Gospel Story Finder

Some time ago, a young mother of four came to see me upon recommendation from her bishop. She had left her husband about two months prior to our talk.
As we talked about her reasons for leaving her husband, it was obvious to me that she loved him very much and that he was true to her. But he expected her to be a perfect in every aspect of their relationship. He would not tolerate her weaknesses, and he never let her win an argument. If it appeared she might win, he would make sure she didn’t—by physical force, if necessary.
I then talked with the husband, who spent two hours telling me how much he loved his wife. He confessed that he had struck her. He knew it was wrong, and was very sorry he had done it. But now he felt he had repented; he was sure he wouldn’t ever abuse her again, and he wanted a chance to make things right.
He sounded sincere, but that wasn’t enough. I felt he still needed to be carried a bit further in his commitment to a very important principle in building eternal relationships. So we talked about letting others win some of the time.
He admitted that he always had to have his own way and that he got impatient with his wife whenever she did anything differently than he wanted. I tried to help him see that he didn’t always have to be the winner in every little matter. Rather than always trying to prove that he was right, he needed to invite his wife to share her ideas with him so that they could both arrive at mutually satisfactory conclusions. In that way, they would both be winners. I told him she needed the freedom to make some of her own decisions without fear of constant ridicule or criticism. He agreed to try.
It wasn’t easy for him, I’m sure. The habit of years couldn’t be changed overnight. But the two of them gradually worked it out.

Many years ago, when I was a young boy during the decade of the 1960s, I would attend church with my family each Sunday. At that time, we would attend Sunday School in the morning and sacrament meeting in the late afternoon. I remember attending junior Sunday School and sitting in the Primary room with other children as we sang Primary songs such as, “Jesus Once Was a Little Child,” “When He Comes Again,” and “I Am a Child of God.” One particular Sunday morning, as I sang with the other children, I felt a warmth fill my heart. It went from my heart to my chest, and then it filled my whole body. It was a warmth that brought peace to my soul. In that moment, I felt my first experience with the Holy Ghost witnessing to me that God the Father lived, and that He knew me. It was a simple experience, but it was sweet to me and one that I remember vividly over fifty years later.

The second thing you can do is to be a friendshipper. A friendshipper is a person who tries to be a friend to people and invite them out to church activities. Sometimes it’s hard to go to a new place when you don’t know anyone there. But if you have a friend, it makes it much easier. This lesson I learned with one of our daughters.
As school was about to begin for the year, she was a little nervous because she had to go to a new school. Sister Dunn and I told her everything would be fine, but on the morning when she had to go she was frightened. She didn’t know if she would be accepted or if she would make new friends or if her teacher would like her. She announced, “I don’t think I had better go to school today.”
I said, “Why not?”
She answered, “I think I’m going to get sick.”
We decided that it would help if I took her to school. But when we got there she didn’t want to get out of the car, so I helped her out. As we walked up the sidewalk she grabbed my leg, and by the time we were inside she had both legs. She was really scared. Then a wonderful thing happened. Along came a friendshipper. She saw my frightened daughter and came running up and said, “Hi, Kellie. How are you?” And in about five seconds my daughter forgot all about being afraid. I remember that as she left me she stopped a few paces away and said, “You can go now Dad—I don’t need you anymore.” This wonderful little friendshipper took Kellie’s hand and now everything was all right.

I was the type of person who always wanted miracles to prove things to me. I couldn’t really believe in something until it was proven by some earth-shaking event. I had been born and raised in the Church. I went to Mutual and camp, I knew the Young Women motto by heart, and I served as a Beehive class officer. Still, I never really knew the Church was true.
People always talked about burning feelings, warm feelings, peaceful feelings, and wonderful feelings. Me, I had no feelings. When I said my prayers every night I did the routine: “Thanks for Mom, Dad, and all my blessings. Help me to have a good day and do right.” You could say that I was “leaning” on my parents’ testimonies.
I finally decided that I wanted to know for myself. Every night I prayed for about five minutes, begging God to send me a miracle. I used tears, bribery, and I even threatened that I wouldn’t be righteous. I promised God that if he sent me just one little visitation from a holy being I would be a true believer. Of course, I was going about it all wrong, but I didn’t know that.
Finally after receiving no visits from Moroni, or anyone else for that matter, a new thought hit me—faith. I had always assumed that I deserved a miraculous vision just like Joseph Smith’s. It never occurred to me that God expected me to have faith. This was a hard concept for me to accept.
I wanted so badly to know with blinding certainty about the Church. Yet I was beginning to realize that God could not bless me with a testimony if I did not exercise faith in him. Now I’m a little lighter on miracles, and I’m coming to understand what a true testimony is. I’ve learned that faith is things that are hoped for and not seen (see Heb. 11:1).

To Joseph Fielding Smith, “family is the most important organization in time or in eternity.”7 He was raised in a family governed by love, faith, high moral standards, and diligent work ethic, and he sought consistently to bring those same principles into his own family. (See chapters 4, 15, and 16 of Teachings of Presidents of the Church: Joseph Fielding Fielding Smith.)
He married Louie Emily Shurtliff in the Salt Lake Temple in 1898. One year later he was called on a mission to Great Britain for two years and was loyally supported by his wife. Upon his return, the two resumed their lives together and were blessed with the births of two daughters. Sadly, during a difficult third pregnancy Louie passed away.
In his sorrow Joseph prayed, “Help me, I pray Thee, to so live that I shall be worthy to meet her in eternal glory, to be united again with her, never again to be separated. … Help me to rear my precious babies that they shall remain pure and spotless throughout their lives.”8
At the urging of his father, the bereaved father of two prayerfully sought for a wife and a mother for his young children. His righteous desires were blessed in having Ethel Georgina Reynolds brought into his life. They were married in November 1908 in the Salt Lake Temple. This marvelous woman became the mother of Joseph’s first two daughters and later gave birth to nine additional children.

“I’m going to be honest,” Tyreece says. “The only reason I wanted to become a member was to be with a girl.” He was 17 when he met her and had no idea that their growing friendship would change his life.
At first, she hesitated to tell Tyreece that she was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints—she worried he might unfairly judge her. Instead, his reaction was: “Oh yeah? So how do you become a member?” This led to an in-depth discussion about the gospel of Jesus Christ and the standards that Latter-day Saints try to live by. Then she explained her own commitment that she would only marry a returned missionary.
“I’ll do it,” was Tyreece’s immediate reply. He decided then and there that he would join the Church and serve a mission. She was worth it.

The Mormons were not new to me. I was born and raised in Salt Lake City, Utah. I attended Boy Scout meetings in a local ward building. My best friends were Mormons. But my friends dared not mention their church to me. I guess it was my attitude. Once, while waiting for Scout meeting to begin, I asked my friend what the large picture on the wall represented. I had sat there looking at it each week for many months. He said it was of an angel who had shown the plates of the Book of Mormon to some people.
An angel! How could my best friend believe something like that? For that matter, how could any intelligent person believe that? But it would be years before I had my first real confrontation with the Mormon church.
I guess it was inevitable. I was spending the evening visiting with friends when two women—Mormon missionaries—knocked at the door. They were friendly. I was uncomfortable. I almost had the feeling of being caught in a trap. I decided to give them an argument.
“Do you believe the Bible?” they began.
“Of course,” I replied, not really knowing what I did believe.
They began by reading Acts 7:55–56, trying to show that there are three separate Beings in the Godhead. Then they worked their way into the story of Joseph Smith’s First Vision. I knew there was an answer to their interpretation of the scriptures, and I knew I needed help to find it. After all, I reasoned, everyone knows that the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost are manifestations of the same person. Was it okay to bring someone to the discussions who knew the scriptures better than I did? The missionaries assured me that it was.
The next week, I arrived with a cousin who was active in my religion. I became a spectator in the discussion that followed. If I had been impartial, I would have given the victory to the Mormon missionaries. But, of course, I decided that my cousin just wasn’t knowledgeable enough. I would find someone more knowledgeable to confront them.
During the week, I contacted a friend who was studying to become a minister. He could give me the support I needed.
“How do I answer Acts 7:55–56?” I asked, after explaining my situation. To my utter astonishment, he replied, “I’m sorry. I can’t help you. I tend to separate the Godhead more than most members of our church.”
My next source of information was a minister who lived near me. He was a friend, and I had talked with him many times before. His answer to Acts 7:55–56 was less than satisfactory: “How do you know what a person might see while he’s being stoned to death!”
I decided to stop seeing the missionaries. I had heard enough. I told the two missionaries of my decision, whereupon they presented me with a Book of Mormon and decided there was nothing more they could do to interest me in the Church.
A few years later, and in a different city, two missionaries were visiting in the next apartment. I was glad they hadn’t stopped to see me. I was just congratulating myself on my good fortune when there was a knock on the door. There they stood, and before they had a chance to say much of anything, I told them I wasn’t interested and shut the door.
During the next few years, Mormon missionaries seemed to be all over the place. Even my barber was trying to preach to me! Several sets of missionaries came to visit me. Feeling somewhat ashamed about my treatment of the two I had left standing on the doorstep a couple of years earlier, I began inviting them inside, on the condition that they “leave their books in the car, and don’t preach to me.” I always felt uncomfortable when they came, and I would not allow any discussion of religion.
How was I to make them leave without being extremely rude? How? Then I got an idea. Sure, why not? It should be easy. I would just prove that they were wrong. I would show these people that their doctrines were false, and I would do it with their own scriptures. The next time they came, I would be ready.
If I were going to prove them wrong, I had to know something concerning what they believed. How could I find out what they believe? That Book of Mormon the two lady missionaries gave me years ago. Sure! I had put it away in some drawer or box. I soon found it. What did it contain—the story of Joseph Smith’s life? A history of Mormonism? I didn’t know. But one thing I did know: when the missionaries next came, I would be ready for them.
I took the book to work, where I had some free time throughout the day. The first chance I had, I opened the book. Why, this didn’t appear to be about Joseph Smith at all! I noticed a page in the front showing interesting things to look up—the Sermon on the Mount on the American continent, Columbus, the Savior in the Americas. What was I getting into?
Not finding anything about Joseph Smith’s life story in the book, I picked up some missionary tracts at a gas station owned by a Mormon. I wanted to find out about this Joseph Smith. I read about Joseph’s First Vision. Somehow it seemed different from what I remembered hearing years before. I read about an angel named Moroni and some gold plates. Returning to the Book of Mormon, I began reading it in my spare time.
Something strange began to happen. My hostility began to disappear. Indeed, my desire to prove the missionaries wrong disappeared. My brief curiosity after first opening the book was replaced by a desire to know. What was this strange power that seemed to literally reach out and pull me toward this book? What was happening to me? I had to know.
I found myself using all my spare hours to search through the Book of Mormon. I found something else too: a promise by an ancient prophet named Moroni—a bold declaration that I could know the truth of the book by asking God to reveal it to me. Alone one day, I bowed down before my Maker, and, holding the Book of Mormon in my hand, I asked Heavenly Father what it was that was pulling me to the book. Immediately—almost before I had finished my prayer—a recollection of my past habits and hostilities flooded over me. I begged for forgiveness, having not recognized my wretched state until then.
The next few days were about the same—I tried to cope with an overwhelming desire to immerse myself in studying the Book of Mormon. Then it happened. It was a Thursday night before the October general conference of the Church. I came home from work with a peculiar feeling growing inside me—a feeling I had never before experienced. I did not know what to think of it. It slowly grew in intensity. What a marvelous feeling! I remember thinking, “If this is what it feels like in heaven, I wish I were ninety-nine years old and about to die.”
Then came the testimony—that sureness of the missionaries that had disturbed me in the past. I knew! Joseph smith had been in the presence of the Father and the Son. Indeed, he had been visited by angels. I knew. Yes, indeed, I knew.
The next week was a fun one. I hurried to my barber. “Give me a special haircut. I’m going to join the Church.” His mouth popped open, and he couldn’t speak for a short time. When he regained his composure, his reply, in all seriousness, was, “Which church?”
Then I talked with the barber and learned that he would be my first bishop after my baptism. To our mutual surprise and joy, we discovered that we had met once before, two years previously, when he was on a stake mission and a rude person had shut the door in his face and left him standing on the doorstep.

Brother Obando Vindas, Area planning manager in the Frankfurt Area Office, said that the personnel department announced that young service missionaries were going to be called to service in Europe and some would serve in Europe Area offices.
A request was placed for a service missionary to help Area planning manage its statistical data. That is how Elder Ammon Hutchinson from the Merthyr Tydfil Stake, Wales became part of the team. He inquired about the scope of his assignment, and the tools and training available for him to be able to carry out his expected duties. He took online Excel training that prepared him for his service.
Elder Hutchinson has had various assignments over the last nine months, including working for the Europe Area offices. One project involves the data entry of statistical information, such as the number of members in Europe. He is finding it interesting to see the growth patterns throughout Europe, and how the Church has been changing over time. What has assisted him in the work for these projects is access to software and other types of training courses. He has learned so much from the courses and has been able to complete the tasks to a high standard and in a manner suited to his pace. He is grateful for the support he has received from Brother Vindas, with his insights and ability to improve the presentation of the data.
He has been a great help and a joyful person to work with! He continues to learn and to improve his skills; the next step is getting specific online training to allow interactive data analyses for managers and leaders in the area office.

Many years ago, when I was engaged in the private practice of the law, a lawyer in Texas engaged me to take care of a legal problem for him in Utah.
This legal matter was satisfactorily adjusted by the payment of a sum of money, in the form of a check to our office. I forwarded the check to my friend in Texas without first cashing it, with the understanding that a portion of it would be returned to settle part of the obligation through our office.
After I sent the check, I heard nothing more from my friend. Letters, telegrams, and telephone calls went unanswered for many months. I became concerned because it was not my money and if he did not keep his word I was honor bound to make good the loss. The obvious solution was to file a complaint against him. There lurked in my mind, however, the possibility of a far more subtle approach.
I recalled how, as a boy, I had been taught by my mother the words of the Savior, as recorded by Matthew, that tell us that true Christians are supposed to pray for those who despitefully use them (see Matt. 5:44). I certainly felt that I had been despitefully used. I happened to be serving as a bishop in the Church at that time, and I chastised myself because I was something less of a Christian than I ought to be. I had not first considered the direction of the Master. At an appropriate place and time, I went to my knees and uttered a simple but sincere prayer for the well-being of this man in Texas. I am ashamed to say that this was the first time in my life when the sole and only purpose of a prayer was in the interest of one who, in my opinion, had not done well by me. The prayer seemed to have been almost instantaneously heard and brought dramatic results. In the time that it takes for an airmail letter to come from Texas, there arrived a communication from this man containing the promised money. In the letter was an explanation that he had been seriously ill, had been in the hospital, and had had to close his office but now was doing better. He asked our pardon and apologized for the inconvenience that this caused.
I relate this experience without apology to anyone who might think that I was weak, inadequate, or foolish for having humbly sought to follow a commandment of the Savior for a solution to a practical problem. The price of discipleship is obedience. In many languages, the word disciple has the same root as the word discipline. Self-discipline and self-control are consistent and permanent characteristics of the followers of Jesus.

I flipped through the pages of the Young Women lesson I was going to give the following Sunday. The General Authority quotes it included were important and applicable, but they were old.
For example, President Spencer W. Kimball (1895–1985) was President of the Church when I was baptized. I valued his words, which filled the manual, but I worried that the young women wouldn’t connect to the words of leaders they didn’t know.
I prayed for guidance and felt prompted to try something new. I updated some of the stories and included quotes from the most recent general conference, quoting President Thomas S. Monson (1927–2018). The results were overwhelming. We had a special lesson with a lot of participation. From then on, I used the lesson manual as a guide to prepare my lessons.
Such preparation took extra work. I had to study more, I had to get to know the young women better, and I had to think about the experiences they were having. Then I would look for examples and words from living Church leaders I could use to relate to their lives. I was happy to go the extra mile for the young women because of my love for them.
My leaders eventually noticed what I was doing. I feared they might reprimand me for being rebellious, but they encouraged me to continue.

There is a picture of another girl in that yearbook. She was not particularly beautiful. But she had a wholesome look about her, a sparkle in her eyes, and a smile on her face. She knew why she was in school. She was there to learn. She dreamed of the kind of woman she wanted to be and patterned her life accordingly.

She also knew how to have fun, but knew when to stop and put her mind on other things.

There was a boy in school at the time. He had come from a small rural town. He had very little money. He brought lunch in a brown paper bag. He looked a little like the farm from which he had come. There was nothing especially handsome or dashing about him. He was a good student. He had set a goal for himself. It was lofty and, at times, appeared almost impossible of attainment.

These two fell in love. People said, “What does he see in her?” Or, “What does she see in him?” They each saw something wonderful which no one else saw.

Upon graduating from the university, they married. They scrimped and worked. Money was hard to come by. He went on to graduate school. She continued to work for a time, and then their children came. She gave her attention to them.

A few years ago, I was riding a plane home from the East. It was late at night. I walked down the aisle in the semidarkness. I saw a woman asleep with her head on the shoulder of her husband. She awakened as I approached. I immediately recognized the girl I had known in high school so long before. I recognized the boy I had also known. They were now approaching old age. As we talked, she explained that their children were grown, that they were grandparents. She proudly told me that they were returning from the East, where he had gone to deliver a paper. There at a great convention he had been honored by his peers from across the nation.

I learned that they had been active in the Church, serving in whatever capacity they were asked to serve. By every measure, they were successful. They had accomplished the goals which they had set for themselves. They had been honored and respected and had made a tremendous contribution to the society of which they were a part. She had become the woman of whom she had dreamed. She had exceeded that dream.

The life of the other had been difficult. It had meant scrimping and saving. It had meant working and struggling to keep going. It had meant simple food and plain clothing and a very modest apartment in the years of her husband’s initial effort to get started in his profession. But out of that seemingly sterile soil there had grown a plant, yes, two plants, side by side, that blossomed and bloomed in a beautiful and wonderful way.

Those beautiful blossoms spoke of service to fellowmen, of unselfishness one to another, of love and respect and faith in one’s companion, of happiness as they met the needs of others in the various activities which they pursued.

As I pondered the conversation with these two, I determined within myself to do a little better, to be a little more dedicated, to set my sights a little higher, to love my wife a little more dearly, to help her and treasure her and look after her.

When my wife and I married, I was unemployed. We had very little furniture, but we had a lot of love and a lot of faith.
When I finally got a job, it required me to work Sunday afternoons. I had promised the Lord that I wouldn’t work on His day. But I was still responsible for providing for my family. Even so, the promise I’d made didn’t leave my mind.
My answer came the next Sunday while singing “Welcome, Welcome, Sabbath Morning” (Hymns, no. 280) and realizing the importance of the Sabbath day. After learning that negotiating a new schedule wouldn’t be an option, I quit my job. We went on with life, believing that the Lord would take care of us. My wife worked to support us, and we had our first daughter, Saria. Meanwhile, I took a course in electronic mechanics, utilizing the Perpetual Education Fund. Still no job came.
My wife had to return to work three months after Saria was born, but Saria missed her desperately. We prayed to know what to do and decided to have her leave work. It seemed imprudent, but we felt it was what we were supposed to do. We had four months of unemployment insurance for me to find some work, and at a providential time I obtained some temporary employment.
When our second daughter, Amanda, was born, I finally obtained a technical apprenticeship, but things remained difficult. We still had little furniture and no stable work. I took the professional self-sufficiency course offered by the Church twice. I did my best, although the little I earned hardly covered our basic necessities.
Fifteen months after I started my apprenticeship, I got my current job. I am now a technician in electrical energy measurement at a large shopping center. I work Monday through Friday, which I consider to be a miracle in this industry. All my other colleagues work Sundays and holidays. We have a health plan and furniture! I know that the Lord and the Perpetual Education Fund got me here. I know that if we do our part, the Lord will always do His, and we will be able to remain self-sufficient.

Anthony was surprised when he woke up. This was his third time having the same dream! In his dream, a tall man had shown him a beautiful building. What could it possibly mean?
As a schoolteacher, Anthony had visited many places outside his village in Nigeria. The building from his dream didn’t look like anything he had seen before. Maybe it didn’t actually exist. But there was just something special about it.
As years passed, Anthony still thought about his dream, but he was worried about other things. A war started in Nigeria. It wasn’t safe for Anthony and his wife and children to leave their house. But it was hard being inside all day. Anthony missed seeing his friends and students.
One day Anthony found an old magazine in his house. When he opened it, he saw something that looked familiar. It was the beautiful building from his dream! It was real.
The building belonged to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I’ve never heard of that church before, Anthony thought. He wanted to learn more about it, but because of the war, he still couldn’t leave his house. He would have to wait.
When the war finally ended, Anthony sent a letter to the Church’s headquarters in Salt Lake City. He asked if they would send missionaries to teach him and his family. “Can you build your church in my town?” Anthony wrote. “Please send me scriptures so I can teach the other villagers.”
Anthony was sad when he received a letter from Church headquarters: “Right now we don’t have any missionaries in your country.” Back then, most black men couldn’t hold the priesthood. And the Church wasn’t organized in much of Africa.
But Anthony was good at waiting on the Lord’s timing. Even though he couldn’t get baptized yet, he kept his faith strong.
The Church sent Anthony and his family the Book of Mormon and other Church books. Anthony studied the books and taught what he learned to the other villagers.
So many people were interested in the gospel that Anthony wanted a place for everyone to meet.
On a road lined with banana trees, Anthony built a little chapel with a blue door and shutters. The front of the building read, “Nigerian Latter-Day Saints.”
Years went by. Then one day Anthony heard wonderful news. God told the prophet that all worthy men could have the priesthood. The Church was sending missionaries to Anthony’s village!
The missionaries were surprised to find a church building and so many people ready to be baptized. They were amazed at the faith of Anthony and the other villagers.
“It has been a long, difficult wait,” Anthony told the missionaries, “but that doesn’t matter now. You have come at last.”
Anthony was the first person baptized in the Ekeonumiri River in Nigeria. When the new branch was organized, he was called to be the branch president. His wife, Fidelia, was the Relief Society president. They were sealed together in the temple years later.
Anthony continued sharing his faith with others. He often told people that the seed of the gospel planted in Nigeria would grow into a great tree. The world would be surprised by its growth.
Anthony was right. Today there are more than 170,000 members of the Church in Nigeria—and a beautiful temple! The gospel seed Anthony helped plant continues to grow around the world today.

May I share a personal experience that helped me learn many of these principles. Nearly nineteen years ago, our fifth son Benjamin was born. The day he was born, my parents left to begin serving a mission in Oakland, California. They left somewhat reluctantly because they had been called to serve as a mission office couple. Of all the possible assignments for missionary couples, they were not the least bit interested in working in a mission office. But they decided to accept the call and serve.

My professional career was exciting and promising. I was working for a growing, dynamic company. I had an important calling in our ward. Life was challenging and exciting. I was on top of my little world. Three months later, the world changed abruptly.

My wife had been increasingly concerned about Benjamin's eyes. She sensed that something wasn't right. On Thanksgiving Day, we became alarmed to discover Benjamin did not appear to have sight in one eye. We immediately consulted a close friend and retinal specialist in our ward. He confirmed our concerns and three days later diagnosed Benjamin's condition as retinal blastoma, a rare form of cancer of the eye. The news was devastating.

Over the next ten days, a team of people helped us canvas the entire world to identify and locate the most preeminent medical experts on this rare condition. We found two, one of which was located in San Francisco, California. It became clear why my parents had been called to serve a mission in nearby Oakland. They would be close by to help in the difficult months ahead. My Heavenly Father knew that long before I did.

A week later, Benjamin was to have the first of many surgical treatments. Prior to the operation we met with the surgeon. I explained to him that we believed in the power of prayer. I told him about priesthood blessings and that Benjamin has been blessed that he would be healed. With complete confidence, I told the doctor we believed that when he got into the operation he would find that Benjamin's eye would be healed and not need to be removed. Our entire family and many ward members were fasting and praying for our son, and we had great faith.

His reply stunned me. Leaning forward, he defiantly responded: "Mr. Pearson, I am a surgeon and an expert on your son's condition. I do not operate on faith or prayers or any of your other religious practices. When I get into the operating room, I am going to confirm that your son needs to have his eye removed. And when I do, we are either going to immediately move forward and take it out or we are not going in at all. But there isn't going to be any more prayers or any more waiting around for miracles. Do you understand me?"

An hour later, he returned to the nursing station and confirmed that Benjamin's eye had been destroyed by the tumor cells and that his other eye also had several serious tumors that needed immediate treatment. This was the worst possible scenario. We were devastated. I was speechless. He returned to the operating room, and we returned to my anxious parents in the waiting area. Completely overcome with grief and disbelief, I walked out of the hospital into the dark damp San Francisco morning and began to walk and weep bitterly.

I had done everything I had been taught to do. We had prayed and received a strong impression to select this doctor. We had fasted and prayed and felt certain that our infant son would be healed through faith and through the power of the priesthood. The outcome could not have been worse. There had been no blessing, and clearly the Lord had not intervened. Our faith it seems had been no more than vain hope. My faith was shattered. I began to question everything I had ever believed. As I walked, I felt betrayed and angry. I was overcome with pain.

I am not proud of the conversation I had with Heavenly Father as I walked and wept that morning. After a time, I got a hold of myself emotionally. I remember the words of a children's Primary song coming into my mind. "Heavenly Father, are you really there? And do you hear and answer every child's prayer?" Because you clearly haven't been listening to mine or maybe you just don't really care about me and my son ("A Child's Prayer," Children's Songbook, #12.).

In that moment, a tender mercy came. In my mind and heart, I felt these words: "Kevin, he is my son too." The clarity of the prompting was unmistakable. I realized in that moment that I had not understood the purpose of prayer at all. I had assumed that, just because I had a righteous cause, I could use the priesthood and fasting and prayer to change the will of God.

For the first time in my life, I fully realized that I was not in charge. I knew that I needed to submit to Heavenly Father's will. I couldn't have what I wanted when and how I wanted it just because I was keeping the commandments. The purpose of prayer was not to tell Heavenly Father what to do, rather to find out what He would have me do and learn. I needed to align my will with His.

That moment has made a deep and profound impact on my life. We would face another six years of serious challenges as we battled our little son's condition to save his other eye and his life. But I now knew that Heavenly Father was aware and in charge. And no matter how things ultimately worked out, He had heard and answered my prayer. Of that there was no longer any doubt.

My young brothers and sisters, I leave you with my witness that God is our loving Heavenly Father. I have come to know through this experience and countless others since that He does in fact "hear and answer every child's prayer." I have learned that there is great power in personal prayer. I have learned to accept answers that are contrary to what I want, trusting that Heavenly Father knows what I need. I have learned that my children are His children and He loves them more than I possibly can. Through prayer, I have received forgiveness and comfort, direction and revelation.

All the boys and girls on our street went to Primary except me. Dad was a Latter-day Saint but not active. And Mother was very active in her own church.
I was about five when I first began to feel left out of things. My friends asked me to go to Primary with them, and I kept asking Mom if I could go but she would always say no.
One day after I had coaxed her for awhile, she finally said yes. And after that I went to Primary every week. When I would come home excited about what we had done and what we had learned, I noticed that Mom seemed to like to hear what I could tell her about Primary.

In 1989 I had a chance to experience the Feast of Weeks, the celebration of the Torah, in Jerusalem with Aron, my rabbi friend. We stayed up nearly the whole night reading and discussing the scriptures, as is their yearly custom. Since that time I have read 1 Nephi 5 in a different way. After the sons returned with the brass plates of Laban, we read:
And it came to pass that they did rejoice exceedingly, and did offer sacrifice and burnt offerings unto the Lord; and they gave thanks unto the God of Israel.
And after they had given thanks unto the God of Israel, my father, Lehi, took the records which were engraven upon the plates of brass, and he did search them from the beginning. [1 Nephi 5:9–10]
For the next six verses there is a rehearsal of the marvelous things that Lehi found in the brass plates, and then it says:
And now when my father saw all these things, he was filled with the Spirit, and began to prophesy concerning his seed—
That these plates of brass should go forth unto all nations, kindreds, tongues, and people who were of his seed. [vv. 17–18]

What’s so unique about this game? It doesn’t seem that different. Looking around, you’d think it was just like any other junior college basketball game, played anywhere in the country on any given night.
The gym is about half full. Cheerleaders bounce and shout before a crowd that dosen’t pay much attention. Oh, the crowd cheers, but only when the player of their choice does something right or wrong. On the floor, two teams of average ability are racing up and down the court, exchanging the lead every now and then.
Is it the fact that football star Trevor Matich, fresh from the Super Bowl, has raced nonstop from Boston to Sacramento to catch this game? All right, maybe that makes it a little out of the ordinary. But there is something else unusual about the game. It’s a miracle that Dever Matich, Trevor’s 19-year-old brother, is playing at all tonight. Just a little over a year ago, Dever Matich was involved in a game accident that left the promising young basketball star blind.
Trevor went a few extra miles because of that game, too. It was near the end of his last season as star football center at BYU. The Cougars had been ranked number one in the nation and were practicing for the Holiday Bowl when he heard about his brother’s accident. Trevor, a returned missionary from Mexico, said adios to Provo, hopped in his car, and headed straight for Sacramento.
What he found when he got there broke his heart. In the first tournament game of Dever’s senior basketball season, Dever got jabbed in both eyes so hard that he fell to the floor in shock. He was lucky he made it to the hospital at all. His blood pressure had plunged so low he was very near death.
The doctors restored his heart rate, but they made no promises about his vision. Both retinas had been badly torn, and Dever’s family was told he would be lucky to ever see again, let alone play basketball.
Trevor was devastated. “Why couldn’t it be me?” he wondered. “I’ve already had my time in the spotlight. But Dever is just beginning. Why couldn’t it be me?”
The family’s home teachers came and gave a blessing to Dever, which offered considerable consolation to all of them—almost more consolation than they felt comfortable offering. They were inspired to say that Dever would recover completely, contrary to what the doctors had said.
The next morning Dever underwent laser surgery. The medical staff was delighted with the success but still gave Dever a good month before he could return to school and twice that amount of time before he could pick up a basketball.
His recovery, however, was incredible. Within a few days, Dever was up and around, being led by Trevor, to attend his team’s tournament championship game. Although Dever couldn’t see, Trevor gave him a play-by-play account, and Dever was more eager than ever to get back on the court.
When Trevor saw that Dever’s recovery was progressing so well, he returned to Provo, the Cougars, and a Holiday Bowl victory. It didn’t surprise him a bit to learn that less than three weeks after the accident, Dever was back in the game, his vision improved from 20/20 to 20/16.
It really does make this junior college basketball game a little out of the ordinary when you realize that if it weren’t for the power of the priesthood, one of the players would be listening from the bleachers. But there’s yet another unique aspect of the event.
That’s the unity that flows between these two brothers, who are about six years and an entire continent apart.
“He’s my best friend,” says Trevor of Dever.
“He’s so much more than just a brother,” says Dever of Trevor.
No matter what the scoreboard says when the final buzzer sounds, you’d have a hard time finding a closer game. Dever and Trevor Matich play the closest game in town.

The alarm went off, and Tyler (7) rolled over to see if Jason (12), was awake. Boy, what I’d give to be like him! thought Tyler. Jason plays great football and is one of the fastest runners in the seventh grade. He even passes the sacrament with no trouble.
“I’m going to do it,” Tyler said out loud.
“Going to do what, little brother?” Jason asked.
“Play basketball for Brigham Young University.”
“Aren’t you a little young for them, Ty?” Jason smiled. “Besides, you have to learn to walk before you learn to play basketball.”
“Yeah, I know. But I figure if I dream, I might as well dream big. I mean, who’s going to cheer just because I walk to the kitchen?”
“Mom for one, and me for another. Cerebral palsy isn’t something that you get over in twenty-four hours like the flu, Ty.”
“I know,” sighed Tyler. He rolled out of bed onto the floor. “I’m starved. Race you to the kitchen!”
Tyler scrabbled on his hands and knees down the hallway to the kitchen, where his mom and his sister Cherie were. His mom was busy making breakfast. Cherie (16) was looking for the car keys to go to seminary.
“How’s my tiger this morning?” Tyler’s mom asked as Cherie helped him into his chair. “Ready for something to eat? The people will be here soon.”
“Oh, Mom, I’m so tired of patterning. Can’t they just stay home today?”
Every day, for two hours, volunteers from the community help Tyler learn to use his body. In a special program called patterning, which teaches Tyler’s healthy brain cells how to control his body, they simultaneously move Tyler’s arms, legs, and head while he lies on his stomach on a table. Then they toss him up and down on a sheet to help him develop his sense of balance. Finally, he does something called masking, by breathing into a mask to help him take in more oxygen.
Tyler has been doing patterning for five months, and already he can hold his head up straight when he sits in a chair. He can also bend his knees enough to crawl around the house. But to him, his progress is too slow. He thinks that he should be walking by now.
“Patience, Tyler,” said Mom. “In order for you to walk, you must do this every day. It isn’t much fun for you, but just think how grateful you’ll be when it’s over and you can play ball with Jason.”
Tyler heard the people come in downstairs just as he finished the last bite of his breakfast. Mom picked him up, kissed his cheek, then put him on the floor so that he could crawl down the stairs to meet them.
The next two hours went by quickly, and Tyler decided that it wasn’t so bad once he got into it. After the people left, Tyler’s mom carried him upstairs for lunch.
After lunch Tyler crawled into the living room and leaned against the couch while Mom set out his flash cards and got everything ready for his lessons. Because Tyler has to pattern every day, it isn’t possible for him to go to the local school. Instead, Mom teaches him at home. Once in a while, though, he gets to go to school to see some of his friends. Tyler hopes to be able to go to school with them next year.
Tyler worked hard on his lessons for most of the afternoon. Afterward, he and Mom sat on the floor, talking.
“Mom, I need to earn forty cents so I can get my CTR ring next Sunday,” Tyler said. “Do you have any ideas on what I can do?”
“I tell you what Tyler, if you help me with the laundry and the dishes this week, I’ll pay you the forty cents you need. Deal?”
“Deal!” Tyler said, crawling to the kitchen.
Later in the evening, everyone in Tyler’s family, except Gena, who was away at college, gathered in the living room.
“Whose turn is it to read from the Book of Mormon tonight?” asked Dad.
Mom said, “We left off with Cherie reading from Mosiah last night. How about if Tyler starts tonight?”
Everyone took a turn reading, with Jason reading last. “The scriptures show what can be accomplished when you have the Lord’s help,” he said. “I mean, look at Tyler. He’s come a long way toward learning to walk, and he couldn’t have done it all by himself.”
Tyler smiled at Jason. “I’m glad I have the help of so many others.”
After Teri (9), one of Tyler’s other sisters, had said the prayer, Tyler hugged everyone, then Jason carried him to their room. “You’re doing great, little brother. And don’t worry—you’ll be playing ball before you know it.”
“Thanks. I just hope it’s soon.” Mom came, helped Tyler change into his pajamas, and kissed him good night. He soon drifted off to sleep.
It’s the start of the second half, BYU leads by two, and Tyler Young has the ball …

They taught me how to be a worthy, covenant-keeping, servant of the Lord. Then, when I was still a priest, both my quorum adviser and my bishop unexpectedly passed away within a few months of each other. I was devastated. But as time passed, I realized I had gained confidence in the priesthood because they gave me opportunities to perform the ordinances and duties of the Aaronic Priesthood (see D&C 13:1; 20:46–60; 84:26–27).

If you haven’t had such “revelatory moments,” listen to David O. McKay’s experiences as a young teenager:
I thought that the only way a person could get to know the truth was by having a revelation or experiencing some miraculous event, just as came to the Prophet Joseph. One day I was hunting cattle … [and] an intense desire came over me to receive a manifestation of the truth of the restored gospel. I dismounted, threw my reins over my horse's head, and there, under a serviceberry bush, I prayed that God would declare to me the truth of his revelation to Joseph Smith. I am sure that I prayed fervently and sincerely and with as much faith as a young boy could muster. At the conclusion of the prayer, I arose from my knees, threw the reins over my faithful pony's head, and got into the saddle. As I started along the trail again, I remember saying to myself: "No spiritual manifestation has come to me. If I am true to myself, I must say I am just the same 'old boy' that I was before I prayed." The Lord did not see fit to give me an answer on that occasion, but in 1899, after I had been appointed president of the Scottish Conference, the spiritual manifestation for which I had prayed as a boy in my teens came as a natural sequence to the performance of duty. (General Conference, Oct. 1968)

President McKay enjoins us to patience in things spiritual and points to a natural unfolding of revelation in our lives as we fulfill our responsibilities in the gospel. Viewed in this way, revelatory moments take a position within the broader fabric of our lives. They take their meaning from that context, both in contrast to our everyday mundane experience but also as we come to see the spiritual in the mundane.