Gospel Story Finder

Some years back, one of my daughters experienced a setback in her life that had her seeking guidance. She and a wonderful young man had decided after dating for some time that they would part ways. It wasn't easy for her. She worried, at the ripe old age of 25, that she had missed the most important time in her life to get married and that another young man would never come along. She wondered if she was living in the right place, attending the right ward, and working in the right company to meet the man that would eventually take her to the temple of God.

She was living in Manhattan, and at that time, we lived in Connecticut. She asked me if she could come out to our home and receive a father's blessing. I jumped at the chance to do it. Her blessing turned out to be quite interesting and taught me some things. While giving her the blessing, the words of a hymn came to my mind as I counsel to her. I quote, "Lead kindly light amid the encircling gloom. Lead thou me on! The night is dark and I am far from home. Lead thou me on! Keep thou my feet; I do not ask to see the distant scene - one step enough for me."

What interesting counsel, what important advice! I do not ask to see the distant scene; I don't have to know the end from the beginning; but I only need the light, the Holy Ghost, to guide me step by step. As I move forward in faith, the light will move with me, just enough to illuminate my path, and from there, I can see to take just one more step forward, all the time exercising my faith and paying close attention to the light that I have.

Within a few days, my daughter called me on the phone very excited, “Dad, I have decided that I need to move to Austin, Texas.” "Good heavens," I said, "that was quite a step!" We had no relatives there and few friends. I recall saying to her on the phone, "I am not even sure that I know where Texas is!"

To make a long story short, within a few weeks, she had found a job in Austin. A few weeks after that, we moved her and a few of her belongings, into a small apartment. In time, she met friends in her ward. With the passage of a little more time, she met just the right man who likewise had serendipitously ended up in Austin. They are now the proud parents of the three of the eleven cutest and most intelligent grandkids on the planet! All as a result of exercising a little faith in the guidance she received.

About a year after the death of our baby, we moved and I was assigned to minister to a young couple with two children. The older daughter had contracted an infection while in the womb and was born with a severe mental disability. Although she was nine years old at the time, she was like an infant developmentally. It was a struggle for the young family, who had limited means.
One day I received a phone call telling me she had died during the night. No member of the bishopric was available to visit just then, so I was asked to visit until they could get there. I arrived as her body was being removed, and I had a chance to talk with the father. The wife’s ministering sister arrived and did an amazing job comforting the family and taking care of the home.
I went with the father to the funeral home to make the arrangements. I suppose I was able to render some service because of my prior experiences. I don’t consider myself a great ministering brother, but I was glad I wasn’t a stranger in that home.

May I bear humble testimony to that fact? I was once in a situation where I needed help. The Lord knew I needed help, as I was on an important mission. I was awakened in the early hours of the morning and was corrected on something that I had planned to do in a contrary way, and the way was clearly defined before me as I lay there that morning, just as surely as though someone had sat on the edge of my bed and told me what to do.
We as individual members of the Church may receive personal revelation by the power of the Holy Ghost. The Lord said to the Prophet Joseph Smith in the early days of the Church, “Yea, behold, I will tell you in your mind and in your heart, by the Holy Ghost, which shall dwell in your heart. Now, behold, this is the spirit of revelation” (D&C 8:2–3). The Prophet Joseph Smith said, “No man can receive the Holy Ghost without receiving revelations. The Holy Ghost is a revelator.” (Teachings of the Prophet Joseph Smith, Section 6, sub-heading 64, paragraph 2, p. 328.)
May I change that about and give it emphasis to the Latter-day Saints and say, any Latter-day Saint who has been baptized and who has had hands laid upon him from those officiating, commanding him to receive the Holy Ghost, and who has not received a revelation of the spirit of the Holy Ghost, has not received the gift of the Holy Ghost to which he is entitled. Therein lies a very important matter. Let me refer to what the Prophet Joseph Smith said about revelation:
“A person may profit by noticing the first intimation of the spirit of revelation, for instance, when you feel pure intelligence flowing into you, it may give you sudden strokes of ideas so that by noticing it, you may find it fulfilled the same day or soon; that is, those things that were presented into your minds by the Spirit of God will come to pass, and thus learning by the spirit of God and understanding it, you may grow into the principle of revelation until you become perfect in Christ Jesus.” (Teachings of the Prophet Joseph Smith, Section 3, subheading 2 from the end, p. 151.)
On what matters may you receive a revelation? Is it startling to you to hear that you—all members of the Church who have received the Holy Ghost—may receive revelation? Not for the president of the Church, not about how to look after the affairs pertaining to the ward, the stake, or the mission in which you live; but every individual within his own area of responsibility has the right to receive revelation by the Holy Ghost.
Every man has the privilege to exercise these gifts and these privileges in the conduct of his own affairs, in bringing up his children in the way they should go, in the management of his business, or whatever he does. It is his right to enjoy the spirit of revelation and of inspiration to do the right things, to be wise and prudent, just and good, in everything that he does. I know that this is a true principle and that is the thing that I would like the Latter-day Saints to know. Now then, all of us should try to strive and listen to and obey the sudden ideas that come to us, and if we’ll obey them and develop the ability to hear these promptings we too—each of us—can grow in the spirit of revelation.
Now there’s one more way by which revelations may come, and that is by dreams. Oh, I’m not going to tell you that every dream you have is a direct revelation from the Lord, but I fear that there are those of us who are prone to disregard all and say they have no purpose. And yet all through the scriptures there were recorded incidents where the Lord, by dreams, has directed His people.
Let us see what Parley P. Pratt said about this matter:
“In all ages and dispensations God has revealed many important instructions and warnings to men by means of dreams. When the conscious mind and physical senses are released from their activity, the nerves relaxed, and mankind lies asleep, it is then that the spiritual senses are at liberty in a certain degree to assume their functions, to recall some faint outline, some confused and half-defined recollections of that heavenly world, and those endearing scenes of their former estate. Their kindred spirits then hover about them with the fondest affection, the most anxious solicitude. Spirit communes with spirit, thought meets thought, soul blends with soul, in all the raptures of mutual, pure, and eternal love. In this situation the spiritual organs (and if we could see our spirits, we would know that they have eyes to see, ears to hear, tongues to speak, and so on) may converse with deity, or have communion with angels, and the spirits of just men made perfect.” If we will learn not to be so sophisticated that we disregard that possibility of impressions from those who are beyond sight, then we too may have a dream that may direct us as a revelation.
The revelations of God are the standards by which we measure all learning, and if anything does not agree with the revelations, then we may be certain that it is not truth.
I come to you as one who sits in the company of men who live close to their Heavenly Father. I have seen matters come before the First Presidency and the Council of the Twelve in our weekly meetings on which decisions have been reached that were not based upon reasoning, but were based upon an impression which, after that decision had been made, has been found to have been a heaven-sent direction to protect and to guide.
After an important decision has been made, it has been a thrilling thing to hear the president of the Church say, “Brethren, the Lord has spoken.”
The thing that all of us should strive for is to so live, keeping the commandments of the Lord, that He can answer our prayers. If we will live worthy, then the Lord will guide us—by a personal appearance, or by His actual voice, or by His voice coming into our mind, or by impressions upon our heart and our soul. And oh, how grateful we ought to be if the Lord sends us a dream in which is revealed to us the beauties of the eternity or a warning and direction for our special comfort. Yes, if we so live, the Lord will guide us for our salvation and for our benefit.
I want to bear you my humble testimony that I have received by the voice and the power of revelation the knowledge and an understanding that God is.
It was a week following a conference, when I was preparing a radio talk on the life of the Savior and read again the story of His life, crucifixion, and resurrection, that there came to me a testimony, a reality of Him. It was more than just what was on the written page, for in truth, I found myself viewing the scenes with as much certainty as though I had been there in person. I know that these things come by the revelations of the living God.
I bear you my solemn testimony that the Church today is guided by revelation. Every soul in it who has been blessed to receive the Holy Ghost has the power to receive revelation. God help you and me that we will always so live that the Lord can answer the prayers of the faithful through us.

“I ran for president of my high school Women’s Association and lost. I felt that losing left me out of everything, and I really wanted to be in. But instead of feeling sorry for myself, I worked with one of my teachers to plan a marvelous party for the girl who beat me.
“When you lose and you’re really hurt, you can just reach out. If someone offends you or gets the honor or the award or job that you wanted, you just say to someone, ‘What can I do for you?’ And then you try to reach out to another and away from your own hurt.”

I wasn’t really interested in the Church. I had listened to the missionary discussions only to learn more about a friend’s religious beliefs. But when the missionaries then asked me to pray about whether or not the Church was true, I felt I needed someone to talk to.
I thought about talking with the minister of the Christian church I had been attending. He and his wife had been good to me, and I respected him as a man of God.
“Surely, he could give me some direction,” I thought as I put on my coat.
As I was about to leave, I was impressed to pray about the matter. The feeling was so strong that I acted immediately without question.
I closed the door, knelt by me bed, and asked Heavenly Father to guide me as I talked to my minister. I also prayed that I might receive an answer about what the missionaries had told me.
After ending my prayer, I rose to my feet and again prepared to depart. However, another strong feeling came—that I should not see the minister. I felt that I should tell no one of my problem and that my answer would come in due time. If I needed truthful answers, I was to turn to the Lord in prayer.
Without further thought, I took off my coat and went on with my usual morning tasks.
My answer did come in due time. A burning sensation within me testified of the truthfulness of the gospel.
Several weeks after my baptism I visited my former minister and told him of my experiences. As I politely listened to his biased opinions, I felt thankful that I had taken the time to listen to that still, small voice several months earlier.

A good man shed some light on a bright path for me in earlier years, and I would like to share his story with you.
I was 12 years old and a Tenderfoot Scout when I experienced my first overnight excursion away from home. I was excited, and I was frightened; we all were.
The group of boys who lined up with their gear on the lawn of the old 19th Ward building in Salt Lake City were variously equipped for the planned adventure to Lake Blanche in the high mountains to the east of us. Some had elaborate and expensive sleeping bags and pack frames, and some had bedrolls attached to old army knapsacks. I was in between, having the use of a homemade bag fashioned by my brother-in-law, together with the pack frame he had built, on which the bag and contents would be lashed.
All of us had been told to lay out our equipment for inspection by the man in charge, and we each fearfully waited by our stuff as the examiner approached. No marine trainee facing his sergeant could have been more apprehensive.
The man passed down the line rather quickly, commenting on this item or that boy’s pack, directing the abandonment of this extra baggage, sending one boy home to his mother with the three clean sheets she had sent along for his big trip.
I was last in line and thus nearest home, since our little house lay just alongside the old Relief Society building that separated us from the chapel. There was a narrow alley between the chapel and that building, and at the end of it a wall which formed the east border of our yard.
Being closest to home might have been an indicator of my frame of mind, because I was not altogether sold on this adventure and I was a bit apprehensive about the equipment I had borrowed, having been admonished carefully to keep it very clean and in absolute good repair.
When the inspector reached me, many foolish questions had been asked and answered, with increasing impatience, I suspect, so that the man as he faced me had become a bit short on good will. He was, in fact, quite a dynamic person of whom I was somewhat afraid, though he had always been appropriately dignified in his calling and never had been anything but kind to me.
This day under the circumstances and with the provocation of so much juvenile incompetency, he reached the end of his rope. Observing the number of items I was carrying which seemed to him superfluous for the high mountains and which he felt should not be carried in my pack, he sternly directed me to remove them and take them home to my mother. He seemed to dwell a bit sarcastically upon the pronunciation of my first name, about which my life on the west side of town by the railroad tracks had made me a bit touchy, if not defensive.
When he seemed to be making fun of me, the other boys up the line, having had their turn, snickered or broke into open laughter. Everybody but I thought it was funny. When he had left me and returned up the line to begin to herd the crowd onto the trucks which were to transport us, I made my gesture of protest. Not having anything else to do that I could think of, I just bent over, picked up the pack frame in one hand, and the two ends of the sleeping bag on which my gear was resting in the other, and walked up the alley, dragging it all behind me. When I reached the wall I dropped over, retrieved the equipment, and dragged it all behind the coal shed which was separated by a few feet from our house. Then I sat down on the ground under the basketball hoop on the back of the coal shed and suffered the pains and anguish of the damned—that is, those who have through willfulness and stubbornness painted themselves into an impossible position. I was 12 years old and in trouble.
I could not retreat and keep my self-respect; this man of authority had made a fool of me in front of others and had, to me quite unjustifiably, subjected me to ridicule. I was resentful and hopelessly frustrated. I could not see a way out of my dilemma, and I was deeply distressed.
After a long time—no doubt it seemed much longer than it actually was, but it was a long time—I heard footsteps coming up our pathway from the front street, heard the pause and a murmured conversation at our back door, and then felt and heard him resume his pace toward me. Mother had told him where I was.
He came down the little passageway between our house and the coal shed, around the corner, and sat down beside me on the dirt. He said nothing for a time but joined me as I nervously flipped little rocks and clods of dirt with a stick between my feet. I didn’t look at him. After a time he spoke.
“Do you ever get up on Kotter’s garage?” “Does Brother Kotter care?” “Do walnuts from the Perkinses’ tree fall in your backyard?” “If you take ten shots at this hoop from the line over there, how many can you make?”
I gave brief answers to all questions, and again there was silence.
Then a large, strong hand reached over to my knee and grasped it warmly.
“Son,” he said, “I made a mistake and I’m sorry.”
“That’s all right, bishop,” I said.
“Are you ready to go now,” he said. “The others are waiting.”
“Okay,” I said.
“We better get your pack ready.”
He helped me roll the gear into the sleeping bag, secure it to the pack frame, and lift it to my back. We then walked out past our back door to the street and onto the truck where the others were waiting. I later learned that after I had left he had called all of them together and explained that he had made a mistake and had been unkind to me and that my reaction had been understandable. He apologized to them in my behalf, prepared them to receive me without clamor when I arrived, got them all ready in the truck, and then made the long walk back to find me.
I do not dramatize what might have happened had a good man who was also a great man and a generous man not made that long walk, if he had not been mature enough and humble enough and capable of acknowledging and correcting a mistake. I know I was wounded and frustrated by the impossibility of my circumstance. I know that he was the bishop we prayed for by name at our house every day. And I know that my wonderful mother who did not intrude on my dilemma must have helped pray him up the path.
I also know that boys and girls, even stubborn and rebellious ones, or hurt ones or bewildered ones, are worth something to our Heavenly Father and should be worth something to all the rest of his children. I do know that I myself have taken a few long walks when my own sense of pride or impatience might have prevailed, whispering to me, “Ah, let him go. Let him sit there and see how he likes it. Why should I be bothered?”
To this hour I remain grateful that my wonderful bishop overcame any such thoughts, if he had them, and made that long walk.
His light in my life has made a difference.

Michael J. Parry, 17, of Orem, Utah, applied direct pressure to a laceration on his sister’s arm, controlling bleeding until paramedics came. “It was frightening to see my sister lying hurt and to know she could die. I kept praying she would be all right, and when I heard the ambulance, I had a burning sensation in my heart that told me she would be okay. I think the Lord was directing me the whole time in order to save her life.” Mike is in the Orem 47th Ward, Orem Utah Windsor Stake, and is a member of Post 1447.
All of the Scouts had advice to offer to others who might find themselves in emergencies. “I would never have thought it would happen to me,” Mike Parry said. “I think people should be ready for things like this and get proper training in advance because things like this will happen.”
“I found the experience to be very humbling,” Brother Crockett said. “I feel that through the Church programs the Lord provides for us, including Scouting, that I was prepared to act in this emergency.” Mike Parry said, “It strengthened my testimony to know that the Lord helped me to be in the right place at the right time.”

Last summer when I was going to school in Manchester, England, I had to ride the bus into town every day. Then I had to walk several blocks through the worst part of the city to get to my college. I remember that the most corrupt street of all was right next to my bus stop. The walls of the street shops were covered with obscenities, pornographic posters, graffiti, and vulgar swear words. There were several bars, where open doors sent out loud, suggestive music. People inside called out crude things to me as I walked. The first time I went into town for classes, I got off the bus and walked right down this street. About halfway down, I was so sick, offended, and afraid, that I didn’t think I could make it the rest of the way. I did, with my eyes shut as much as possible, but I decided at that moment that I would never walk down that street again.
Being far away from our home and family, I had plenty of things to worry about and more temptations than I could ever list. I certainly didn’t need to add this street to my worries. So, everyday when I got off the bus to go to school, I would walk an entire block out of my way to avoid that street. Sometimes on rainy mornings when I was late to an eight o’clock class I would want to forget what I had resolved and take the shorter route. But I knew I would feel sick inside if I let myself be exposed to unclean things.
Crossing that street to take the long way around every morning just became a habit. After a while, I didn’t even think of why I was doing it. Then one afternoon a friend of mine, Bob, offered to show me a new music store close to my bus stop. As we left the college together, I automatically crossed the street.
“What are you doing?” Bob asked.
Without thinking, I answered, “I can’t walk on that street.”
“Why not?” he laughed.
Suddenly I heard myself blurting out the whole story. I was far from home and didn’t want to return to my family with a lot of junk in my mind that didn’t belong there. I was uncomfortable on that street.
Bob was several years older than I and much more worldly-wise. I fully expected him to laugh again, and I felt foolish for even telling him about my feelings.
Waiting for his laughter, I looked up to find a very subdued expression on his face. After a few minutes of silence (very uncomfortable ones for me), he told me he wished he’d had a commitment like mine when he first came to school. “I wish I had crossed a few streets, Viv,” he said. “I’m ashamed to go home and see my family. I can’t look Mom in the face after some of the things I’ve seen and done.” We stood in silence for a few more minutes, but it was a comfortable one now. Then he took my arm, and we crossed the street together. We found our music store in no time at all, and had a chance for a wonderful conversation because of our roundabout route. He is now a friend I will always treasure.
I didn’t have to preach a sermon on moral and mental cleanliness. All I did was cross a street when there was something I wasn’t supposed to be exposed to on the other side. He didn’t sneer or criticize or think I was weird. By doing what I knew to be right, I actually earned his respect and friendship.

Once I was helping my brother clean his room. He got frustrated with me and threw his soccer cleats at me. That made me angry. Later, when we were in our pajamas, I noticed a tan spot on my brother’s shoulder. I looked closer and saw that it was a scorpion! I remembered the soccer cleats and wondered if I should tell him about the scorpion or not. I decided not to, but then I thought, “He is my brother, no matter what.” So I told him and told my mom too. She flicked the scorpion off his shoulder. I’m glad I made the right choice.

When I finished high school in the late 1970s, the Dutch economy was in turmoil. Unemployment rates were high. All in all, things looked pretty dismal. It was difficult for graduates to decide what to do next.
My father was serving as branch president. Now and then he discussed with me the possibility of serving a full-time mission. Of course, that would be a wonderful thing to do. I had been looking forward to that my whole life.
But I didn’t see how serving a mission could help me provide for my future family. Since childhood I had always had a great desire to one day find the love of my life and to build our family together.
I was 17 at the time, and not knowing what to do next, I started my next level of education. But after several weeks I found that this field of study was not going to make me happy. I had questions about whether it would even provide me with a stable job. I thought about quitting school.
My parents were not happy about this. They told me I could only quit school if I had a job. They probably thought that I would never find one because of the financial crisis. I spent all afternoon on my bicycle, going from one business to the next. Finally a company hired me to work in their warehouse.
Even though I took this temporary position, I had a plan. I was going to be a policeman. Working for the government would be a stable way to provide for my future family and everything would work out.
I remember the day that I went to take the exams to get into the police school. I took the train early in the morning and spent all day doing all kinds of tests. At the end of the day I was called into the office. They told me I passed all the exams and they would love to have me, but because I was 17, I was too young. They told me to try again in a year.
My world was shattered, and all the way home I was thinking, “What next?” At home my dad listened to my frustration and offered to give me a blessing. I expected that the Lord was going to tell me that everything would work out and I would be admitted to the police academy in a miraculous way. Instead the Lord told me that if I would choose to put Him first, I would always have bread on my table and the means to take care of my future family.
In response to my prayers, I received the answer that, for me, putting the Lord first meant serving a full-time mission. I had always intended to do that but had not seen how one step would lead to another. Now I knew that serving a mission was what I was going to do, and I wanted to do it as soon as possible.
Back then, the cost for a mission was 10,000 guilders in old Dutch currency, or about a year’s wages. I carried on working in the warehouse and by the summer of 1981, I had my 10,000 guilders. I had also turned 18. My father, the branch president, told me I was too young for a mission, as did the district president and mission president. At that time, you needed to be 19. But on my 18th birthday I went to the doctor and the dentist all by myself and had them fill in their parts of my missionary application.
Somehow, I managed to get my leaders to interview me and submit my application. Then we waited. I didn’t know that my father, as branch president, had received a letter. The application was returned to him with the notification that I was too young. But he hadn’t wanted to share that with me yet, so he carried it around in his suit pocket for weeks without letting me know. Fortunately, in the meantime he had received another notification. It said that in some situations the Brethren were willing to let young men go earlier when they were well prepared. Soon I was called to serve and was assigned to the England London East Mission. My mission became the blessing of a lifetime.
Three months after I returned from my mission, I did meet the love of my life. A year later we were married and sealed in the London England Temple. The economy was still not in good shape, but I have always been able to have a job and provide for my family. There has always been bread on the table and a roof over our head.

President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008), writing about the association said, ”The British Mission Association is active in keeping alive the happy memories of saints and missionaries who have lived in Britain. More than that, it is endeavouring in every way possible to cultivate the spiritual interests of its members.“
To the latter end of President Hinckley’s statement, its first annual winter social recreated a traditional British event—the fish and chip supper. At the door, the members paid 15 American cents and received in exchange one British penny, to be placed on a counter between vinegar bottles and salt shakers in payment for fish and chips, served in a piece of the previous day’s newspaper. That was the easy bit. In order to buy fresh suitable fish, it was necessary to telegraph to Seattle and import it by special delivery, a distance of 800 miles!
Dancing followed and the evening closed with the singing of “God Save the King.”
As one lad from Lancashire left, he opened the kitchen door slightly, took a deep breath and remarked, ”Eh, ba gum, ’twas a good party.“3

Aioo Suisala just turned 19. He works to earn money for his mission. On Saturdays and during school vacations he works with Letane and Sosaia at nearby plantations with many of the other people from the village. They get to the fields either by walking or riding horses. At the plantations they weed the taro plants, fumigate, pick bananas, and check how the pineapples are ripening.
On Sundays Aioo, who is assistant ward clerk, Sosaia, and Letane attend Church meetings and take care of their responsibilities in the ward. Their chapel is less than ten years old, and the local Saints helped to build it. Aioo and Sosaia both remember working on it.
Aioo stands in stake conference in Pesega as he is sustained to be ordained to the Melchizedek Priesthood. He has been looking forward to and preparing for this day for a long time because it means that he is almost ready to go on his mission.

On William’s 21st birthday, May 1, 1858, he and the crew received shore leave in Honolulu. William heard prior to leaving Britain that President Brigham Young had sent missionaries to the Pacific islands, so the young convert tried to locate some Saints “but could find no record of them.” Unknown to him the Church had called home its Pacific missionaries to help defend Zion, if necessary, against a United States army then marching toward Utah. Ironically the last elders working in Hawaii left the islands the very day that William landed in Honolulu.

The seaman, an isolated Mormon cut off from contact with the Church, continued to nourish his faith by himself. He read and reread the “works of the Church” that he had brought along. A priest in the Aaronic Priesthood, he was “posted in regard to the authority of a priest to administer the sacrament,” so he felt justified in holding his own private sacrament service in his “beef house” aboard ship. “I prayed often, to the Lord,” he said, “and asked Him to acknowledge me in the administration.” On Sundays, after the ship’s religious service, William returned to his room where “I would place the hardtack [ship’s bread] and water upon a table and then offer prayer, after which I would ask the blessing upon the bread and water and partake of it. In this way I received much spiritual strength.”

Be careful; your blessings may come in unexpected ways.

Seven years ago, Kathy and I met Diego Gomez and his beautiful family in Salt Lake City. They attended a temple open house with us but graciously declined our invitation to learn more about the Church. This past May, I received a surprising telephone call from Diego. Events in his life had led him to his knees. He had found the missionaries on his own, taken the discussions, and was ready for baptism. This past June 11, I walked into the waters of baptism with my friend and fellow disciple Diego Gomez. His conversion had its own timetable and came with the help and support of many who reached out to him as “witnesses of God.”

When elevated to the rank of inspector, he was called in by Chief J. Edgar Hoover.
“Find John Dillinger. Stay on him. Go anywhere the trail takes you and capture him alive, if you can, but protect yourself.”
Directing a special squad of agents, Sam’s investigation zeroed in on Dillinger. A telephone tip reported that Dillinger was thinking of going to one of two Chicago movies the next night. All avenues of escape from both theaters were blocked off by federal agents the following night as they awaited Dillinger’s exit. Sam directed East Chicago and Indiana agents as well as city policemen in the ambush. Walking from the Biograph Theater on July 22, Dillinger spotted the agents and reached for his automatic. The agents opened fire. Dillinger fell.

“It looks like Sarah will need to have an MRI of her back,” said Dr. Frank. He smiled at Sarah. “I’m going to schedule one for tomorrow. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Sarah’s back had been hurting for a while. When she woke up that morning, it hurt so much that it was hard for her to stand up straight, and she could barely walk. Sarah and her mom had come to see Dr. Frank to find out what was wrong.
“Another MRI?” asked Sarah, looking up at Mom. She’d had an MRI once before. She remembered how scared she had felt in the big tube that took pictures of the inside of her body.
“I’m sorry, Sarah,” said Mom. “But the pictures will help Dr. Frank learn what’s wrong with your back. I know you can do it. And I’ll be right there with you.” Mom squeezed Sarah’s hand.
“But you can’t come inside with me,” said Sarah. Her head dropped, and a tear slipped down her cheek. Mom could be with her in the room, but once Sarah went into the machine’s tunnel, she would be alone.
Mom put her arm around Sarah. “That’s true, but do you know who can be there to comfort you?”
Sarah remembered a name she had heard for the Holy Ghost: the Comforter. Maybe the Holy Ghost could help her not feel so afraid.
“The Holy Ghost?” Sarah asked.
Mom nodded. “That’s right. You can pray for the Holy Ghost to help you. Dad and I will pray for you too.”
That gave Sarah a great idea. “Can I ask Dad for a blessing?”
Mom smiled. “Of course. I know he’d love to do that.”
That night Dad placed his hands on Sarah’s head and gave her a priesthood blessing. When he blessed Sarah that she would be comforted by the Holy Ghost, a soft warmth filled her body. The feeling stayed with her all night.
The next day Sarah lay on the bench that would slide into the big tube in the MRI machine. She repeated in her head the words Dad had used during her blessing: The Holy Ghost will be there to comfort you. Sarah squeezed Mom’s hand tight. Then the nurse slid her into the tube.
The MRI machine made funny noises while it took pictures of her back. Sarah had to lie very still so the pictures wouldn’t be blurry. She panicked for a minute, but then she felt that warm feeling again. It felt like one of Mom’s hugs. Or a snuggly blanket. She knew that everything would be OK. Before she knew it, the MRI was over!
In Dr. Frank’s office, he showed Sarah and Mom the pictures of Sarah’s back. “You did a great job lying still,” Dr. Frank told Sarah as he knelt down beside her. “These pictures of your back show that you will need surgery to help you walk better.”
Sarah gulped.
“We’d like to do the surgery soon,” Dr. Frank said, looking up at Sarah’s mom. Then he turned back to Sarah. “It might take a few weeks afterward for you to feel like your old self again, but after seeing you today, I know you’ll do great.”
Sarah tried to think about all the things she’d do after Dr. Frank fixed her back. I’ll be able to run and swim and jump in a big pile of leaves. She missed doing all those things. But surgery was even scarier than an MRI! Then Sarah remembered her prayers and her special blessing. Heavenly Father had sent her the Comforter. He would help her again.
She looked at Dr. Frank. “Then can I jump in a big pile of leaves?” she asked.
He grinned. “Then you can jump in a big pile of leaves.”

You have just been blessed to hear from my wife Cindy, my companion and dearest friend—the love of my life. She is a precious gift to me in every way.

Cindy literally walked into my life when I was a 23-year-old returned missionary and student at BYU–Provo. Toward the end of the fall semester of 1976, I was studying with some friends on the fifth floor of the Harold B. Lee Library when I looked up from my reading material and saw Cindy walk into the room between two friends. She immediately caught my attention, and, after watching her walk to a table across the study hall, I turned to my best friend and said, pointing in Cindy’s direction, “Do you see that girl?”

My friend, looking across a crowded room, was not sure to whom I was pointing. He responded, “What girl?”

I looked back at him, convinced that he was either daft or confused and said, “You don’t see her? Well,” I said, “I am going to ask that girl out for a date.” Suddenly, another thought came to my mind, so I said, “And I think I am going to marry her.”

Immediately, my friends seized on the impetuous boldness of my words and urged me to act. Soon, the boys at my study table were pulling nickels and dimes from their pockets with a few crumpled one-dollar bills and putting bets on the table. I was trapped by my own words.

After a few minutes of mounting pressure, I stood up with the resolve to walk over to Cindy’s table and introduce myself. Taking a deep breath, I started toward her table. But with each step, the beating of my heart quickened and I could feel my face begin to flush. The lyrics from an old Beatles’ song comes to mind: “Well, my heart went boom when I crossed that room.”

I turned away at the last moment and went into the men’s room where I doused myself with cold water and recommitted to my plan. Perhaps by divine design, when I emerged from the men’s room, I saw to my complete surprise that Cindy had gotten up from her table and was standing at a large dictionary, perched on a stand in front of her.

I won’t take the time today to describe the awkward details of that first introduction, but it did yield results. We had our first date a day or two after Christmas 1976; got engaged in September 1977; and were married in the Provo temple on February 3, 1978.

I look back now after 43 years, five children, 18 grandchildren, and a lifetime of precious, shared experiences, and I realize that Cindy has been a gift from heaven to me, to our children, and to our growing posterity. She has also made a gift of herself to all of us and those around her by her devotion to God and His kingdom, and her selflessness in serving others. We look forward to sharing the next life and enjoying the felicity of God’s promises forever.

Illustration by Jimmy Holder
“Are you sure you’ll be OK taking care of Reynna?” Ashley asked. She gave Emma a worried look.
Emma nodded. “I’m 12. I can handle it!”
Emma’s grownup sister, Ashley, was going with Mom to visit Grandma in the hospital. That meant Emma got to babysit! Emma loved playing with her little niece. It was the best part of being an aunt!
“Thanks for looking after Reynna,” Ashley said.
“We’ll have lots of fun,” Emma said. “Everything will be fine.”
Reynna clapped her hands and giggled.
Ashley smiled. “Sounds good! We’ll be back soon.” She kissed Reynna on the forehead, and then she and Mom left for the hospital.
Emma started playing hide-and-seek with Reynna. Actually, Reynna wasn’t very good at hiding. But Emma pretended to look for her anyway and acted surprised when she “found” her. Reynna squealed with laughter every time.
After playing for a while, Emma got thirsty. She left Reynna in the hallway for just a minute to grab a juice box from the kitchen. When she came back, Reynna wasn’t there!
Then she heard splashing and laughing coming from the bathroom. She peeked her head around the doorway and saw Reynna. “There you are!”
“Dere are!” Reynna said back.
Emma noticed Reynna’s clothes were wet and her little feet were dancing in puddles of water on the bathroom tile.
Then Emma saw where the water was coming from.
Oh no. Reynna had tried to flush a whole roll of toilet paper down the toilet!
Reynna looked up at Emma with a sweet smile. Emma tried to smile back, but she flinched as more water gushed from the toilet. “Reynna, you and I are in so much trouble.”
Reynna just giggled.
Emma took her out of the bathroom and dried her off. Then she did her best to clean up the water. But it kept pouring out of the toilet like a waterfall. Some of it even spilled out into the hallway. Emma used towels to soak up the puddles as much as she could. Finally the water stopped running. But the bathroom was a mess.
“Mommy and Grandma are not going to be very happy about this,” Emma told Reynna.
Reynna frowned. “Uh-oh.”
Emma sighed. Babysitting was a little tougher than she thought!
When Mom and Ashley got home, Emma burst into tears. She explained what had happened and showed them the bathroom.
“It’s only water,” Mom said with a smile. “We’ll clean it up in a jiffy.”
“You’re not mad?” Emma asked.
“No,” Mom said. “Reynna was curious about what would happen if she stuffed a roll of toilet paper down the toilet. Now she knows.”
Ashley smiled. “And now we know how fast she can make a giant mess!”
“And I know I can’t leave Reynna by herself,” Emma said. “Ever!”
They all laughed.
Ashley put her arm around Emma’s shoulders. “You’re a good aunt, Emma. Thanks for helping with Reynna.”
Mom nodded. “You did your best. That’s what Heavenly Father asks of us. Just that we do our best.”
Just then Reynna tugged on Emma’s leg. “Hide see?” she asked.
Emma grinned and took Reynna’s hand. “Let’s go play one more round of hide-and-seek!” ?

Moses Lwakihugo, from the Democratic Republic of the Congo, lost his father to war in 1997. Moses lived in refugee camps for over 10 years. Now a priesthood leader in the Swahili group in our ward, he said, “I noticed something different about the members of the Church. They actually live what they teach. In other churches I had been a part of, nobody came to visit me. In this ward, people were checking in and bringing meals when my family was sick. I have never seen a church so full of love.”

Eight-year-old Maggie stretched forward to better talk to her parents in the front seat of the car. A frown tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Mom, do I have to go to Aunt Alice’s house?”
Maggie’s parents had been planning this temple trip for weeks. They had arranged for Maggie to stay with her great-aunt, who lived in the same town as the temple. Aunt Alice was quite old and lived alone.
Mom turned in her seat to ask, “Don’t you want to go to Aunt Alice’s house? She’s very kind and will take good care of you.”
“I know. It’s just that, well, what if there’s nothing to do? Sitting around all day could get really boring. Maybe I should have stayed home and spent the night at Anna’s house.” Anna was Maggie’s best friend.
Mother looked deeply into Maggie’s worried eyes. “It’s true, we could have left you at Anna’s house, but Dad and I wanted this to be a special trip for the whole family. We have been preparing Grandma and Grandpa McCallister’s records for a long time so that we could do their temple work. You never knew Grandma, but you’re like her in many ways. We thought this trip would be a good chance for you to feel close to her.”
Grandma McCallister had passed away when Maggie was only a baby, and Grandpa had died just last summer. Maggie knew that Mom was anxious to have their temple work done so that they could be a part of her family forever. Maggie slumped back in her seat. She knew that this day was important. She just wasn’t sure about spending it with Aunt Alice.
When they stopped in front of a small brick home several hours later, butterflies fluttered around in Maggie’s stomach.
“Grab your bag, sweetie—this is it,” Mom said.
Maggie picked up her backpack and slowly climbed out of the car. Her legs were stiff from the long trip, and she dragged them reluctantly up the front walk.
“Come on, honey. Dad and I have to get going.” Mom stopped at the front door and put her arms around Maggie’s drooping shoulders. “Don’t worry. Everything is going to be just fine. You might even enjoy yourself.” Mom smiled.
It was comforting to see the familiar twinkle in Mom’s eyes. Maggie perked up and smiled back.
Just then the front door opened, and the familiar aroma of chocolate chip cookies met Maggie’s nose.
“Well, look who’s here!” Aunt Alice exclaimed. “Maggie Magpie! I haven’t seen you since you were a baby!”
Maggie raised an eyebrow. “Maggie Magpie?”
“Oh, that’s what we used to call your grandma when she was a girl. Her name is Margaret, too, you know.”
Maggie barely heard her mother’s good-bye as she stepped into the house with Aunt Alice.
“Come and have some cookies while we get reacquainted, Maggie Magpie.”
Maggie looked around as she walked through the front room toward the kitchen. She stopped in her tracks when her eyes came to rest on a tall display cabinet full of fancy porcelain dolls. “Wow! Do you collect dolls?”
“Sure do. Do you like dolls?”
“I do! I have a collection, too. Well, it’s not as big or fancy as yours, but I really like dolls.”
“You know, your Grandma McCallister liked dolls, too. In fact, I may have something of hers that you can take home with you.”
Maggie followed Aunt Alice into the kitchen, wondering what she might have for her. Aunt Alice poured Maggie a glass of milk and set out some cookies. “Help yourself, honey. I’ll be right back.” She climbed a creaky flight of narrow wooden stairs to the attic. A few minutes later, she returned with an old shoe box.
“Just before your grandma died, she gave me this box. She asked me to keep it for you until you were old enough to take care of what’s inside.” A smile filled Aunt Alice’s face. “I think you’re old enough now. Want to see?”
Maggie nodded eagerly.
Aunt Alice took off several rubber bands, then carefully lifted the cardboard lid. Very gently she peeled back layers of faded tissue paper. Maggie leaned forward to see what lay inside. Beneath the folds of paper lay the most beautiful doll Maggie had ever seen. The eyes blinked open in the pale porcelain face as Aunt Alice lifted the doll out of the box. “Do you want to hold it?”
Maggie could barely breathe as she carefully took the doll into her arms and rocked it tenderly.
“Your grandma called her Bessie, or sometimes Miss Bess. She has the same beautiful dark red hair that you have and that your grandmother had.”
As Maggie gently smoothed the pale blue dress and white lace pinafore and patted the shining curly hair, she imagined another little redheaded girl holding this very doll a long time ago. She felt a new love for Grandma and began to believe that maybe she knew her a little bit after all.
An unexpected tear slid down Maggie’s cheek as she looked into Aunt Alice’s beaming face. “Thank you, Aunt Alice. I’ll take good care of her, I promise.”
“I know you will, Maggie Magpie,” Aunt Alice said. “You’re a lot like your grandma, you know.”
Maggie smiled lovingly at Grandma’s doll. She was glad that she was a lot like Grandma. And she was grateful that her parents were at the temple doing Grandma and Grandpa’s temple work. She wanted them all to be a family forever.