Gospel Story Finder

The autumn wind whistled noisily as it whipped at the black mud clinging stubbornly to conceal the cracks between the spruce logs of the Jameston’s cabin.
Persistently, as if in an effort to determine whose strength was greater, the breath of strong air picked up small rocks and huge thistles and hurled them powerfully against the pioneer structure that housed the family of 13.
“Sounds like a real storm’s brewing,” papa said as he reached for a block of wood to replenish the dancing flame in the potbellied stove that stood in the corner.
Emily looked at mama to see if she was going to verify what papa had said, but mama seemed deep in thought as her fingers expertly guided the heavy thread with her darning needle.
Emily walked to the window and stood looking anxiously out. “I don’t think it’s going to be a bad storm,” she said, hoping someone would agree with her. “It’s much too early in the year.” She looked around. No one seemed to care that the wind was blowing and soon there would be snow. Much, much too soon winter would be upon them.
She stood a moment longer at the window and then hurried to the bedroom and removed a small fruit jar from the third drawer of the dresser. She turned the wick up and lit the lamp that stood on the table by the bed. Carefully she emptied the contents of the jar and began to count the coins.
“Five, 15, 25, 50 …”
Lora opened the door and tiptoed in. She stood in silence as she watched her older sister pick up the money and drop it one coin at a time into the jar.
“Four dollars and thirty cents, $4.4, $4.45.”
When Emily finished, she put the lid back on the jar and gave a deep sigh. Lora sat down on the bed beside her.
“Is there enough?” she asked hopefully.
“Not yet,” Emily answered, “but soon there will be. Soon there will be,” she echoed.
“Show me the picture of the coat again, Emily,” Lora said excitedly.” I could look at it forever.”
Emily leaned over and pulled the catalog from underneath the bed. Without effort she opened the book to the turned-down page, its edge ragged from constant contact.
“I think it is the most beautiful coat in the whole world,” Emily said breathlessly.
“So do I,” Lora agreed. “Do you think I will ever have a new coat, Emily?”
“If you want it strongly enough,” Emily nodded. “Mama says if you really want something and work hard enough for it, you’ll most likely get it.”
“How long have you been saving for the coat?” Lora wanted to know.
“About two years now,” Emily answered as she carefully placed the catalog back under the bed.
“Seems like you’ve been saving forever.” Lora pulled the covers back and fluffed the feather pillows vigorously. “And you’ve counted the money a hundred times, maybe a thousand, and there still isn’t enough.”
“I know,” Emily said, “but soon there will be, you’ll see.”
The next day was cold, and the night’s wind had not subsided.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to bring in Aunt Hattie’s used coat from the box in the granary and make it over for you?” Mama asked anxiously as she examined the worn wrap Emily was putting on.
“No,” Emily stated firmly, “it would be a waste of time, mama. The sale catalog will be here soon, and I’m sure by then I’ll have enough money.”
“Will they have your coat in the sale catalog?” Lora asked doubtfully.
“Oh, I hope so,” Emily said as she took her younger sister Karen by the hand and started for school.
“You can find Lora or David to go home with this afternoon if you want to,” Emily counseled as they walked along. “I’m going to stop by Mrs. Harwells’ after school to help her clean house.”
“I know why,” Karen said importantly. “So you can buy an unused coat.”
Emily smiled and gave her sister’s hand a tight squeeze.
The afternoon sun had long departed from visibility as Emily hurried out the Harwell’s gate and down the road towards home. Her mind had no room to think about how tired she was, for thoughts of owning the coat crowded everything else out as it drew closer to becoming a reality.
“Oh, I hope the sale catalog came in the mail today,” Emily thought and she started to run in her anticipation. But the catalog wasn’t there when she got home, and in the many days that followed while she waited for the book, she worked. When folks could afford to and whenever mama could spare her, she worked and saved and saved and worked for a nickel or a dime, and although money was getting more and more scarce, the coins in her jar continued to slowly to add up.
On a particularly cold December day shortly before Christmas, the sale catalog came. Lora went to the Post Office, and if there was any other mail she failed to notice it in her excitement. With a squeal of delight she raced toward home, and as the cabin came into view, she began waving the book and shouting, “It’s here! It’s here!”
Emily burst out of the door and met her at the gate. Karen was close behind, and it seemed the whole family came from every direction oblivious of the wet, cold snow.
“Open it and tell me if the coat is there,” Emily said, not daring to look for herself.
Lora held out the book and started to open it. Then she stopped. “Oh, it’s on the cover,” she said in a hushed tone. “Your beautiful blue coat is right here on the cover of the catalog.”
Emily reached quickly for the book, looked at the price of the coat, and then without warning she burst into tears. No one knew what to do.
“Don’t you have enough money to buy it?” Karen asked worriedly.
Emily picked up her young sister. “Oh yes, Karen. I do! That’s why I’m crying, because I’m so happy.”
“Girls are dumb.” Sam threw a snowball at Emily and everyone started laughing.
The mood carried over into the evening, and all were having a good time. Emily, the center of attention, was at the table filling out the order blank when Chris Landin and his wife, Irene, came to the door. Papa hurried to open it.
“Good evening, Brother Jameston.” Chris shook papa’s hand.
“Come in, come in,” papa smiled.
Brother and Sister Landin spoke to the children and then sat visiting with mama and papa.
“We just came from the Andersons,” Chris said. “Joe’s health is getting worse, and it seems that if he is to get well, he must move to a lower climate soon.”
“How ironic it is,” Irene shook her head sadly, “that since he has been too ill to work, his finances won’t permit him to do this.”
“Do you suppose there is some way we neighbors could appropriate some money to help Joe?” Chris wondered.
Papa’s eyes saddened. He remembered how Joe had stopped in the middle of his work and rushed Sam to the hospital 18 miles away when the accident with the runaway horses had crushed the little boy badly. The Jamestons had all known that Joe’s instant concern and his automobile were an important part of the team that had been needed to meet the emergency that day.
“I have done a lot of custom work lately,” papa said finally, “but no one has been able to pay me for more than a month, and although we raised a big garden and have plenty to eat, I have no cash on hand at all.”
“I know. That’s the way it is with most of us,” Chris agreed, “It has been especially hard for a lot of folks this year. All of us are feeling the pinch of the depression.”
Emily sat listening. She liked the Andersons. Joe and his family weren’t members of the Church, but he was often doing something good for others. The kids in the neighborhood all liked him and called him Uncle Joe. He always had time to listen to troubles and never made light of an individual’s problem, no matter how small. In spite of how busy he was, Uncle Joe would often stop and play a game of softball if an extra player was needed, and Emily especially liked the way he could tell a story. His imaginative tales fascinated not only small children but teenagers as well. But one of the things that claimed priority in importance in Emily’s thoughts was how Uncle Joe had helped her and David and Lora make a tie rack for papa’s birthday after he had hired the three to pull weeds in his garden so they could purchase lumber for the gift.
After the Landins left, Emily closed the catalog, mumbled something about deciding to wait for a day or two before ordering the coat, and then hurried to the bedroom before anyone could question her further.
The next day Joe Anderson’s health was constantly on Emily’s mind. She caught snatches of conversation at school from his daughter who was two years younger than Emily. “People have been good. So many have given what they could, but there is not quite enough money. He is getting worse—his lungs …”
Papa and the neighbors helped with the Andersons’ chores and offered words of cheer, but few could contribute financially.
A few days later, when the Jamestons were gathered around the pump organ singing, Emily slipped unnoticed into the bedroom. For a long time she stood quietly thinking.
“Yes,” she whispered to herself, “if my papa were ill, I would want everyone who could to help him get well.” Then she took the small jar of coins from the drawer of the dresser and joined her family in the front room.
Going to mama and papa, Emily held out her hard-earned savings. “I’ve thought about it for a long time, and I’ve decided that I want you to give this money to the Andersons,” she said.
Lora pressed her hand quickly over her mouth to smother the cry of disbelief that sprang to her lips. She looked around. Wasn’t anyone going to stop Emily from giving her money away? Mama was just sitting there, sitting there smiling, and papa, what was papa doing? Was something the matter with his eyes? Why was he brushing his hand across them so vigorously?
Finally, Lora could stand the silence no longer. “Are you sure, Emily?” she burst out. “What about your coat? You’ve waited so long and worked so hard.”
“I’m sure,” Emily said. “At least I’m sure that it isn’t as important for me to have a new coat as it is for Uncle Joe to get well.”
Papa placed his hand on Emily’s shoulder. For a few seconds he was silent When he spoke, the tone of his voice was low and unnatural for he was touched by the courage his 14-year-old daughter had shown in deciding to part with her savings.
“You are very unselfish, Emily, and you are filled with sweet compassion for others.” He stopped and swallowed hard before he went on. “And since you have given this considerable thought and this is what you want to do, then I think it would be nice if you gave the Andersons the money yourself.”
The next morning mama brought in Aunt Hattie’s coat that she had been altering as a surprise and gave it to her daughter. Emily’s eyes portrayed a quick preview of a smile that was coming. If she couldn’t have a new coat, this was next best, and her happy expression mingled gratitude with admiration at mama’s insight.
Emily wore the coat that night to a special school program. She arrived a little early, and the prelude music was being played softly when two classmates, Nadine and Lucille, neared the bench that she was sitting on. Emily heard their voices as they approached, but she wasn’t prepared for the shock she received when she looked up to speak to them, for Lucille had on a new wrap. Emily caught her breath sharply as she recognized it as being the beautiful blue coat from the sale catalog.
The program became a blur as Emily kept looking at the coat she had wanted so much, and after the closing song, she slipped quickly out of the building and stood for a moment, her hand pressed tightly on the jar of coins concealed in her large patch pocket. As Nadine and Lucille came out they were laughing and whispering. They didn’t see Emily hidden by the shadows.
“Did you see Emily’s made-over coat?” Lucille asked her cousin in a low tone.
“Did I ever!” Nadine giggled. “I have never seen such an ugly mess in my entire life.”
“Did you see how it bagged and how it sagged?” Lucille pulled at the hem of her coat in an exaggerated gesture to emphasize her meaning.
The two girls burst out laughing as they walked away. Emily waited until they were out of sight; then she turned and ran toward home, her tears keeping fast tempo to her running steps. She kept her hand tightly gripped on the small jar in her pocket while the decision to give her money away stood on rocky ground.
When she came to the Andersons’ residence, she stopped abruptly. Joe was propped in a chair in front of the window, and he looked pale, even at a distance. She saw him cough harshly, and his wife hurry to his side. Emily thought of Sam and how Uncle Joe had come immediately to the rescue when he had been needed. After the coughing subsided, Emily opened the gate and went up the walk to the door.
As she left the Andersons’ home, the piercing stab of hurt that had come from Lucille and Nadine’s cruel words began to fade from her memory. Instead she recalled the mist that had come to Uncle Joe’s eyes when she had handed him the money and his raspy voice thanking her again and again.
The crisp December air was near freezing, but Emily stopped for a moment in the darkness before she reached the cabin and looked at her secondhand wrap. Then a soft smile touched her lips, for in a sense, the coins were serving their purpose after all. True they hadn’t been used to purchase a new coat, yet because of the giving, Emily was aware that something new and beautiful was hers, and it was wrapping her in a feeling of warmth she had never experienced before.
Her smile broadened, and she hugged her made-over coat closer around her as she hurried on.

Speaking of Brigham Young has reminded me of the Perpetual Education Fund which we have established. It was only a year ago that I first spoke of this in our general conference. The contributions of generous Latter-day Saints have come in to assure us that this endeavor is now on a solid foundation. We will need more yet, but already it has been demonstrated that vast good will come of this undertaking. Young men and women in the underprivileged areas of the world, young men and women who for the most part are returned missionaries, will be enabled to get good educations that will lift them out of the slough of poverty in which their forebears for generations have struggled. They will marry and go forward with skills that will qualify them to earn well and take their places in society where they can make a substantial contribution. They will likewise grow in the Church, filling positions of responsibility and rearing families who will continue in the faith.

I have time to read only one testimonial. It comes from a young man who has been blessed by this program.

He says: “It is so wonderful that I do not have to just dream anymore about my education or my future. The Lord has cleared the way, and I am doing it!
“I am currently attending a great technical institute in our country, where I am studying to become a computer technician. … By going to school, I am discovering my abilities. The discipline I developed on my mission helps me to succeed. … Never before has any young man felt more blessed than I do. The PEF has strengthened my faith in the Lord Jesus Christ. Now, more than ever, I feel the responsibility the gospel places upon me to prepare myself to be a better member, a better leader, and a better father. …
“My dear mother, who has sacrificed so much, gets so emotional that she cries when she prays at night because of her gratitude to the Lord. …
“Now, I envision my town being blessed because of me. I envision the Church with leaders who have financial stability and who can support the Lord’s work with all their might, mind, and strength. I see the Church prospering. I am excited to start my own family and teach them that we can be self-sufficient. So I must finish my education. I will then repay the loan quickly to help my fellowmen. … I am grateful for the Savior’s mercy. He truly sustains us with His love.”

And so it goes, my brothers and sisters. As this great work moves across the earth, we are blessing now some 2,400 young people. Others will be blessed.

Shortly after the pioneers entered the Salt Lake Valley, a young man named David Cannon moved to southern Utah with his wife, Wilhelmina, to help start a settlement. Wilhelmina, or “Willie” as she was called, was not at all happy. She hated the hot, dry desert and cried constantly. She pleaded with her husband to move back East, where plants and trees grew more easily and the weather was more moderate.
“Everything is so ugly here,” she complained. “If you can show me just one beautiful thing in this place, I will make myself content and stop complaining.”
David went up into the mountains and returned with a white blossom tinged with purple. Willie admitted to both David and herself that it was indeed a thing of beauty. She never again complained. She went to work to make a productive farm and lovely home in the St. George area, where she and her husband lived for many years.*

When I was 15 years old, I liked a girl in my class at school and wanted to date her. She was attractive, but I wondered if I should ask her out before I turned 16. I remembered Alma 37:37, which says, “Counsel with the Lord in all thy doings, and he will direct thee for good.” So that is what I did. I prayed and waited several days for the Lord’s answer before making a decision.
One day at church, my bishop called me in to a room and invited me to speak the next Sunday. Guess what the topic was? Do not date until you are at least 16 years old. I felt that this was the Lord’s answer to me, and it was no. How could I teach something that I did not practice?
Because I had counseled with the Lord, I was able to learn the Lord’s will for my life and also to flee from temptation. I know that if we counsel with the Lord, He will tell us His will and we will be greatly blessed.

She was shy. I was outgoing. Why was she getting all the attention?
This question must have passed through my mind a million times every Sunday during my early teen years. Donna Gilliam was in my Beehive class, a quiet, pretty girl whose parents were deaf. Because of this she knew sign language perfectly. And all the adults thought that was so sweet. She would translate at Young Women functions, and the mothers would cry. She would translate at everything. And everyone, except me it seemed, was deeply moved.
That was a time in my life when I was selfish, wanting attention, wanting to be in the spotlight. But competing with Donna was impossible. In her shy way, she, and her family too, found a special place in our meetings and in the hearts of the ward members. Nevertheless, my jealousy continued.
A month after I turned 14, my mom was in a very serious car accident. Though she did not die, she suffered serious injuries. She had to stay in the hospital in traction for a month and a half. The accident happened in November, and it soon became clear that our mother would be spending Christmas in the hospital. Because it was important to include her in all the family activities we could, that meant we too would be spending Christmas in the hospital.
Others in my family looked forward to that Christmas as a growing experience. I viewed it as plain terrible.
I wasn’t much of a spiritual uplift to my family on Christmas Eve. I isolated myself in the corner of the hospital room and just sat there feeling terrible inside. We were all just looking at each other, about ready to open our presents, but somehow the usual anticipation and excitement of Christmas were absent.
That’s when Donna walked in.
“Hi, Sister Fee,” she said quietly to my mom as her parents came in behind her. “We just came by for a minute. We thought we might sing.”
We all looked up in surprise. Her parents were deaf! How could they sing? I put my presents to the side and lifted my head in interest. I wasn’t exactly happy that they were going to sing, considering my jealousy of Donna, but I listened anyway.
I wasn’t at all prepared for the feelings that burst from within me as I listened to their soft voices sing “Silent Night.” Their hands moved in simultaneous motions, telling of the Christ child and heavenly peace. Tears spilled from my eyes, though I tried to control them. I heard the soft crying of my mother from the hospital bed. Donna’s eyes were tear-filled too. It became all too clear to me that I had been unfair to her.
When the song ended, their hands rested at their sides. We all looked at each other, overcome with emotion. Then they left, as quietly as they had come. Still in the corner of the room, I pondered the new perspective I had gained. Why had I ever been jealous of her? She had a very special talent. She and her family had brought a special spirit into our Christmas, changing it from a gloomy one into a celebration of renewal and hope. The Spirit assured me that my mom would be okay. That Spirit also brought me a new realization that I had talents too.
Right there in that hospital room I then promised myself that I would work on my own talents and stop being jealous of others. With that goal in mind, I found peace within myself. The song repeated softly in my head, “Silent night, holy night.”
All was calm in my heart.

I’m sure that Mother’s spiritual strengths came from her love of the temple. She and Father were set apart as ordinance workers in the London Temple in 1972. Mother would share with me her spiritual experiences in the temple — how on one occasion, for example, a female spirit, eager for ordinances to be completed, started pulling at Mother’s clothing. There was a voice, too, saying, “Don’t forget me!” For Mother the spirit world was a reality. From her journal, I learned not only about the vital role the temple plays in our latter-day lives, but also in the lives of our departed loved ones, who are real people with real emotions. These are sacred memories that Mother clearly wanted us, her children, to know about, memories that now resound louder, given President Nelson’s encouragement for members to gather Israel on both sides of the veil. Mother’s experiences help me understand that many of our departed loved ones really want to be gathered. What greater blessings of a mother’s journal could there be?

An experience I had some years ago emphasized this. A young woman approached me in a city far from my home and came under some pressure from her husband. She admitted to me that she had committed adultery. She was a bit hard and unyielding, and finally said: “I know what I have done. I have read the scriptures, and I know the consequences. I know that I am damned and can never be forgiven, and therefore why should I try now to repent?”
My reply to her was: “My dear sister, you do not know the scriptures. You do not know the power of God nor his goodness. You can be forgiven for this terrible sin, but it will take much sincere repentance to accomplish it.”
Then I quoted to her the cry of her Lord:
“Can a woman forget her suckling child, that she should not have compassion on the son of her womb? yea, they may forget, yet will I not forget thee.” (Isa. 49:15.)
I reminded her of the Lord’s words in our dispensation to the effect that whoever repents and obeys God’s commandments will be forgiven. (See D&C 1:32.) My visitor looked bewildered but seemed to be yearning as though she wanted to believe it. I continued: “For all but the unpardonable sin forgiveness eventually will come to that transgressor who repents sorely enough, long enough, sincerely enough.”
She remonstrated again, though she was beginning to yield. She wanted so much to believe it. She said she had known all her life that adultery was unforgivable. And I turned again to the scriptures and read to her the oft-repeated statement of Jesus:
“All manner of sin and blasphemy shall be forgiven unto men: but the blasphemy against the Holy Ghost shall not be forgiven unto men.
“And whosoever speaketh a word against the Son of man, it shall be forgiven him: but whosoever speaketh against the Holy Ghost, it shall not be forgiven him, neither in this world, neither in the world to come.” (Matt. 12:31–32.)
She had forgotten that scripture. Her eyes lighted up. She reacted joyously to it, and asked, “Is that really true? Can I really be forgiven?”
Realizing that hope is the first requirement, I continued by reading many scriptures to her, to build up the hope that was now awakened within her.
On the occasion I am recalling, this woman, who was basically good, straightened up and looked me in the eye, and in her voice was a new power and resoluteness as she said: “Thank you, thank you! I believe you. I shall really repent and wash my filthy garments in the blood of the Lamb and obtain that forgiveness.”
Not long ago, she returned to my office a new person—bright of eye, light of step, full of hope as she declared to me that, since that memorable day when hope had seen a star and had clung to it, she had never reverted to her sin nor any approaches to it.

As winter dragged on, the hours and days merged into a gray landscape of pain and exhaustion. Finally, on Valentine’s Day, Kari gave up. She lay in bed looking at an unopened valentine from her mother. Finally, she let it fall to the floor, still unopened. She was tired beyond caring. Her leg burned and itched. She was on the verge of vomiting. She lay back and gave herself up to “What if?” and “Why me?”
Turning her head as if to hide the pointless tears, she saw through her window the ropes of her swing. They moved lazily with the wind, pale lines against the bare oak limbs and gray sky. She struggled to her elbow, then slid heavily from her bed and limped to the window. As she looked down at the swing, a memory stirred and grew strong. She knew what she had to do.
She had made it down the stairs somehow and was halfway out the door when her little brother John found her.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he said. “Please get back to bed. It’s cold out here. You’ll catch cold and …”
“Just help me get to the swing.”
John couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “The swing? You want to swing? It’s freezing out here.”
Kari kept limping toward the swing. “If you won’t help me, I’ll get there myself.”
John put an arm around Kari’s waist, and she leaned on his shoulder. Together they moved on toward the swing. Each step took forever. Kari held her stomach to keep from retching, dragging her leg behind her.
Finally they reached the wooden seat. Kari sat down and John began pushing her. At first she could do nothing but hold on weakly, but then she felt a change. Her grip tightened. Her head felt less heavy on her shoulders. Slowly at first, then more swiftly, strength came flooding into her from some hidden reservoir. For the first time in weeks she felt fueled by a purpose. She began pulling hard on the rope and stretching her toes forward. She felt as if she were reaching with her legs for the height her soul required. With all the strength she possessed she struggled higher and higher, hanging at each summit in a weightless, timeless calm, then dropping back into a dizzy gulf. Soon she was higher than she had ever been before. Street on street opened to her. Suddenly the whole valley was before her, clear to the horizon. She could see to the edge of the world. Her toes touched oak twigs. She felt as if she had left her body behind while her spirit soared. With every swing the world looked new and different. The oak limbs blurring past were the color of Thomas’s new suit.
The pages of Dr. Walker’s book began to dance in circles through Kari’s mind. She thought of Joseph crying out to the Lord in the jail at Liberty, and she heard the answer:
“My son, peace be unto thy soul; thine adversity … shall be but a small moment;
“And then, if thou endure it well, God shall exalt thee on high; thou shalt triumph over all thy foes” (D&C 121:7–8).
She felt as if she were kneeling with the Prophet as he searched the heavens again for the height he needed, and again heard the voice. “If the very jaws of hell shall gape open the mouth wide after thee, know thou, my son, that all these things shall give thee experience, and shall be for thy good” (D&C 122:7).
Bells chimed somewhere in the valley, and Kari thought they were ringing in her soul.
All her newfound strength suddenly drained from her. She was barely able to hold on as the swing slowed. She went limp as John grabbed the ropes and stopped her.
He came around from behind the swing and faced Kari, steadying her as she slumped forward. He was surprised to see a calmness about her. And something that had been missing much too long seemed to have come back.
“John?”
“Kari, what is it? Do you need the doctor?”
Kari shook her head. “I was just wondering how long a woman lives. How old is a woman usually when she dies?”
John shivered in the 35-degree weather. “I had a teacher at school tell me the average life of a woman was 70 or so. She was about 50, and I think she told us that to take away our hopes of getting a different teacher in the near future.”
The wind stopped blowing for a moment, and the air felt less harsh. “John, Dr. Walker says I’ve got three more months of radiation treatments. Right now that looks like forever, but when I think of living 50 or 60 years after that, it’s really just an instant.”
John took his jacket off and put it over Kari’s shoulders. He glimpsed his mother at the kitchen window and knew that in a few moments she would be running out to bring Kari back to the safety of the house.
Kari made circles for a moment with her toe. “The surgeons think they got all the cancer, but they won’t be sure for at least five years, and even then there are no guarantees. But, John …” She took his hands and found that they were strong, like Thomas’s, like her father’s. “Even if they didn’t get it all—when I think of even the longest life compared to forever, it’s like sitting here on the swing and seeing just beyond the yard compared to being so high I can see the entire valley. It’s just a moment.”
John looked a little dubious. “I’d have to say it was a long moment, in my opinion.”
Kari smiled despite the churning of her stomach and the screaming of her leg. “Okay, a long moment, but still a moment.”
“Now let’s go in, Kari. Please? Mom’s coming out of the house, and she’s going to be madder than wet hornets.”
John lifted Kari from the swing. Her head began to swim, and her stomach lurched. He held her tight and started guiding her back to the house. Suddenly she stopped and turned around to look once more at the swing. She knew, as some things are just known, that she would swing again when the bluejays began to fly and the sun warmed the house once more.
“John, Thomas was right.”
John turned around and looked at the swing too. “Thomas is usually right, Kari. He’s the brains in this family.”
The swing began to move slightly as the wind picked up. Kari saw her mother out of the corner of her eye, running to help.
Kari turned her back to the swing, and at the same time she turned her back on giving up. Snow began to fall, but Kari’s thoughts were on the coming spring. She was thinking about the hours she would spend on the swing, and about how far she would learn to see.

God expresses his love for us by providing the guidance we need to progress and reach our potential. Perhaps a simple story will illustrate this point. Recently, a young man purchased a used computer but could not get it to work properly. Soon he became discouraged. His temper grew short and he threatened the inanimate object with painful destruction unless its performance improved. A wise father intervened and took his son to a local vendor, where they obtained an instruction manual. After all, who would know more about a complex computer than the person or company that created it? Who would know most about its capacity and potential? Who would better know the safeguards required to avoid damaging or ruining this fine instrument? Soon the boy enjoyed the full potential of his computer by working within the guidelines given in the instruction book provided by its creator.

Years ago, our faithful stake patriarch, who was in his nineties, stood in fast and testimony meeting and said something I shall always remember: “I pray every night that God will see me safely dead with my testimony burning brightly.”

I said to him after the meeting, “Patriarch, of all the people I know, certainly you don’t need to worry about that anymore!”

He took hold of the lapels of my coat, jerked me up so that our faces were close together, looked me in the eyes, and said these words: “My boy”—I was married and had two children! “My boy, no one is secure until the very end.”

May it be so for each of us that we are faithful to the very end.

There was Uwe, the young, idealistic environmentalist, who heard about the plan of salvation and knew the message was true. He bicycled 5 miles (8 km) to church on Sunday morning in answer to our invitation, even though his long, leather-clad legs wouldn’t fit into the chapel’s pews. When he prayed on his knees for the first time, we felt the peace that entered his heart, and we watched his countenance change.

When Nick Barton and his wife, Morgan, moved to Arizona, USA, where Nick would attend law school, they started praying for missionary opportunities. “We asked Heavenly Father to help us become more sensitive to the promptings of the Holy Ghost and to be bold enough to take action,” Nick says.
One Saturday, Morgan needed their car for work, so Nick rode his bicycle to campus. When it was time to return home, however, the bike was gone.
“Stolen bicycles were so common that the police asked if there was anything that would help identify it. I remembered that Morgan had glued a label on the handlebar that said, ‘I Love You.’”
Once again Nick prayed. “I asked that I might learn something from the situation,” he says. Then he hopped on the train to get as close as possible to home before calling his wife to come and get him.
Illustrations by J. Beth Jepson
“At the next train stop, I saw a big guy with a backwards cap board the train, carrying my bicycle! I saw the ‘I Love You’ on the handlebar, so I knew it was mine,” Nick said. He tapped the man on the shoulder.
“I said, ‘I need to ask you where you got that bike.’ He responded, ‘At a yard sale down the street.’” Nick explained that his bike had been stolen. The young man replied that he was not a thief and that Nick could have the bike back.
“I thanked him and said I would have the police call him so the ‘yard sale’ could be investigated,” Nick says. “He told me his name was Harley and gave me his phone number. I told him I would share the cost of what he had paid, since we had both been wronged, and I walked off the train glad to have my bicycle back.”
But that was only the beginning.
“Out of curiosity, I called Harley the next morning. He said the police were following through. Then he asked if my wife and I might want to do something later in the day. I realized he was trying to become friends.
“It being Sunday, I told him we were going to church but that we would be happy to get together with him another time. As I hung up the phone, it dawned on me that this was a missionary opportunity pure and clear. I called him back and asked if he would be interested in coming to church with us. He agreed! He attended all the meetings and let me know afterward that he felt the speakers and teachers were talking directly to him.
“Harley had family overseas and moved away shortly after we met,” Nick says. “But he did become our friend, gained respect for the Church, and was reassured that his Heavenly Father is mindful of him.”

“I’m scared,” Ada said. It was her first day of school in Taiwan. But she didn’t speak Chinese like the other students. How could she make friends? Who would she play with at break time?
Mom gave Ada a big hug. “It’s OK to be scared.”
Ada frowned. “I don’t know how to make friends here.”
Mom gave her another hug. “If you get nervous, maybe you can think of a Primary song. Will that help?”
Ada nodded. Then she walked with Mom to her classroom. Her teacher was waiting for her. “Ni hao!” the teacher said. Ada tried to smile. She didn’t know what those words meant.
Ada said goodbye to Mom. Then she found a desk and sat down.
She looked at the other kids. Some of them were talking to each other. Others sat quietly like Ada. Ada was nervous. It felt like bees were buzzing in her stomach.
Then Ada saw a girl who was crying. Ada wanted to help her. But how could she help when she couldn’t speak Chinese? What if the girl didn’t want help?
But then Ada did what Mom said. She thought of the words of her favorite Primary song: “Love one another as Jesus loves you.” Ada knew the Holy Ghost was asking her to help.
Ada sat next to the girl. She put her arm around her. Then she patted her back like Mom did when Ada was sad. The girl stopped crying! She hugged Ada back.
Ada pointed to herself. “Ada.”
The girl pointed to herself. “Mei,” she said.
Ada smiled. She sat by Mei the rest of the day. Even though they didn’t speak the same language, they had fun together. They ate their lunches together. They played together at recess. And Mei helped Ada learn new words in Chinese!
Ada couldn’t wait to tell Mom about her new friend. She knew that if she followed Jesus, she wouldn’t have to be afraid of anything.
This story took place in Taiwan.

Among the many phonograph records we have at our home, none is as much enjoyed by our grandchildren as a record given to me in Korea that features singing by a chorus of little Korean orphan girls. The music is beautiful!
Soldiers serving in Korea often have spare time. Many of them waste this time, but a young man from Blanding, Utah, named Stan Bronson was not one of them. He decided instead to do some good with his extra hours, so he visited an orphanage where little orphan girls lived. Stan played his guitar and sang to them, and they were delighted with his music. Since the Koreans have beautiful voices, these girls soon joined Stan in singing. In no time he was the leader of a wonderful chorus of children.
These little girls sang to us at a Sunday meeting held in the chapel of the army base on the outskirts of Seoul, Korea. As they sang, I could scarcely hold back the tears. I watched Stan lead these beautiful girls, and I thought of Jesus’ statement, “Suffer the little children to come unto me, and forbid them not: for of such is the kingdom of God” (Mark 10:14).
Among the songs they sang, I enjoyed most a song I learned as a little boy in Primary, “Give, Said the Little Stream.” They sang the first verse in English, the second verse in Korean, and then the third verse again in English. I would like to give you the words of that third verse:
Give, then for Jesus give;
Give, oh! give, give, oh! give.
Give, then for Jesus give;
There is something all can give.
Do as the streams and blossoms do,
For God and others live.
I have often thought of these words and of this young soldier who gave to help others and of the marvelous way in which the lives of these little children were brightened by his talent. Under his leadership, the girls gave of their talents to brighten the lives of others.
Truly, as the song says, “There is something all can give. Do as the streams and blossoms do, For God and others live.”

Those who come from a family where no one attends the temple can be a great example to their families if they have a positive attitude toward the temple. A former temple matron describes hearing a young woman speak in sacrament meeting about the temple. “Her parents are divorced, and there has been a lot of sadness in their family. But this bright spirit stood at the pulpit telling how she wants to go to the temple and how to prepare for it. Her father was there to hear it, and he hadn’t been to church for years. She’s drawing their family together and has been a wonderful example to them.”

Fifty years ago, Kathy and I met an impressive couple who had also been recently married in the house of the Lord. Life was promising. They had children. She was talented and full of faith. His work prospered. They kept their covenants.
Unexpectedly, the young woman developed serious health issues.
Their son recently shared these reflections with me:
“In my younger years, my sweet mom went through crushing periods of severe depression, bringing extended periods of difficulty in taking care of even her own needs. It was a new reality for both of my parents. Life would be different than they had anticipated.
“My dad had never experienced mental illness and sought the help of his Heavenly Father. I can’t count the number of times I walked in on him while on his knees, or the number of Sundays he was quietly fasting again. He served my mother—and served us—with incredible love, patience, and humility. He sought the influence of the Holy Ghost, hoping to love, act, and react as the Savior would.
“My mother was the love of his life. These seasons would be but a small moment. They were bound to one another forever. As they remained faithful, they would spend eternity together in health and happiness. That promise gave him a perfect brightness of hope.
“While many times my mother felt that her challenges created a burden for my dad, he saw it differently. He loved serving this incredible, precious daughter of God.
“As my mom bravely—and miraculously—overcame many of her health struggles, they experienced light and joy together: as a couple and as parents and grandparents.
“Later, in her 60s, she faced an entirely different set of trials, including breast cancer and neurological issues that impacted her ability to walk. Once again, she and my dad doubled down on their commitment to each other and their covenants with the Lord.
“They did it together through the final day of her mortal journey.”
Eternal marriage is an eternal journey.

Elder David L. Buckner was born on September 27, 1963, in Ogden, Utah, USA, but “grew up” while he lived for three years in Sacramento, California, USA.
The youngest of Melba and E. LaMar Buckner’s five children, 11-year-old David moved to California with his family when his father was called to preside over the Church’s mission in Sacramento. Away from well-established friends in Utah, he learned how to make new friends and found “300 older brothers and sisters” among the full-time missionaries.
Most important, his testimony of the gospel of Jesus Christ took root. “That mission experience changed everything for me,” he said.

The chain reaction continued as Ana Carolina reached out to a new investigator. Tatiane Pimenta, 16, began coming when she and her family were introduced to the Church by Sister Pimentel. “I felt very timid because I didn’t know anyone,” she says. “I quietly stayed in the corner.”
But soon things began to change for Tatiane: “I started feeling good because I made a friend.” In one class, Sister Pimentel introduced a game in which all the girls put their shoes in the middle of the floor, put on someone else’s, then got to know the owner of the shoes they’d picked. “That’s how I started talking to Ana Carolina,” remembers Tatiane. “She became my first friend, a friend who encouraged me a lot. It was because of her that I felt able to join the Church.”

Let me share an experience that happened about ten years ago.

My wife, Janet, and I were living in Pennsylvania. Things were going pretty well. I had been promoted, and it was a good year for us as a family. But it was a trying year for Janet personally. That year she had our fourth child, graduated from college, passed the exam to become a certified public accountant, and was called to be the ward Relief Society president. We had temple recommends, and we held family home evening. I was serving in the bishopric.

Then one night, something happened to my wife that I can describe only as “dying spiritually.” She wouldn’t talk about it or tell me what was wrong. For me, that was the worst part. For a couple of weeks she did not wish to participate in spiritual things, and she asked to be released from her callings.

Finally, after about two weeks, it came out. She said, “All right. You want to know what’s wrong? I’ll tell you what’s wrong. I can’t do it anymore. I can’t get up at 5:30 in the morning and bake bread and sew clothes and help my kids with their homework and do my own homework and do my Relief Society work and get my genealogy done and go to the parent-teacher meetings at school and write to the missionaries.” And she named off one burden after another that had been laid on her.

Then she listed her flaws and imperfections. She said, “I don’t have the talent that Sister Morrell has. I can’t do what Sister Childs does. I try not to yell at the kids, but I lose control and yell at them anyway. I’ve just finally admitted that I’m not perfect and that I’m not ever going to be perfect. I’m not going to make it to the celestial kingdom, and I can’t pretend that I am. So I’ve given up. Why break my back trying to do what I can’t?”

Well, we started to talk, and it was a long night. I asked her, “Janet, do you have a testimony?”

She said, “Of course I do! That’s what’s so terrible. I know it’s true. I just can’t do it.”

“Have you kept the covenants you made when you were baptized?”

She said, “I’ve tried and I’ve tried, but I cannot keep all the commandments all the time.”

Then I rejoiced because I knew that her problem wasn’t any of those horrible things I had thought it might be. It is possible to be an active member of the Church, to have a testimony of its truthfulness, to hold leadership positions—and still to lose track of the “good news” at the gospel’s core. This is what had happened to Janet. She was trying to save herself. She knew why Jesus is an adviser and a teacher. She knew why he is an example, the head of the Church, our Elder Brother, and even God. She knew all of that, but she did not understand why he is called the Savior.

As my wife and I talked about her feeling of inadequacy and her feeling that she couldn’t make it, I recalled something that had happened in our family just a couple of months earlier. We call it the parable of the bicycle.

As Janet and I discussed how it worked, she finally understood. I remember her saying through her tears, “I’ve always believed he is the Son of God. I have always believed that he suffered and died for me. But now I realize that he can save me from myself, from my sins, from my weakness, inadequacy, and lack of talent.”

One day when President Hinckley was about five years old, he was sitting on his front porch with some friends. A family of another race walked down the street in front of the house. Young Gordon and his friends made some unkind remarks about the people. His mother heard what they said, and she took them inside to talk with them. She told them that all people are sons and daughters of God. That day he learned that we must respect and help one another, regardless of race, religion, wealth, or anything else.