanks, Gift of Self, 61; emphasis in original]

When Lourdes Cutti de Alvarez of Uruguay found out she had two brain tumors, she told her friend Marcela Suarez Albano that she’d be hospitalized for surgery and would require lengthy post-surgery treatment. She worried about how her family of four children would cope with the stressful situation.
Marcela sat down with her 16-year-old daughter, Rocío, to ponder ways they could minister to Lourdes. Marcela had recently been in the hospital herself. She remembered the feeling of being alone and what a difference it made when Lourdes and the sisters in her ward came to visit. So Marecela and Rocío helped organize a mobile phone texting group with the sisters in the ward. This allowed them to easily schedule meals for the family. Having dinners taken care of eased Lourdes’s burden. The sisters also sent a daily scripture or message to strengthen her spirit and show their love for her.
Lourdes’s daughter, Ana Clara, shared: “It was difficult not to have Mom at home. But Heavenly Father sent help to me and my family. It was a great outpouring of His love. What Marcela did to unite the members of the ward to help us was amazing. Every time we saw another family coming, we felt, through them, the pure love of Christ. They shared words of encouragement, laughed with us, and helped strengthen us. Our Heavenly Father undoubtedly was with us in every moment. We could feel it through the smiles that we saw in the faces of those who came to help us.”
A year later, Marcela had to be hospitalized due to a coronary problem. Lourdes and Ana Clara remembered how the Lord had comforted and strengthened them through Marcela and Rocío and were anxious to show their love and gratitude in return.

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.

For example, a young woman describes how she stays on the covenant path: “I once had a classmate ask me for help. I didn’t think much of it, just gave her the help she needed. But afterward, the Spirit reminded me that by helping bear her burdens, I was keeping the covenants I made when I was baptized (see Mosiah 18:8–10). I am grateful for the opportunities Heavenly Father gives me every day to choose to walk the covenant path.”

When I was a freshman in high school, the weightlifting coach asked me to join weightlifting.
“Mmm … no thanks,” I said. “Not my thing.”
But he kept at it. For weeks.
Finally, I tried it out. He was right: I really liked weightlifting. It was definitely weird at first; my body had never done anything like it before. But I grew to love the feeling of working out. I also loved my teammates and the competitions. And I started doing really well!
Now weightlifting is a huge part of my life. I practice every day for at least two or three hours, doing back squats, clean and jerks, and snatches. (And if you don’t know what any of those things are, don’t worry—neither did I!)

My brother Darrell, who was five years older than I, was a special friend to me. Darrell let me ride on his bike with him from our home on the ranch to the barn where he often worked. I rode the bike back to the house, then returned to the barn at the end of the day to accompany him on his ride home. I loved Darrell very much.
One day Darrell was coming home in our family car from driving my sister to her piano lesson. He stopped at the railroad tracks to wait while a long freight train passed. He did not see another train coming from the other direction. When Darrell started over the tracks, the train struck the car and my brother was killed. I was sweeping our driveway when my father pulled up in his pickup truck shortly after it happened, and I still remember the sadness we felt when he told my mother and our family of the accident.
President David O. McKay and Elder Spencer W. Kimball came to speak at my brother’s funeral. President McKay, then President of the Church, was related to my father. Elder Kimball, who later became President of the Church, had recently visited our stake conference and had stayed in our home because my father was the stake president. President McKay and Elder Kimball taught us about our Heavenly Father’s plan and said that we would be together again as a family. They said that we should not be afraid of death, and they taught us about the resurrection. They promised that my brother would live again and that our family could live together for the one thousand years of peace called the Millennium.

I was born the youngest of six children in a small town called Bindura, Zimbabwe, Africa. My parents divorced a few years after my birth, and my good, loving mother had to raise us—four girls and two boys—by herself.
Life was tough for us. I had to walk four or five kilometers (3 miles) to school, and I would go without shoes or anything to eat. Each year I could never complete the term because we could not pay the school fees. There was no place in the world to get money to pay the fees on time. Whenever we did get money, I tried to trace how we got it, but it was untraceable. It’s miraculous to consider how well we were raised. It’s all because of the love and will of our Father in Heaven.

When I recently faced the daunting task of choosing two counselors, I wondered how I could possibly choose just two from twelve men whom I love and respect.
Because I know that good inspiration is based upon good information, I prayerfully met one-on-one with each Apostle. I then sequestered myself in a private room in the temple and sought the Lord’s will. I testify that the Lord instructed me to select President Dallin H. Oaks and President Henry B. Eyring to serve as my counselors in the First Presidency.

I was not a very impressive teenager and spent little time serving others. During this time my mother invited me to come with her to visit my great-aunt at a nursing home.
My cousin and her daughter Stephanie accompanied us on this visit. Stephanie was seven or eight years old. As we walked into the nursing home, she waved at everyone she saw. They lit up as if she were handing out sunshine and rainbows. I, on the other hand, avoided eye contact.
When we entered the room that my great-aunt shared with another elderly woman, I did my best to disappear into the background. Stephanie, however, jumped onto my aunt’s bed and began to regale her with stories.
I noticed something about this room. On my aunt’s side were signs of love and family. Pictures and crayon drawings hung on the wall, and flowers adorned a nightstand. The other side of the room was sterile and bare. There were no signs of any visitors; no cards or pictures hung on the wall.
My aunt’s roommate sat alone in a wheelchair and did not acknowledge our presence. She was humming a tune and tapping the arms of her wheelchair, which made me uncomfortable.
Stephanie tugged on her mother’s arm and asked, “Mommy, what’s the matter with that lady?” Stephanie’s mother leaned down and whispered, “She needs love.” I was not prepared for what happened next.
Without hesitation, Stephanie ran over and jumped into the woman’s lap. She then began to tell her stories and ask all kinds of questions. The woman did not answer. Instead, tears ran down her face as she embraced Stephanie. For the next several minutes, Stephanie sat in her lap, stroking her hair and kissing her cheek.
I had never witnessed this type of unselfish love before, and I tried to hide my tears. Later, as we drove away from the nursing home, I marveled at how young Stephanie could be so selfless and so full of love and compassion for a complete stranger.
Eventually I turned my life around and served a full-time mission. While I served, Stephanie wrote me cute letters that included drawings just like the ones in my aunt’s room in the nursing home.
Before I returned home, I received the devastating news that an illness had claimed Stephanie’s life. I still weep that her light went out so soon, but I remain grateful for her example. She taught me what service truly is.
We do not ever have to wonder how or if we should serve. If our hearts are in the right place, then service will become a part of who we are, not just what we do.

May I close with just one other experience. Let me tell you of one elderly brother who sat in a nursing home just looking at the floor day after day, week after week. Someone who loved him and knew about Deseret Industries arranged for him to come to work. He began by the supervisor placing a wide push broom in his hands, taking him to the end of a corridor, and having him push the broom down the hall to the other end; then turning him around and having him push it back again. This he did time after time.
In the process of doing, he started to get a small glimmer of interest in something—in anything—and his eyes raised from the floor. He saw the walls, and he saw the windows. As this process continued, the development of a feeling that everyone needs was nurtured. It wasn’t long until other assignments were given to him which he did very well. In time his faith in himself and his feeling of worth had been restored. He became a supervisor of others.

Clay Brimhall eased the Bronco into traffic and began weaving his way toward the interstate. He couldn’t resist a kind of sad, ironic smile, thinking that two weeks before he had been driving a BMW from Washington, D.C., to an elegant house in the Maryland suburbs. Now he was driving a Ford from Salt Lake City to a condo in Provo. Divorce changes things.
Was it a mistake, he wondered, coming back here to try to rebuild his life? Once Utah had been home, but that was years ago. Was this fair to Carrie, his only child? She had come willingly, foregoing her plans to attend college at Georgetown in D.C., but still he worried that it might not be the right thing for her. Carrie’s decision to come with Clay seemed neither to surprise nor disappoint her mother. “You were always the one who cared the most,” she had said, matter-of-factly. “It’s natural that she would want to go with you.”
Carrie was in the kitchen preparing dinner when Clay came in from work.
“Hi, Babe. How did you get along at the mall?” her father called from the hallway.
“Fine.”
Clay tossed his briefcase onto a chair, entered the kitchen, and gave his daughter a hug.
“Did you leave any clothes on the racks?”
“Not in my size,” she replied happily.
“Ah, good. I wouldn’t want to be accused of not spoiling my daughter.”
“I met a boy,” Carrie said.
“You did? Tell me about him.”
“Well, he works in the mall and goes to college. He’s studying communications and he’s funny.”
“Does this person have a name?”
“Jeff. He took me to lunch. And we’re going out Saturday night. With my father’s permission, of course.”
“He sounds like a fast worker.”
Carrie smiled. Then her face clouded a bit. “There’s one problem,” she said. “He’s a Mormon.”
Her father laughed. “So are you, Babe!”
“No, I’m not, Daddy. Not like he is. I’ve hardly been to church since I was little. I think he goes all the time. He was even a missionary in South America.” Carrie noticed a sadness in her father’s eyes; then she remembered. “You were a missionary, too, weren’t you Daddy? I’d forgotten.”
Clay nodded his head. “Yes, I was a missionary once,” he said slowly. “Long ago.” He turned to leave the room. “I’m going upstairs to change now.” At the doorway he stopped and caught his daughter’s eye. “Don’t burn the Jello,” he said.
As he walked deliberately up the stairs, Clay’s mind was suddenly flooded with memories of his time in the mission field. Memories of a young man full of faith and zeal. What had happened to that person? he wondered. Had he come back to Provo to look for him?
“I’ll get it,” Carrie called to her father, who was working in the garage. She opened the front door to Jeff, who was holding a bouquet of dandelions tied with a red ribbon.
“For me?” she said in mock delight.
He bowed. “A dandelion by any other name …”
“Would be a weed just the same,” Carrie concluded.
Jeff laughed. “That’s good. That’s very good.”
She smiled. “Come in while I get a vase for the flowers.”
“Be careful,” Jeff warned. “These are the long-stemmed variety. Very delicate.”
“Of course,” Carrie nodded, sticking the yellow weeds in a glass of water.
“In fact, they’re not indigenous to this area.”
“They’re not?”
“No. I had to go to a pasture on the edge of town where the moisture content and other stuff in the soil make the conditions ideal for long-stemmed dandelions.”
Carrie gave Jeff a skeptical look. “Did your parents have any normal children?”
Just then, Clay entered from the attached garage. “Hello.”
“Daddy, this is Jeff. Jeff James,” Carrie said. “Isn’t that weird? He has two first names.”
Clay smiled and extended his hand. “Please excuse my daughter’s rude behavior. Her mother and I failed in our attempts to teach her good manners.”
“She was probably a slow learner,” Jeff said.
Carrie gave him an indignant look and a little punch on the shoulder. “You two talk while I finish getting beautiful,” she said, heading up the stairs.
At the top of the landing, Carrie stopped and called down to Jeff, “Show my father the lovely flowers you brought me!”
Jeff looked a little embarrassed as he turned and followed Clay into the living room, but Clay was smiling as they sat down. It had been a long time since he’d seen his daughter so animated, so happy.
“Carrie tells me you’re a returned missionary,” he began.
“Yes, sir. I was in Argentina,” Jeff reported.
“I served a mission in the north central states,” Clay said.
“Oh? Where’s that?”
“That included Minnesota, the eastern Dakotas and Manitoba, Canada.”
“Big area,” Jeff observed.
“The Church was much smaller and the missions a lot bigger in those days.”
“It’s exciting to see the way the Church is growing,” Jeff said.
“Yes,” Clay said slowly. “Yes, I guess it is.”
“Did you read about the new stake in Nigeria?” Jeff inquired.
“No, I didn’t.”
“The work’s going great there. My folks are in Nigeria now on a mission.”
“Your father’s retired, then?” Clay asked.
“Uh huh. Well, he’s not really my father. I call them my folks because they sort of raised me.”
“I see,” Clay said. But of course he didn’t see at all. What did “sort of raised me” mean? Looking at Jeff, he suddenly found himself lost in thought. There was something familiar about him. He looked so … wholesome—so good. Wasn’t there a scripture about that? Clay searched his memory for a moment, but it wouldn’t come to him.
Jeff was a regular at the Brimhall residence for the next few weeks, and Carrie was soon attending church with him. There followed other changes in Carrie’s life. She began reading the Book of Mormon, and Clay noted her praying in her room before bed. Also, there was a subtle, almost imperceptible difference in the way she looked. It was nothing Clay could put his finger on, but it was real nonetheless. Clay felt both pleased and threatened by these spiritual stirrings in his daughter. Carrie was all that he had now. Was he going to lose her too? That possibility frightened him, and the feeling manifested itself in resentment toward Jeff. Clay tried to mask that resentment because he knew it was misplaced. One day, though, it spilled over when Carrie innocently repeated to her father something that Jeff had said.
“Well, isn’t your young man all wise and knowing,” Clay remarked sarcastically.
“What is that supposed to mean?” she asked, looking both stunned and hurt.
“It means that when you’ve been around as long as I have, everything isn’t either black or white.”
“Who said that it was?” Carrie challenged.
“Jeff is 22 years old,” Clay went on, “and except for his mission, I suspect he’s spent his whole life here in this valley surrounded by Primary teachers, quorum advisers, and bishops. What does he know about the world?”
Carrie sat quietly for a moment, biting her lip. When she began to speak, she did so slowly, to keep her emotions in check.
“Jeff was born in Texas,” she said evenly. “His mother was an alcoholic, and he never knew his father. He lived dozens of places and had a lot of ugly experiences before he was taken in by a Mormon couple when he was 13. I think he’s seen a little of the world. I also think you’re jealous, Daddy. I think you’re jealous that Jeff found something special to guide his life. Something that you once had.”
Clay had no reply as Carrie rose and left the room.
The following Sunday afternoon Carrie returned home from church to find her father in the living room paging through an unfamiliar green book. Clay glanced up. “Jeff’s not staying for dinner?”
“No. We’re going to a fireside tonight though. What are you reading?” Carrie wanted to know.
“My journal.”
“What journal?”
“My missionary journal. I found it the other day when I was unpacking some things.”
Carrie peered over her father’s shoulder. He was looking intently at a photograph he’d found in the journal. A family of five, flanked by two missionaries, jumped out at him, and the memory of that day and the events that led to it brought the sting of tears to his eyes. Suddenly he remembered the scripture that had escaped him the night he met Jeff. It was from Alma in the Book of Mormon: “Have ye spiritually been born of God? Have ye received his image in your countenances?” (Alma 5:14). It was there, on the faces of those people in the picture—the image of God in their countenances.
Clay handed Carrie the photograph. “Recognize anyone?”
Carrie looked closely at the old photo. “How old were you when this was taken, Daddy?”
“Twenty,” he said. Then he asked, “Does that picture of me remind you of anyone?”
“Jeff,” she said without hesitation. Carrie walked from behind the chair and sat down on the couch, opposite her father. “Daddy?” He looked at her. “Do you still believe in the Church?”
Clay turned away and stared out the window. “Yes, Babe,” he said softly, “I do.”

I close with a tender yet simple experience. Each time I would visit Mattie, a dear friend and an older widow whom I had known for many years and whose bishop I had been, my heart grieved at her utter loneliness. One of her sons lived many miles away, halfway across the country, but he rarely visited her. He would come to Salt Lake, take care of business matters, see his brothers and sisters, and leave for his own home without visiting his mother. When I would call to see this mother, she would make an excuse for her boy and tell me just how busy he was. Her words did not carry power or conviction. They simply masked her disappointment and grief.

The years passed. The loneliness deepened. Then one afternoon I received a telephone call. That special son was in Salt Lake City. A change had occurred in his life. He had become imbued with a desire to help others, to adhere more faithfully to God’s commandments. He was proud of his newfound ability to cast off the old man and become new and useful. He wanted to come immediately to my office that he might share with me the joy in service that he now felt. With all my heart I wanted to welcome him and to extend my personal congratulations. Then I thought of his grieving mother, that lonely widow, and suggested, “Dick, I can see you at four o’clock this afternoon, provided you visit your dear mother before coming here.” He agreed.

Just before our appointment, a call came to me. It was that same mother. There was an excitement in her voice that words cannot adequately describe. She exuded enthusiasm even over the phone and declared proudly, “Bishop, you’ll never guess who has just visited me.” Before I could answer, she exclaimed, “Dick was here! My son Dick has spent the past hour with me. He is a new man. He has found himself. I’m the happiest mother in the world!” Then she paused and quietly spoke: “I just knew he would not really forget me.”

Years later, at Mattie’s funeral, Dick and I spoke tenderly of that experience. We had witnessed a glimpse of God’s healing power through the window of a mother’s faith in her son.

The youth performed three times before the dedication, but the final performance was most special because it was for the prophet. President Gordon B. Hinckley spoke to the youth between their performances, which filled the Arrowhead Pond arena. He said, “How thankful I am for you, for your courage, for your faith, for your determination to stand against the world in this age of so much that beckons you to do the wrong thing.” President James E. Faust was also in attendance.

For Jennifer Stowell, this was the highlight of the whole event. “When President Hinckley and President Faust both came in,” she remembers, “you could feel the Spirit, and that was a testimony-builder right there—just as soon as they entered the room.”

My mother, my elder and my younger sisters all got baptized when I was on my mission. We lived with my mother for 10 years without my father’s love, and my sisters and I had our mother by our side all the time. I had all the love for my father despite the fact that he had distanced himself from us for 10 years. When I was on a mission, I knew I shouldn’t change the lives of others while my family perished, so I did everything I could to get back in touch with my father.
As I got in touch with my father, I knew I had a huge responsibility to introduce him to the missionaries. I attended his first meeting with the missionaries through a WhatsApp video call, but the first time, the missionaries and I faced a lot of criticism and backbiting. My father didn’t believe that there can be a true church of God in the world today. I asked my mission president for a favor to go to the temple. On my way to the temple, I prayed and fasted for my father.
Two months after I returned from my mission, on August 5 and 6, 2023, I was privileged to baptize and confirm my father and today we are all members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints through prayer, fasting and meditation in the holy house of the Lord. Today all the members of my family are with me, and we share the same faith and the same gospel of Christ.