Gospel Story Finder

Tears of frustration filled my eyes, so I couldn’t make sense of the words I had been reading.
“And it came to pass that I beheld others pressing forward,” read the verses I was studying for seminary. “And they came forth and caught hold of the end of the rod of iron; and they did press forward through the mist of darkness, clinging to the rod of iron, even until they did come forth and partake of the fruit of the tree” (1 Ne. 8:24).
I was 14 and struggling. I didn’t have many friends. Those I had were beginning to experiment with alcohol, tobacco, pornography, and immoral behavior. The pressure to participate was growing daily. I was struggling to stand up for my beliefs. I was struggling to find friends. I could understand why temptation was called “mists of darkness” (1 Ne. 12:17). I felt blind to the light of the Spirit.
I was trying to do what was right, doing my best to follow “the path which led to the tree” (1 Ne. 8:22). But I could relate to those people “who had commenced in the path” but were lost because of the “mist of darkness.” I felt like I had “wandered off and [was] lost” too (1 Ne. 8:23).
I rarely cried. But that night in my room, as I read those verses, I couldn’t keep the tears from spilling out. I really felt lost, and I wasn’t sure what to do. I wanted a solid metal handrail right there by my bed that I could grab on to and follow back to heaven.
My seminary teacher had said the rod of iron symbolizes the word of God in the scriptures and given through the prophets today. But I couldn’t hold on to a symbol. I shut my scriptures and poured my heart into prayer: “Father, where is my iron rod?”
The question stuck in my head for days. Then one night, like Lehi, I “dreamed a dream” (1 Ne. 8:2).
In my dream I was on my stomach on the seminary classroom floor. Something behind me held my legs so tightly that I couldn’t get free, and it was slowly pulling me backwards. Terror smashed me so I could hardly breathe. I was too scared to look back, but I knew I was being dragged into a darkness that would mean more than death. It meant spiritual destruction.
I looked around desperately for anything I could grab on to. It was then that I saw in front of me the Book of Mormon resting on a chair. Somehow I knew that if I could just make it to the book, I would be safe.
I woke up halfway between safety and destruction. I knew I had to go one way or the other.
Suddenly, I was more interested in the Book of Mormon. But while the dream was my wake-up call to read the Book of Mormon, it was the actual reading that changed my life. The Lord blessed me for being obedient. I found spiritual strength in the face of temptations. I found confidence to break ties with my old friends and reassurance that I was better off by myself until my prayers to find better friends were answered.
Most important, I could feel the Spirit when I read the Book of Mormon. I could feel the love of God. It felt so good I never wanted to put the book down. I had found my iron rod.
Soon after, tears again blurred the words I was reading. But this time they were tears of joy as I read Nephi’s promise to his brothers.
“And they said unto me: What meaneth the rod of iron which our father saw, that led to the tree?
“And I said unto them that it was the word of God; and whoso would hearken unto the word of God, and would hold fast unto it, they would never perish; neither could the temptations and the fiery darts of the adversary overpower them unto blindness, to lead them away to destruction” (1 Ne. 15:23–34).

I have learned the importance of the Savior’s yoke through my battles with cancer. I wasn’t particularly thrilled with the plan to go through chemotherapy and radiation, and I still wish I had hired President Worthen to read through the small print on my contract for mortality. Nevertheless, cancer has brought me to my knees on many occasions. I learned quickly that Satan would wait until my strength was gone to cause me to doubt if God was really there for me. I had moments when I would question my testimony and wonder if I was worth saving or question if I had accomplished anything worthwhile in my life.
It was during one of these low moments that I was reading the Savior’s invitation in Luke: “And he said to them all, If any man will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross daily, and follow me” (Luke 9:23).
This scripture didn’t tell me to follow Him as long as I didn’t have cancer, and it didn’t tell me to follow Him only if I was married or had righteous children, and it didn’t tell me to follow Him only when I was having a good day. I learned that no matter what my circumstances were, I needed to deny myself and follow Christ daily. In other words, no matter what my struggle was, peace came as I continued to be all the way in the gospel.

Illustration by Violet Lemay
Sundays were always the same since I came to my new adoptive family when I was younger. Mom did my hair, and I got to wear a pretty dress. Then Mom made sure everyone was ready for church. I loved going to church! My teachers were nice, and the kids in my class were friendly. I loved to learn about Heavenly Father and Jesus. Most of all, I loved the music. Singing songs always made me feel happy.
But one Sunday we sang a song I hadn’t heard before. As the other children sang, “I am a child of God, and He has sent me here, has given me an earthly home with parents kind and dear,” I felt sad. My first parents hurt me and my sisters. I started to think that maybe I wasn’t a child of God.
After church I ran to Mom and asked, “Mom, am I a child of God?”
Mom pulled me into her arms and told me that I’ve always been a child of God and that He loves me very much.
With tears running down my face, I asked, “Then why wasn’t I born to parents kind and dear?” Mom said she didn’t know why, but that she and Dad loved me and were glad I was in their family. That made me feel warm and happy inside. I knew what Mom said was true.
Now I love to sing “I Am a Child of God.” I am grateful for my new parents who are kind and dear, and I know that everyone is a child of God.

“I was walking several steps ahead of grandpa [President Lorenzo Snow] when he stopped me, saying … ‘It was right here that the Lord Jesus Christ appeared to me at the time of the death of President Woodruff. … He stood right here, about three feet above the floor. It looked as thought He stood on a plate of solid gold.’
“Grandpa told me what a glorious personage the Savior is and described His hands, feet, countenance and beautiful White Robes, all of which were of such a glory of whiteness and brightness that he could hardly gaze upon Him.
“Then grandpa said … I want you to remember that this is the testimony of your grandfather, that he told you with his own lips that he actually saw the Savior here in the Temple and talked with Him face to face” (Allie Young Pond, personal journal).

Just a few months ago, I graduated from college. The day I put on the cap and gown, I felt excited, happy, grateful, and so incredibly nervous. I remember feeling confused and fearful of what lay ahead in my future. It wasn’t until a few weeks later when I was listening to a conference talk and thinking about what the speaker was saying that I felt the power of the Spirit. It was an overwhelming feeling of comfort and direction. I immediately wrote down in my journal the thoughts that were coming to me, and now I look to those words whenever I feel doubt. That journal entry has become a source of comfort for me because it feels as if it came straight from God.

A little while later, another of Candace’s relatives, her great-great-aunt, Lorna Call Alder, was lying in the darkness of her family’s home, not sure what would happen next. Angered at the U.S. government, Pancho Villa was headed straight for the town of Dublan, threatening to kill any and all Americans he found. And although the colonists had been living in Mexico for many years, they had remained loyal to the United States. The entire town was in grave danger. The people of Dublan made preparations to flee, should it be necessary, and then waited for the bishop, who happened to be Lorna’s father, to instruct them.

Lorna remembered and recorded exactly what her father told the people. “Calmly and without wavering he said, ‘Go to your homes, pray to your Heavenly Father for protection, turn out your lights, and go to sleep. The Lord will be with you this night.’”

With a great deal of faith, the Saints did exactly as they were told. At about three in the morning Villa’s army reached the north end of town. Villa stopped his army and looked out over Dublan. Much to his astonishment, he saw what appeared to be the campfires of a large army. Frightened, Villa led his men in another direction, avoiding the town completely.

No one knows for sure what Villa saw that night. Some people think that it might have been a prairie brush fire reflected in the windows of the homes in town, which could have looked like the campfires of an army. Others believe that heavenly beings protected the town that night. But no matter what he saw, the people in the town then and now believe it was a miracle.

Some years ago I spoke to a Mia Maid adviser who told me of an experience she had with one of the young women in her class. This young woman had been tempted time and time again to leave the pathway of truth and follow the detour of sin. Through the constant persuasion of some of her friends at school, she had finally agreed to follow such a detour. The plan was set: she would tell her parents she was going to her activity night for Young Women. She planned, however, to be there only long enough for her girlfriends and their dates to pick her up. They would then attend a party where alcoholic beverages would be consumed and where the behavior would be in complete violation of what this young woman knew was right.

The teacher had prayed for inspiration in helping all her girls but especially this particular young woman, who seemed so uncertain about her commitment to the gospel. The teacher had received inspiration that night to abandon what she had previously planned and to speak to the girls about remaining morally clean. As she began sharing her thoughts and feelings, the young woman in question checked her watch often to make sure she didn’t miss her rendezvous with her friends. However, as the discussion progressed, her heart was touched, her conscience awakened, and her determination renewed. When it came, she ignored the repeated sound of the automobile horn summoning her. She remained throughout the evening with her teacher and the other girls in the class. The temptation to detour from God’s approved way had been averted. Satan had been frustrated. The young woman remained after the others had left in order to thank her teacher for the lesson and to let her know how it had helped her avoid what might have been a tragic outcome. A teacher’s prayer had been answered.

I subsequently learned that because she had made her decision not to go with her friends that night—some of the most popular girls and boys at school—the young woman was shunned by them and for many months had no friends at school. They couldn’t accept that she was unwilling to do the things they did. It was an extremely difficult and lonely period for her, but she remained steadfast and eventually gained friends who shared her standards. Now, several years later, she has a temple marriage and four beautiful children. How different her life could have been. Our decisions determine our destiny.

When I think about connecting with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ, an experience I had a while ago comes to mind.
I was looking out my window at a rainstorm, waiting for the sound of it to bring me feelings of peace. Usually when I concentrate on listening to the drops of water hitting the ground, everything else I’m feeling gets washed away for a few precious moments.
Feelings of peace did come, but not nearly as much as I needed. Most of my thoughts were still stuck on the chaos of life. I didn’t understand why this wasn’t helping me feel better.
After a few minutes, a thought hit me. You’re not letting the rain in. With that, I tugged my window open and let the sound wash over me. There was the peace I was seeking. All the rest of my swirling thoughts faded away as I listened to the gentle rain.
I stood there a while before a question came to my mind: Am I letting God and the Savior into my life?
This caught me off guard. It wasn’t something I had thought about before. But the more I pondered that thought, the more it made sense. Letting the rain in brought me peace, and letting my Heavenly Father and my Savior into my life could bring me even more.
Letting the Savior and Heavenly Father in was only the first step. I still had to open my heart to Them. When I first listened to the rain through the window, it was muffled and didn’t provide me the ultimate peace I wanted. And if I hadn’t opened the window to let the sound in, I wouldn’t have felt what I did.
The same goes for all the “windows” of my life. If I have them all shut and locked, how can I truly accept Deity and establish a relationship with Them? How can I feel the Spirit and the peace of Their love wash over me?
Saying that I need to open all my windows is easier than actually doing so. I’ve realized that when I feel disconnected from the Spirit, I have to figure out what is keeping me cut off. Most of the time it’s small things like always being attached to my phone. Or not reading my scriptures as much as I should. Or deciding to follow my own will rather than seeking to know Theirs. Or even getting caught up in all my trials and distancing myself from Them because I think Heavenly Father is not answering my prayers.
Once I determine what’s keeping me from feeling the Spirit, I can choose to stop doing those things, one at a time. I can inch my windows open little by little, inviting Heavenly Father and the Savior in until I can feel Their love surround me.
Loneliness can seem dark and never-ending at times, especially during Christmastime. In those moments when we want to give up, we have to remind ourselves: We are not alone. We just have to be willing to let Them in.
Elder Jeffrey R. Holland of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles has taught: “Because Jesus walked such a long, lonely path utterly alone, we do not have to do so. His solitary journey brought great company for our little version of that path.”1
Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ are always there for us. They are reaching out, patiently waiting for us to open our hearts and lives to Them—whether at Christmas or any other time.

This story happened in the USA.
Maya sliced the strawberries and added them to the bowl of fruit salad. Fruit was her favorite food. She loved all the bright colors. And she never had to worry about eating it!
Maya had a lot of food allergies. She had to be careful because eating the wrong food could make her really sick. When she was little, she drank some cow milk by accident and had trouble breathing. She had to go to the hospital. She didn’t want that to happen again.
Sometimes it was hard to have to eat different things than her friends and family. But she knew it was important to stay safe.
Maya carried the fruit salad to the counter. “The salad’s ready.”
Dad looked up from the pot he was stirring. “Great! Our guests will be here soon.”
Maya heard a knock at the door and ran to open it. The Johnson family and the missionaries smiled at her from the porch. The Johnsons were family friends. Maya was happy to see them again. She opened the door wide for everyone to come inside.
While they waited for dinner, one of the missionaries showed Maya a magic trick. She couldn’t figure out how he was pulling the coin out of her ear!
Soon it was time to eat. Brother Johnson said a prayer. Then they all lined up to fill their plates.
When it was Maya’s turn, she got a big scoop of fruit salad. She skipped over some food she knew had milk in it.
Then she picked up a big bag of chips and poured some onto her plate. They looked like the same kind of chips she had eaten before. She put one in her mouth.
But as she started to chew, she had a strong feeling. Check the ingredients, a voice said in her mind.
Maya stopped chewing. She looked at the list of ingredients on the bag. The chips had milk in them!
Maya grabbed a napkin and spat out the chip as fast as she could. Her eyes filled with tears. She hadn’t swallowed it. But would something bad still happen?
“Mom! Dad!” Maya rushed over to her parents. “I put a chip with milk in it in my mouth!”
“It’s OK,” Mom said. “Let’s get some medicine.” Maya swallowed the pill Mom handed her and took some deep breaths. Dad held Maya while they waited for the medicine to work.
After a few minutes, Mom said, “How do you feel?”
Maya still felt scared. But nothing felt wrong with her body. “I think I’m OK. But could I have a blessing?”
“Of course,” Dad said. “Let’s ask the missionaries to help.”
Maya sat in a chair, and Dad and the missionaries placed their hands on her head. They blessed her to be safe. Maya felt calm. All her bad feelings were gone.
“How did you know to check the ingredients on the bag?” Mom asked.
“I felt a warning from the Holy Ghost!”
Dad gave her a big hug. “I’m so glad you listened.”
Maya nodded. She knew that Heavenly Father loved her and cared about her.
Illustrations by Chrisanne Serafin

Several years ago one of our BYU performing groups was on tour in Riga, Latvia. As was customary, the students were assigned host families who would share their homes during the duration of our stay in that city.
Two young men were assigned to a nonmember host ”mom.” Despite the cultural and language barrier that existed between them and the limited time that they would be together, one of these young men felt a strong impression to share the gospel with his new friend. Even the concept of a Heavenly Father was new to her, but, somehow, with the help of the Spirit and an English-Russian dictionary, her heart and mind were opened to new ideas she could never have imagined, and she listened, learned, and believed. Several weeks later this young man received a beautiful letter from this sweet sister—written with the help of the same English-Russian dictionary—expressing her thanks and her belief in God. She concluded with these words: “I wasn’t know why or what for I lived and you present me wings.”

The gray squirrel leaped from limb to limb in a frantic attempt to escape the terrible talons of its attackers, but to no avail. The great horned owls were quick and sure. Like twin lightning bolts they struck their mark, with beak and claw doing their awful work with deadly precision. And then, as if adding insult to injury, the intruders took over the squirrel’s nest, high atop a towering cottonwood tree behind Grandma and Grandpa’s farmhouse.
At first Grandpa was upset by the owls’ brazen behavior, but he began to appreciate them more and more as the days passed. The owls were excellent hunters. Rabbits, gophers, and field mice made up the major portion of their diet.
Intrigued by the owls’ activities, Grandpa and Uncle Bruce soon found themselves observing the birds every day through binoculars. In January they noticed that the great birds were keeping close to their nest and that one of them seemed to be sitting in it at all times. Later that spring Grandpa and Uncle Bruce spotted a fuzzy little face peering back at them from the nest.
One night there was a windstorm, and the next day they couldn’t see the baby owl. They searched the ground around the tree to see if the owlet had been blown out of the nest, and sure enough, it had.
The ground where the baby owl had fallen was cold and very hard. Grandpa figured that the owlet had lain there for about twenty-four hours. He and Uncle Bruce fixed up a plastic ice-cream bucket with some straw. Then they carefully wrapped a warm towel around the baby bird, placed it inside the bucket, and waited.
For about twenty minutes nothing happened. Then the little owl started to move and to make a tiny peeping sound. Half an hour later it was actively wriggling about, so they decided to feed it something—but what? Most birds like worms, but the ground was still frozen. Then an idea struck them: Perhaps the baby owl would think that noodles left over from their supper were worms. When Uncle Bruce dangled one before the little bird, it opened its beak and gulped it right down. Then it opened its mouth wide for another one. Soon the owl had devoured almost a cupful of noodles. For dessert it ate a teaspoonful of hamburger!
Having saved the baby owl’s life, Grandpa and Uncle Bruce had to figure out what to do with it. They tried to get it back into its nest. But the nest was too high to reach, even with their tallest ladder. Their next idea was to build a new nest. Not far away was a dead tree with a hollow in a branch about five feet off the ground. Uncle Bruce lined this cavity with straw and set the owl inside. The next day the bird was still there.
To be sure that it got enough to eat, Grandpa and Uncle Bruce continued to feed it. Grandpa’s dog, Queenie, would catch mice, so Uncle Bruce fed them to the owl after he had skinned them and cut them into bite-size pieces. The owl ate about half a mouse each time, nibbling Uncle Bruce’s fingers in the process. By the next morning the other half of the mouse would be gone too. Periodically other bird feathers were found in the nest, so Uncle Bruce and Grandpa knew that the parent owls were feeding their little offspring too.
After some weeks the little owl’s parents were often seen watching from another tree as Uncle Bruce fed the owlet. Whenever Uncle Bruce approached the growing bird, its parents started to click their beaks nervously. The little one would imitate them, and now and then it would also hiss like a snake. Finally it acquired a natural fear of man, so Uncle Bruce stopped feeding it. The parents took over completely, and Uncle Bruce and Grandpa just checked on the owl now and then to see if it was all right.
In time the baby owl grew to be as large as its parents. Then one day it was gone. Thinking that its wing feathers were not big enough to allow it to fly very far, Grandpa and Uncle Bruce searched the woods around the farm. But they found no trace of it.
Many months passed and memories of the young owl began to fade. Then one evening as they were sitting on their porch, Grandma and Grandpa heard a soft hooting sound from the direction of the old willow tree. Going over to investigate, they were greeted by two pairs of great round eyes. Yes, the owl had returned with a mate of its own to live where it had been so well cared for as a helpless little bird.

“Our next thrilling adventure was one pleasant afternoon as we were slowly traveling along. Suddenly, all the wagons in our company were flying in every direction with lightning speed over the plains. I don’t think the fastest horses could have kept up with our cows. Father sat in the front of the wagon, talking to and whipping his staid, old oxen to keep them going right along. He was afraid the cows might get mixed up with other teams that were running, or might turn around and tip the wagon over with us all in it. We went over hump and bump. Sometimes we would be thrown up so that our heads hit the top of the wagon bows, then we would alight anywhere it happened inside the wagon. Nobody can appreciate the situation without the experience. Again death was staring me in the face and again I covered my head. If I had to be killed I didn’t want to see the process. Mother soon snatched the covering off my head, and when we came to a stop she gave me a thorough lecture to always look out and watch for the best chance for escape.
“Well, after the cattle had run as long as they could they stopped. There were several accidents, and a woman was killed. She was knocked down and trampled to death. She left a family of children. How we all dreaded stampedes—there is something dreadful in a lot of panic-stricken cattle. Even human beings are not responsible when fright overcomes reason.”

Natalie dipped her brush into the orange paint and put the finishing touches on her newest picture. Orange swirled together with red, yellow, pink, and lavender watercolors to form a sunset behind majestic mountains.
“There! I’m finally finished,” she announced as she placed the painting on the kitchen counter to dry.
“It’s beautiful, Natalie,” Mom said as she admired the painting. “No wonder you won the school art contest again this year.”
Just then, Jared, Natalie’s nine-year-old brother, zipped through the kitchen. “Bye! I’m going to practice for the big race!” he yelled as the screen door slammed shut. In the next instant, he was in the kitchen again. “Hey, Natalie! You’re still going to paint my go-cart for me, right?”
“Sure, Jared. I’ll do it after lunch. You’ll be back by then, won’t you?”
“I’ll make sure I am!”
In the meantime, I’ll go try out my new bike tires, Natalie thought. Jared had put new tires on her bicycle, and in return, Natalie had agreed to paint bright red flames on the sides of his go-cart for the race on Monday afternoon.
As she started to pedal down the street, she heard her friend Nicole calling her. “Natalie, my parents are taking me to the amusement park today, and they said I could bring a friend. Would you like to come?”
“I’d love to!” Natalie squealed. Then she remembered Jared. “Wait—I can’t go. I promised Jared I’d paint his go-cart for the race on Monday. Tomorrow is Sunday, so I can’t do it then.”
“We can wait a couple of hours for you if you want to paint it now.”
“Jared has it with him. He’s practicing for the race and won’t be back until after lunch,” Natalie said sadly.
“Well, it will go just as fast without paint as with paint,” Nicole pointed out. “Your painting it isn’t going to help him win the race.”
Natalie thought, That makes sense. Besides, does he expect me to wait around all day for him? “OK, I’ll go!” she told Nicole. “Mom’s gone to the store, so I’ll tell Dad. We can go right away!”
At the amusement park, smells of food filled the air, and clowns carried bouquets of bright red balloons. The girls went on every ride, but for some reason, Natalie wasn’t having much fun. Even when she rode the carousel, her favorite ride, she didn’t enjoy herself. As she sat on a beautiful white horse with sparkling jewels in its trappings, all she could think about was how disappointed Jared was going to be when he found out she had broken her promise.
That evening, Natalie dreaded going home. She opened the door as quietly as she could, hoping nobody would hear her come in. But Mom was sitting on the couch. “Did you have a good time?” she asked.
“Yeah, I guess so,” Natalie answered halfheartedly. “Where’s Jared? I really need to talk to him.”
“He and Dad are out practicing for the race. They’ll be home late,” Mom said with an “I’m disappointed in you, but I’m not going to say anything” tone of voice. “You’ll have to wait until morning.”
On Sunday morning, Jared didn’t mention the go-cart, but Natalie could tell he was hurt. She was glad when it was finally time to go to church.
After a prayer, her Primary teacher, Sister Parker, began to explain the lesson. “Today we are going to talk about covenants. A covenant is a promise, or an agreement, between two people.”
Natalie slumped in her seat.
“As long as one of them keeps the agreement,” Sister Parker continued, “the other is also bound to do what he or she has promised.”
Just like the deal I made with Jared. Natalie squirmed in her chair.
“We all make covenants when we are baptized. We promise to take upon us the name of our Savior, Jesus Christ. This means we are willing to live as he would have us live.”
Jesus would not have wanted me to break my promise to Jared, thought Natalie.
“We also promise to always remember him and keep his commandments. In return, he promises to send his Spirit to always be with us. The sacrament is a time for us to remember what the Savior has done for us and to renew our baptismal covenants.”
During the sacrament, she thought about what Sister Parker had taught in Primary. She listened carefully to the sacrament prayers. She remembered Jesus and how he had suffered and died for her. Then she thought about the covenants she had made at baptism. “Heavenly Father, I promise to do better,” she prayed silently.
On the way home, she apologized to Jared. “I’m really sorry I didn’t paint your go-cart. How can I make it up to you?”
“It’s OK, Natalie. I can still race. Don’t worry about it.”
But Natalie did worry about it. She wanted to make things right. After praying again, she knew what she would do.
Monday morning, Jared was astonished. When he went to get his go-cart, it had been painted a sleek black, and bright red flames raced along the sides. He ran into the house. “Hey, Natalie!” he shouted.
“Shhh!” Mom said with her finger to her lips. “I’m going to let her sleep for a while longer.”
“Did you see it?” Jared asked, barely able to hold still long enough to hear the answer.
“Yes, I did. It looks great! She got up at three o’clock this morning to paint it for you.”
The time for the race finally came. Friends and families crowded along the course, waiting for the go-carts to come racing down the hill. Natalie waved to Jared as he slipped into the red and black go-cart. “Good luck, Jared!”
As he waved back he had a huge, happy grin on his face. Natalie’s grin was just as huge and happy.

Dan was born in Flintshire, Wales, on August 4, 1811. After receiving a college education there, he immigrated to the United States and became the owner and captain of a little river streamer called The Maid of Iowa. He operated it as a freight and passenger boat on the Mississippi River above St. Louis, Missouri. One day as a group of converts to the Church were leaving his boat at the wharf in Nauvoo, they were welcomed by the Prophet. Dan stood quietly watching the greeting. Suddenly the Prophet left the group and walked over to Dan. Placing a hand on his shoulder, he said, “God bless this little man!”
Dan was so touched by those few words of praise that he decided to investigate the church that had such a thoughtful man as its leader. To the many converts to whom he preached the gospel in the British Isles he always declared: “I have come in obedience to the counsel of the martyred Prophet, as a messenger to my native land.”

I soon learned to follow another kind of guidance, too. When I was young, Primary was held after school in the middle of the week. One day when I was about six years old, I was walking from Primary to my grandparent’s house. While I walked, I was thinking about the Primary lesson my teacher had just given about “turning the other cheek,” rather than trying to get even. She had taught us that fighting and quarreling are contrary to the teachings of Jesus.

As I walked along, a small group of older boys started pushing me and taunting me to fight. Normally when someone picked on me, I tried to “even the score.” But at that moment, a powerful feeling came over me that I should not follow my natural instinct to fight. After calling me a few insulting names, the boys went on their way, disappointed that they had not made me fight. This was one of the first times I remember the Holy Ghost whispering to me. Clearly, the Holy Ghost has been the strongest influence in my life.

About a year ago, I had a letter from a woman who related this story. She said that she had married a man who was not a member of the Church. Together, they had had five children, and they had had a good life. But recently, their oldest daughter had come to them and said she was in love with a member of a polygamist family and she wanted to marry him. As a result, she was going to pull away from her own family and her religion. This mother was devastated. She said, "I didn't know what to say, I didn't know what to do, I didn't know how to handle this." It was her stake temple day that week and so she decided to go and spend the entire day in the temple. She started in the baptistery that morning. She said,
"I just began with a prayer in my heart and felt somehow the Lord would be mindful of my need and help me with this terrible problem."
Early in the day, a thought came into her mind, and she heard herself say these words to her daughter, "It will be very sad for us when someday we go to the temple as a family, and you are not with us." But she immediately brushed it aside, thinking, "There is no way I can make such a promise. My husband is not even a member of the Church." She spent the day doing some endowment sessions, and that thought continued to come to her. But each time this thought came, she discounted it. Late in the day, while participating in an ordinance, she said,
"I was just overcome with this sweet sense of gratitude. I knew that the Lord knew that we were having a problem. I didn't know what to do, but I knew the Lord knew, and He would help me."
And so it was in the ensuing weeks she had an opportunity to visit with her daughter. She said,
"In the course of the conversation, I heard myself saying the very words that had come to me that day in the temple. 'It will be very sad for us when we go to be sealed as a family, and you are not with us.'"
The remarkable thing is, the daughter responded. She found the courage to break up the relationship. And she is now engaged to a young Latter-Day Saint man, and they are now planning a temple marriage. She then added this postscript:
Last week, after nearly a year of learning the gospel through the love and patience of eight dedicated sister missionaries, my husband has finally arrived at a baptismal date.
This is a woman who paid attention to the thoughts that came into her mind and the feelings that came into her heart that day when she was in the temple. She then took those feelings and thoughts into her home, and she saved a daughter.

Recently one summer I traveled with my family to the East Coast to visit Palmyra, New York. Ever since I was little, I loved listening to the story of Joseph Smith. My family and I went through the visitors’ center near the Hill Cumorah, Grandin’s Print Shop in Palmyra, the Sacred Grove, and the Smith homes. We watched a video about Joseph Smith and the First Vision. While watching, I felt the Spirit telling me that the Church was indeed true. I more strongly came to realize that when Joseph prayed in the Sacred Grove, he wasn’t the prophet yet. He was just a farm boy who knew nothing about talking with angels or the writings of the inhabitants of ancient America. If more people only knew that Joseph Smith started as a confused person in this world, then maybe they would understand the power of the First Vision and Joseph’s seed of faith that turned into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I know that these things are true and that with faith like that of Joseph Smith, we can receive powerful revelation and answers to our prayers. If we just “ask of God … it shall be given [us]” (James 1:5). I love the gospel, and I love the story of Joseph Smith, who had the courage to ask a simple question.

Of course, everyone makes mistakes. But let me tell you about a lovely young lady who visited in my office. She was discouraged, almost depressed. She enjoyed her profession of teaching yet felt that her life was not going anywhere. To complicate the problem she was feeling, her testimony had waned, and she was lacking the spark that all who had known her acknowledged was part of her vibrant personality.
“I am going to ask you a question,” I said, “but I do not want details. Are you living the commandments?”
She whispered, “No.”
We talked about her going to her bishop. We also talked about testimony and about how when one lives the commandments, that individual is endowed with blessings of the Spirit that can come in no other way.
She left, seemingly as discouraged as she had entered my office. But in a while, perhaps a month later, my telephone rang. She reported that all was well.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Well, I went to my bishop. I am living the commandments now, and, yes, I know the gospel is true. I did it on my own,” she reported.
“No one else could have done it for you,” I replied.

When an earthquake struck Haiti in January 2010, Jean-Elie René raced home to make sure his family was safe. Upon arrival, he spotted one of his three sons crying in the street, and he could hear the screams of another son from beneath the rubble where the family’s home once stood.
The 32-year-old father followed the cries and dug through the rubble until he found his five-year-old son and the body of his pregnant wife, still sheltering their nine-month-old baby from the collapsed roof of their home.
Brother René serves as ward clerk in the Leogane Ward, Port-au-Prince Haiti Stake. Although he lost his wife, his unborn child, and his home, he doesn’t complain or get angry about his situation. Most days following the earthquake, Brother René could be found at the meetinghouse, with the baby on his lap and his two other boys at his side, helping the bishop coordinate relief to ward members and others who made the meetinghouse their temporary home.
The story of Brother René is touching, but it is not unique.

A number of years ago our family had the privilege of serving a mission in Belgium and France. We had six small children, including a new baby born in that country. Before Christmas we had written home for some clothing and Christmas gifts for our children. They did not arrive in time for Christmas as we had hoped.
As we sat together Christmas Eve reading the New Testament and the account of the birth of the Savior, there was a little melancholy because there would not be many gifts. But as we read the words about the gift our Father in Heaven had given, his beloved Son, Jesus, we realized that there were many in our city who needed help. So we quickly gathered together some of our possessions and a Christmas box of groceries and sought out one of those families.
As we all visited that tiny apartment and began to sing Christmas carols, our hearts were full as perhaps never before. We felt the spirit of giving, we felt the spirit of those who were receiving, and we felt the spirit of our Father in Heaven. We returned to our home that Christmas Eve with a far greater gift than those gifts we had anticipated from home. Truly, the only real gift is the gift of oneself.