Gospel Story Finder

“The first thing I do whenever I’m transferred is check for the location of the local chapel,” said Joseph Clancy, 19, in the U.S. Army and stationed at Ford Ord, California. “I walked to every chapel on the base here looking for the Mormon chaplain, and when my feet got sore, I let my fingers do the walking and checked the phone book. The local ward directed me to Chaplain Cooper, and he had a member pick me up for church.
“I’ve also learned that trying to fit in with the gang that runs around is not my style. I’ve concentrated on being a missionary wherever I go, and I’ve just converted a friend in the barracks. I like being in the military. I guess I’m old-fashioned because I feel that patriotism and honor and duty to your country are important.”

It can be easy to feel like we’re not good enough. I felt that recently when I was invited to sing with the Tabernacle Choir on Temple Square during general conference.
My patriarchal blessing says that I should develop my talents, especially those involving music. I really took that to heart on my mission and decided to develop my voice.
When I got home from my mission, I chose to pursue a career in music. I went to a nearby university and got a degree in music. I later started a job as a music teacher, which I am still doing today.
When I found out that the Church was offering to bring singers from around the world to join the Tabernacle Choir and sing for general conference, I decided to audition. However, after the audition was over, all I could think was, “That was so bad. There’s no way I’m getting in after that. I’m definitely not going to be a part of the choir.”
A few weeks later, I got an email response. Again, I told myself I would not be invited to join the choir, based on how badly I’d botched the audition. However, I was stunned to learn that the email was not in fact a rejection letter—it was an invitation.
I was dumbfounded. It was an immense honor to receive this invitation.
Being able to sing with the choir was a highlight of my life. I learned a lot, met many incredible people, and felt the Spirit speak to me strongly as I performed.
When I think about everything that led me to that moment, I’m amazed. I felt the Savior’s love and direction when I felt prompted to get my patriarchal blessing, and I continue to feel it. There were certainly moments in between getting my patriarchal blessing and now when I wondered to myself, “What am I even doing?” I struggled to trust the timing of the Lord and to feel like I was good enough for whatever lay ahead.
During one of those times, a friend gave me this advice:
“When you’re not feeling good enough, there are really only two options.
“Option one: You tell yourself you can do it. You say, I’m going to be great, and it’s going to go well. But in that moment, you’re not letting Christ in. You’re convincing yourself that you can do it alone. But you’re never going to be able to do it alone.
“Hence option two: It is Christ who helps you through all things. It is Christ whose strength helps you live and stand and do. Especially in our brokenness. Because it’s in the brokenness that we turn to Christ and He in turn lifts you and carries you.”
“I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me,” said Paul to the Philippians (Philippians 4:13). This verse reminds me of what my friend taught me that day and helps me keep in mind my dependence on Christ and His Atonement.
Oftentimes when we face things that are scary or stressful, we shut down. We procrastinate. But that’s not how Christ would have us be. He would rather we act and do, trusting in Him, than not do anything at all.
I’ve come to realize—in times when it’s hard and times when it’s easy—that I’m OK. I’m OK because Jesus Christ knows me at my very worst, and as I rely on Him, He helps me become my very best. And I’ve also learned that once we’ve accepted that within ourselves, then it becomes our priority to love other people in their brokenness so they can experience Christ and become their best.
President Emily Belle Freeman, Young Women General President, taught: “Like Enoch, we must remember that the One who was bruised and broken for us will allow mortality to do its work in us, but He doesn’t ask us to face those challenges alone. No matter the heaviness of our story or the current course of our path, He will invite us to walk with Him.”
If you’re not feeling good enough, remember that the Savior loves you in your brokenness. He and Heavenly Father know what you’re capable of and what you can become. They will support you and lift you up and help you become your very best.

A few weeks before leaving on my mission to Ecuador, I was ordained an elder and received all the responsibilities that come with the Melchizedek Priesthood.
Soon afterward, my mom and I were visiting some family members, and my uncle gave me a white missionary handbook, saying that I would soon be needing it. I thought he was referring to my mission—only weeks away. But that night my uncle asked me to assist in giving a blessing to my aunt, who was sick. I was surprised at the invitation but knew I now had the authority to administer to the sick—and even more, to help my aunt who was in need.
I immediately read how to give a blessing in my newly acquired handbook and was able to carry out my first priesthood blessing, feeling truly grateful in this new capacity to serve others.

My mom was driving the school bus one morning. When we drove up to one of the bus stops, a little boy named Adam was standing there crying. He didn’t want to get on the bus. His dad tried everything he could think of to help him be less afraid, and Adam finally got on. But he sat down and kept right on crying. I asked my mom if I could change seats, and she said yes. I sat by Adam and sang happy songs to him. He stopped crying. I felt very happy.

Growing up in the Church, Karina had dreamed of a temple marriage. But like many teens, she craved acceptance.
She wanted to be beautiful and popular like her older sister. She dreamed of standing out and being admired, but she was afraid of sticking out and being ridiculed. Wanting to follow in her father’s footsteps at the police academy only increased the pressure. Out of 2,000 students, there were only 70 women. She both enjoyed the attention and dreaded it.
In her desire to fit in, she made some poor choices. “The pull of the world was strong,” Karina says. “People around me drank and smoked. They pushed and I gave in. I enjoyed being part of a group that felt so carefree.”
She knew what she was doing was wrong, but she wasn’t thinking about where her choices would lead as she followed the crowd away from God (see Matthew 7:13–14).
One day a young man she liked said he respected her church’s beliefs.
Ashamed that she wasn’t living those beliefs better, Karina finally stopped to consider the path she was on (see Haggai 1:5–7). She realized that her decisions were leading her away from God, the companionship of the Holy Ghost, and her dream of an eternal family.
The only way to change her direction was to change the decisions she was making each day.1 But she wondered if she was already too far down the wrong path. Was it too late to change?
Karina decided to begin changing by praying and reading the scriptures daily. She started writing in her journal, which helped her recognize Heavenly Father’s help each day. She changed the topic if conversations turned bad.
Her most difficult decision was to choose no friends for a time rather than choosing friends with a negative influence. She began looking for friends with higher standards.
Over the months that followed, the adversary threw doubt and fear in her face at every decision. Sometimes she wondered if the effort to follow the Savior was worth it. Who she wanted to be seemed out of reach.
But as she watched how her parents and others with strong testimonies lived, she learned that there is something more powerful than doubt and fear—she learned that because of repentance, there is hope.
“I saw it was possible to live the right way,” she says. “We aren’t condemned by our mistakes. Heavenly Father has given us the chance to repent and change direction.”
Turning away from her old choices and trying to follow the Savior each day have taught her that Heavenly Father is patient. “He has given me one chance after another to change and become a better person,” she says. “He has helped me through difficult times.”

One day in October 1992 as I was coming home from my school in Cape Verde, I noticed two young men dressed in white shirts and ties. I decided to speak to them. As we talked, I could feel great love emanating from them. They told me their names and the name of their church: The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Then they invited me to become acquainted with their families by showing me photographs. They also expressed an interest in coming to my house and meeting my family.
When they came to my house, my mother was courteous, but she was not interested in their message. Still, I liked the discussions immensely; each one seemed better than the last. The testimony of the Prophet Joseph Smith and the news of the restored gospel were the most marvelous messages I had ever heard. They truly changed my heart. Eventually, the missionaries mentioned baptism. My mother was not pleased with my desire to join the Church and would not permit me to be baptized.
I continued to investigate the Church and to attend every Church meeting and activity. But I was also obedient to my mother. Many times the elders explained to her the importance of my being baptized, but she would not change her mind.
One day in sacrament meeting, a sister missionary spoke on the subject of prayer. Her words touched my heart deeply, and later at home I meditated on what she had said. Prompted by the Holy Ghost, I decided to pray. I went up on the porch of our house and prayed out loud, opening my heart to my Father in Heaven. I fervently told Him of my desire to join His Church and asked Him to touch my mother’s heart so she would let me be baptized.
It was a prayer I will never forget. Then I went into the house and opened the subject of baptism with my mother. Without a single objection, she responded, “If this is your desire, you may be baptized.” My heart was filled with happiness and praise to God. I knew without a doubt He had heard and answered my prayer.
I was baptized on 13 February 1993 on the island of São Tiago, Cape Verde. A little over a year later, after many more fervent prayers, I baptized two members of my family, my Aunt Edna and my Aunt Ana. In June 1994 I received one of the greatest blessings of my life when I baptized my mother.
Our Father in Heaven is loving and kind. And He always answers our prayers in the way He knows is best for us.

I’ve learned, too, that silence can also be very productive, even though it often makes us anxious. A fine colleague and friend came to my office shortly after I’d been sustained as a General Authority. I greeted him warmly, but, contrary to my usual style, I stayed mostly silent. His eyes brimmed with tears as he finally said that as he listened to conference, he knew he needed to come in to set things right. I resisted the impulse to intervene reassuringly, since I knew of nothing that was wrong. He then continued, saying that he was becoming active in the Church again and knew that he needed to repair certain relationships. Happily, I again resisted stemming his flow of feeling. With courage and tenderness, he indicated that he had at times said things about me that were untrue and unkind and he wanted to seek my forgiveness. Only then did I really respond by telling him of my regard, of my unawareness and unconcern over what he had reported. Most importantly, I told him of my love, admiration, and forgiveness. We embraced. I expressed admiration for his courage and manhood. He then said how difficult it had been to come in that day and how he had almost called to cancel the appointment. We spoke together of the wisdom contained in Matthew 18:15 [Matt. 18:15] and Jesus’ counsel therein as to what we should do when there are impasses in human relationships. I love that man and respect him for taking the initiative, since I had been unaware of the matter. He is fully and effectively active in the kingdom today. He needed to say what he said more than I needed to hear it. I’m so grateful I did not rush in to fill the silence that he used so well.

When I was a young woman, I borrowed skis that were way too long and boots that were way too big, and a friend taught me to ski! We went on a beautiful spring day filled with bright sun, perfect snow, and cloudless, blue skies. Anxiety about the steep slopes gave way to delight as I learned. And though I tumbled quite a few times on those long skis, I got up and I kept trying. I came to love the sport!

I soon found out, however, that not all ski days and weather conditions were that ideal. On days with overcast skies, we skied in a condition called “flat light.” Flat light occurs when the light from the sun is diffused by the clouds. Looking ahead at the white snow, you find that your depth perception vanishes, and it is difficult to judge the steepness of the slope or see the moguls and bumps on the hill.

Young women, you may be looking forward to your future as I looked at that steep ski slope. You may feel at times that you are living in flat light, unable to see what lies ahead of you. Learning by faith will give you confidence and will help you navigate your way through times of uncertainty.

In the 25th chapter of Matthew, the parable of the ten virgins teaches us that spiritual preparation is vital and must be achieved individually. You will recall that all ten virgins were invited to escort the bridegroom into the wedding feast, but only the five wise virgins were prepared with oil in their lamps.

“And the foolish said unto the wise, Give us of your oil; for our lamps are gone out.
“But the wise answered, saying, Not so; lest there be not enough for us and you: but go ye rather to them that sell, and buy for yourselves.
“And while they went to buy, the bridegroom came; and they that were ready went in with him to the marriage: and the door was shut.”

You may think it selfish that the five wise virgins did not share their oil, but it was impossible. Spiritual preparation must be acquired individually, drop by drop, and cannot be shared.

The time is now for you to diligently apply yourselves to increasing your spiritual knowledge—drop by drop—through prayer, scripture study, and obedience. The time is now to pursue your education—drop by drop. Each virtuous thought and action also adds oil to your lamps, qualifying you for the guidance of the Holy Ghost, our divine teacher.

The Holy Ghost will guide you on your journey here in mortality, even when you feel you are in flat light, uncertain of what lies ahead. You need not fear. As you stay on the path that leads to eternal life, the Holy Ghost will guide you in your decisions and in your learning.

I testify from personal experience that if you will seek learning not only by study but also by faith, you will be guided in what “the Lord … will need you to do and what you will need to know.”

I received my patriarchal blessing as a young woman and was counseled to prepare myself with a good education and to learn early in life those virtues that go into homemaking and rearing a family. I so wanted the blessing of a family; however, that blessing wasn’t fulfilled until I was 37, when I eventually married. My husband had been widowed, so the day we were sealed in the temple, I was suddenly blessed with not only a husband but a family of four children.

Long before that, there were many days when I felt like I was skiing in flat light, asking the question, “What does the future hold for me?” I tried to follow the admonitions in my patriarchal blessing. I studied diligently to become a schoolteacher and continued my education to become an elementary school principal. I prayed to my Heavenly Father and sought the guidance of the Holy Ghost. I held fervently to the promise of prophets who assured me that if I “remain true and faithful, keep [my] covenants, serve God, and love [my] Father in Heaven and the Lord Jesus Christ, [I] will not be denied any of the eternal blessings our Heavenly Father has for His faithful children.”

I know that my education prepared me for a life that has been nothing like I had envisioned as a young woman. I thought I was studying education to teach school and my future children, but I did not know the Lord was also preparing me to teach English in Mongolia on a mission with my husband and to teach the young women of the Church throughout the world and to teach my grandchildren the value of knowledge—all wonderful blessings I could never have imagined.

I testify that our Father in Heaven does know and love you. He has placed great trust in you and has work that only you can do. I want to assure you that you will be prepared for that great work if you seek learning by study and also by faith. Of this I testify in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

“When I was a girl growing up on a farm in Montana, there weren’t any children living close-by. So, of course, I often felt lonesome. A lady living on the other side of one of our fields became my best friend. Her name was Delfina.
“Whenever I was bored, I would head for Delfina’s one-room home. There wasn’t much furniture in her house, but if I took off my shoes, I could sit on her bed. Then she would share the contents of her jewelry box with me.
“It was the most beautiful jewelry box I had ever seen. In fact, it may have been the only one I had ever seen—shiny ebony, inlaid with mother-of-pearl. To me it whispered of an exciting world I had only read about in books. Its red lacquered interior was filled with tiny trinkets and jewelry.
“One day I went to visit Delfina, but she wasn’t home. I opened her door and went inside anyway. For a while I played with her trinkets. Then instead of putting all the jewelry back into the box, I put some of it into my pocket. When I arrived home, Mom discovered the jewelry. She asked me where I’d gotten it. When I told her I had taken it from Delfina, she said, ‘I know you probably wanted to have something of Delfina’s because she is your friend. If these things are special to you, think how precious they must be to her! Of course, stealing is wrong, no matter whom you steal from. The important thing now is what you’re going to do about it.’
“As I walked back across the field, I looked for every excuse I could find to take more time. Delay as I might, my feet finally took me to her door. Shame and fear overcame me as I knocked.
“When she answered, I looked down at the floor. In a quavering voice I told Delfina what I had done. ‘I’m glad you brought them back,’ she said. ‘They’re keepsakes that belonged to my mother. We all make mistakes. I’m sure you won’t do it again.’
“Then to cheer me up, she fixed my favorite treat of chocolate milk made with corn syrup and cocoa. As I sipped it, I felt as though a heavy load had been lifted from me.”

I skipped up the dusty drive, past the gray stone houses nestled in bright purple blossoms, and into the open doorway.
Mother pushed back her damp hair and set a bucket of muddy water down. It was Monday, the day she washed the walls and rinsed away the dirt that blew in with the winds.
Monday was also important because of family home evening. My brothers, Chris and Trenton, and I (my name is Laura) always looked forward to it. Tonight, however, was going to be extra special because we were going to see the prophet!
My family lives in a country far from America. Each year, when the prophet speaks to members of the Church during general conference, we have to wait for a video tape of his message. Today that video tape had finally arrived!
Because there are only a few Church members in our area, we take turns holding Sabbath services in each other’s homes. Mom has been teaching us children about prophets and their callings from God. She told us that general conference is very important because that’s a major time when our prophet tells us what Heavenly Father and Jesus want us to do.
Dad put the video into the machine and turned off the light. I fixed my eyes on the fuzzy screen. Suddenly a clear picture formed, and the familiar voices of the Tabernacle Choir filled the room. Then the cameras focused on President Benson as he made his way to the stand.
Mom had suggested that we find one thing the prophet wanted us to do and then work on it the following week. I listened carefully to every word. He seemed to be looking straight at me when he said:
“The Book of Mormon is the instrument that God designed to ‘sweep the earth as with a flood. …’* God will hold us accountable if we do not now move the Book of Mormon in a monumental way. … The time is now! You must help with this burden and with this blessing which He has placed on the whole Church, even all the children of Zion.”**
That’s it! I thought. That’s what we ought to choose to work on this week. We should share the Book of Mormon! Then I remembered. My friends spoke another language. The only copy of the Book of Mormon I had was my own precious one given to me at my baptism. And it was in English.
“Well,” Dad said after the video was over, “let’s talk about what President Benson has asked us to do. What did you learn, Laura?”
“I learned how important it is for us to share the Book of Mormon with the people here. But how can I?” I wailed, explaining my problem.
Dad thought a moment. Then he said, “Remember when Nephi was commanded to go and get the brass plates from Laban? That appeared to be an impossible task. But Nephi had faith. Remember what he said in 1 Nephi 3:7 [1 Ne. 3:7]: ‘I will go and do the things which the Lord hath commanded, for I know that the Lord giveth no commandments unto the children of men, save he shall prepare a way for them that they may accomplish the thing which he commandeth them.’ I think that there is a way we can keep this commandment to share the Book of Mormon.”
Dad had our full attention. “How?” we all asked.
“Well, our friends can’t read the Book of Mormon at this time, but they can read us.”
“Huh?” My brothers and I looked at each other with puzzled faces.
Dad explained. “We can tell people what the Book of Mormon teaches through our actions. For example, if I wanted our neighbor to learn about King Benjamin’s words on serving our fellowman, I would help him clean and trim his yard, pick up any garbage, care for his home when he is sick or away, and invite him into our home. He may not actually read the words, but he would read my actions and learn about service and love.”
“Oh, I see!” I exclaimed, jumping off the couch. “We can all do that!”
By the time family home evening was over, we had each committed ourselves to sharing one thing about the Book of Mormon through our actions that week.

If anyone had ever told me that I’d gulp down three tablespoons of mustard, I’d have said they were crazy. But being raised in a big family can do strange things to a person.
It had been one of those days that only somebody who has been raised in a big family could possibly appreciate. I had been working all month at school to complete a social studies unit, and our grades had been announced. I had received an A plus, and I couldn’t wait to get home so I could tell my mother.
When I bounded through the door, eager to bring the good news to my mother, I heard a screech.
“Come here! Quick!” my mother shouted.
I ran into the kitchen and saw my mother trying to put my two-year-old sister on the kitchen table.
“Hurry,” Mom continued, motioning me over to the table. “I need you to hold her down while I try to get this rubber plug out of her nose!”
I grabbed my young sister’s thrashing hands while Mom tried to dislodge the plug with a pair of tweezers.
“How’d she get a …” I started to ask above my sister’s screams.
“Don’t ask questions,” Mom interrupted. “Just hold her still, please!”
Later, with the rubber plug operation finally completed, I started to tell Mom about my school project.
Suddenly, my kindergarten-age sister came crashing through the front door screaming at the top of her lungs.
“I’m bleeding to death! I’m bleeding to death!” she shouted all the way into the kitchen. She walked into the kitchen bleeding from two big holes in her long stockings.
Then the baby started crying from downstairs.
“Will you go take care of the baby while I clean your sister up?” Mom asked as she carried my sister upstairs to the bathroom.
I slowly walked downstairs and into my baby sister’s room. She stopped crying as soon as she saw me and started to jump up and down in her crib, coaxing me to pick her up.
She wrapped her pudgy arms around my neck as I carried her to the family room and sat her down on the couch. I changed her pants and tickled her, and she started to laugh. As I reached down to pick up a toy for her to play with, she rolled off the couch and onto the hard floor.
She was screaming when I picked her up and started to run upstairs with her. A lump was already starting to swell on the back of her head.
“What did you do?” Mom asked taking the baby from me. “Can’t you be more responsible?”
I ran out of the room sobbing and went downstairs to the furnace room.
When I heard the baby stop crying, I crept out of the furnace room and started to go upstairs.
Just then I heard Dad come through the front door and greet Mom with, “Well, how’s your day been, dear?”
Mom collapsed into Dad’s arms and said, “Well, Grant shaved off all his hair. He said he was afraid that he was starting to look too much like the establishment. Diane said she’s never going to school again because her boyfriend told her she was too fat. Mary’s got the flu or something. Linda thinks I’m the most terrible Mom in the world because I won’t let her wear her dresses as short as all the other girls. Joy fell down and skinned both her knees on the way home from school. Dawnene ran outside without any clothes on and danced around in the front yard until the neighbor boys called and told me what our three-year-old was doing. Lori got a rubber plug stuck in her nose, and Janene let Lisa fall off the couch and bump her head.”
“Sorry I asked,” Dad said as he ran upstairs. “I’ve got to get packed and ready to go. My plane leaves in an hour.”
I went back downstairs to the furnace room. It was the only place in the whole house where I could be alone. I had fixed myself a little desk and chair and called the room my “laboratory.”
Suddenly I heard Dad’s voice booming through the heat duct, “Who’s been using my razor?”
I suddenly remembered leaving Dad’s razor in the girls’ bathroom again.
“You’d have to get the black plague to even get noticed around here,” I mumbled to myself as I slid my thumb over the cover of my social studies unit that I was so proud of.
Then I remembered a conversation I had had with a girl friend earlier that day. She told me that if you ate three tablespoons of mustard, it would make you throw up for sure.
Suddenly, throwing up seemed like a good way to get a little attention and forgiveness at the same time. Mom would forgive me for letting the baby fall off the couch, and Dad would forgive me for sneaking his razor again.
Just then I heard Mom call, “Time for dinner. Come and get it or I’ll throw it out.”
All the kids ran like a stampede for the kitchen. I quietly slipped into my place at the table while Dad gulped a glass of milk.
“Got to go. See you Saturday,” he said as he pecked Mom on the cheek and left.
Two of my sisters were giggling about Grant’s bald head until he gave them both an elbow. Diane wouldn’t touch her food because she was suddenly on a diet. Mom asked me to run a tray of food up to Mary. Linda was still sulking about her old-fashioned wardrobe. Lori started to stuff a bean up her nose just as the baby kicked over my glass of milk, and Dawnene started crying because she wanted to have two bandages on her knees like Joy.
Later, after I’d finished doing the mountain of dishes, I opened the refrigerator door and stared at the mustard. I looked around to see if anybody was watching, then quickly pulled a tablespoon out of the kitchen drawer and plunged it into the jar of yellow goo.
I brought the spoon up to my nose and turned away at the smell. Then I held my nose with one hand and shoved the spoon in with the other. That was quickly followed by two more heaping spoonfuls.
I quickly put the jar back in the refrigerator and rinsed the spoon off in the sink as a chill ran up my spine. Then I waited by the sink for something to happen. I waited and waited but still nothing.
Two of my sisters ran into the kitchen and asked me what I was doing.
“I don’t feel well,” I said, trying to act a little greenish.
“Oh, there’s nothing wrong with you,” they taunted as they skipped back out the door.
I walked back down to my furnace room and waited again. But nothing happened.
I ate three tablespoons of mustard for nothing, I thought. I felt so embarrassed at myself that I went upstairs and went to bed early so I could avoid everybody.
As I lay in bed, I felt like I did the night I jumped off the top bunk bed because my Sunday School teacher told me you could do anything if you had enough faith. Well, I wanted to fly really bad. I refused to tell anybody in the family where my goose egg came from.
Later, Mom tiptoed into the bedroom I shared with three sisters and found me rolled up in a ball underneath a pile of quilts in my bed.
“Are you feeling all right?” she asked as she tucked the blankets around me. “Joy said you were feeling sick.”
“I’m feeling fine,” I said avoiding her eyes.
“You sure did a nice job on the dishes,” Mom continued. “I saw your schoolwork too. You got an A plus. That’s wonderful, honey. I know you’ve been working hard on that project.”
I sat up in bed feeling a lot better.
“I didn’t mean to shout at you about the baby,” Mom continued. “You’re always so responsible with your younger sisters. I’m sure it was just an accident. It’s happened to me before too.”
“Really?” I said. “I’m the one that took Dad’s razor too, Mom. I know I’m not supposed to use it, but Mary and Diane always lose mine.”
“I’ve borrowed Dad’s razor without asking a few times myself,” Mom answered.
“Really?” I asked putting my arms around her neck.
I never ate three tablespoons of mustard again.
At that moment I realized that my mother was not only aware of me and my problems, but that she also cared a great deal in a very specific way. She had already experienced many of the things I was going through.
Earlier that evening it had seemed impossible to feel important since I was just one in a crowd, but suddenly I received a sweet assurance that I was not unnoticed and that I was loved.
And there have been other times since that night, times when my solitary struggles have seemed too heavy to bear. There have been times when I have felt lost and alone and not understood, times when I wondered if anyone knew my heart or cared.
Then thoughts of that evening and those three tablespoons of mustard come back. And as I felt assured of my earthly parents’ love that night, though I was only one of many, I also feel assured of my heavenly parents’ love. Even in the vastness of the eternal plan, they know me and they love me and they care. “And not one of them is forgotten before God” (Luke 12:6).

One day I was listening to a talk given by a young woman who was preparing to go on a mission. In her talk she emphasized the fact that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ love us very much. Heavenly Father loves us so much that He gives us standards so we can be protected from the world’s damaging traditions and unhealthy habits.
When I got home from church that day, I wrote down in my journal what I had learned. What I didn’t know at the time was that this information would not only add to my conversion process but would also prepare me for a decision that would try my testimony. Two weeks later my dance coach showed us the costume for a certain dance routine, and to my dismay it was too immodest for me to feel comfortable wearing. I decided to ask my coach to either change the costume or take me out of the routine.
I hoped that because I did the right thing, Heavenly Father would soften my coach’s heart and everything would work out without major consequences. Unfortunately, my coach quickly took me out of the routine. I was devastated. Later, my parents reminded me that I had made the best decision. They supported me completely.
I’m glad that I was able to make the right decision and stand up for my values. Heavenly Father gave me certain values to live by because He loves me. Knowing this helped me learn that modesty is very important in ways that I may or may not yet understand. I am grateful to have this knowledge given to me to help me through adversity.

I first had contact with the missionaries in 1992. From their first discussion, I felt something special in my heart. As the discussions progressed, I learned of gospel principles that I never knew existed. The first time I attended a Church meeting, I was warmly greeted by the members as though they had always known me.
I was the first member of my family to be baptized. Now my two sisters are also members, and my father is reading the Book of Mormon.

Voices in the front room awoke Sherrie. Through her outside window she could see nothing but blackness. It can’t be morning already, she thought. Listening, she heard Mama say, “Perry, please don’t go. Storm warnings on the news are urging people not to travel today unless absolutely necessary.”
“It is absolutely necessary. If I can pick up this load of freight, it will get us out of a bind.”
“Perry, please. A couple of days won’t make that much difference.”
“I might be able to beat the storm if I go now. It isn’t supposed to hit the Wasatch Front until this evening.”
Sherrie heard Daddy tell Mama goodbye, the front door open and close, and Daddy’s big truck rumble out of the yard. Turning her face to her pillow, she prayed softly, “Dear Heavenly Father, take good care of Daddy, and bring him safely home.” Then she drifted off to sleep.
By early afternoon, the heavy clouds had turned to snow. Sherrie ran home from school through swirling flakes—a rare and exciting thing. It practically never snowed in Hurricane, Utah, for just like nearby St. George, this was “the place where the summer sun spends the winter.”
When Mama turned on the TV to watch the six o’clock news, the newscaster was announcing that the blizzard had arrived hours earlier than expected and that Salt Lake City was snowed in. Pictures showed trucks and cars stalled in the snow.
When it came time for family prayers, Mama said, “Sherrie, I believe that it’s your turn tonight.” Everyone silently knelt and bowed their heads.
“Heavenly Father,” Sherrie began, “thanks for the snow to play in, but we’d like to have not so much of it for the people traveling on the roads. Take good care of Daddy, and bring him home safely. And if Thou would, please send a bright angel to protect him from danger, and help him to return soon. Thanks for taking good care of us and keeping us well. We love Thee, Heavenly Father. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
Morning brought the sunshine. The storm was over, and Hurricane’s skift of snow was reduced to tiny white patches in the shade. Good! Daddy will have safe traveling today, Sherrie thought. But when she came home from school, his big truck wasn’t in the yard.
The evening news showed that weather conditions were still bad in northern Utah. Mama looked out the window often as she prepared supper. “Sherrie, please help Annie set the table,” she said.
Sherrie set Daddy’s place first. Then she drew little flowers on a card and wrote, “We love you, Daddy,” and put it by his plate.
Mama was just taking a pan of biscuits from the oven when Daddy’s truck rumbled into the yard. A stampede of children greeted him as he came through the door. It took some doing to hug his way through them before he could greet Mama. Happy faces surrounded the table, and Mama put on the roast and the vegetables. She had even made Daddy’s favorite lemon pudding.
“Dad, did an angel guard you on this trip?” Clay asked. “Sherrie prayed for one for you.”
As Daddy looked up from his plate, Sherrie shyly ducked her head. Daddy regarded her tenderly.
“Yes, Sherrie, an ‘angel’ did guard me. You see, snow and ice aren’t the only dangers on the road. My rig held the road just fine, but something far worse than a breakdown almost happened. On my way home I stopped on the outskirts of Salt Lake to gas up the truck and get a bite to eat. Then I pulled out onto the road. After I had gone a mile or two, a man rose up in the sleeper behind me and jabbed a pistol in my back.
“‘Pull over,’ he demanded. I stopped as soon as I could. Still keeping me covered, the man climbed onto the seat beside me. ‘Do as I say,’ he ordered, ‘and I won’t hurt you. But if you give me any trouble, I’ll shoot you.’ Then he barked, ‘Empty your wallet, and be quick about it.’
“Since I was looking down the barrel of that pistol, I didn’t argue. I dug my wallet from my pocket.
“‘Hand me the money first,’ he ordered, ‘then I’ll look at the credit cards.’
“I handed him the money I got for delivering the freight, about two hundred dollars in bills. Then, as I started to pull the cards from my wallet, Sherrie’s picture fell, faceup, onto the seat beside the man. He gasped. Like a man hypnotized, his gaze was riveted on Sherrie’s picture. The pistol fell from his limp fingers, and the money scattered to the floor. He buried his face in his hands and shook with deep, anguished sobs. Speechless, I watched him. Time seemed to stand still. How long I watched that big, burly man shaking with sobs, I don’t know. It seemed quite a while, but it must have been only minutes. Finally he raised his face, took another look at Sherrie’s picture, and asked hoarsely, ‘Is that your little girl?’
“‘Yes,’ I replied.
“‘She reminds me of my own little girl. I can still feel her arms clinging around my neck, and I can hear her crying and begging me not to leave her and her mommy. I’m no criminal. I’ve never robbed anyone in my life. But today I was desperate. The picture of your little girl has brought me back to my senses. Forgive me, please.’
“Perspiration stood out on the man’s forehead. He wiped his face on his sleeve, opened the door, and got out. ‘Hey, mister, don’t you want your pistol?’ I asked. Reluctantly, he picked it up. ‘Here,’ I said, handing him a couple of twenties. ‘I’m sure that you can use this.’
“He looked at me with disbelief as he took the money, then, swallowing hard, said, ‘Sir, you’re a lifesaver. You can’t possibly know what a difference this makes. God bless you.’
“I watched as he cut across a field toward a cluster of houses, and then I gathered the rest of the money from the floor. Sherrie’s picture still lay on the seat where it had fallen. As I picked it up, her smile danced in front of me through a river of tears. Over and over I whispered, ‘My angel, my darling little angel.’ My heart is so filled with thankfulness for all of you. Surely I am blessed.”
The sweet silence that filled the room seemed too sacred to be broken. At last Sherrie said softly, “Heavenly Father let my picture fall onto the seat by that man, didn’t he, Daddy?”
Stroking her dark curls, he replied, “Yes, Sherrie, my precious, bright angel. I’m sure that He did.”

On 27 February 1977 we began our journey to Santiago for the first area conference in our native country of Chile. My wife Teresa and I and our four children—Oriana, Doris, Mariela, and Mario, Jr.—were especially eager to go because President Spencer W. Kimball would be there. We had not been able to get bus tickets, so we would have to travel the 530 kilometers from our home town of Los Angeles by train.
Our family of six, plus about nine other members of the Los Angeles Second Branch, were traveling together. After making several transfers, our group arrived in Valdivia. From here, the last part of the journey would take ten hours.
At the Valdivia station, about 150 people were waiting to board the train to Santiago. When it arrived, it was announced over the loudspeakers that the engine was broken down. We were to wait another two hours for another engine to arrive. But already the train was so full that people were standing on the steps and hanging out the windows.
Another train from further south was due to arrive later that night. We gathered together to pray and plan. We agreed that each of us should try to get on the next train however we could, making sure that the youngest child, Mario, Jr., was on. Sometime after midnight, we heard a train whistle and people began to shout, “It’s coming! It’s coming!” By now two hundred people were waiting on the platform.
When the new train arrived, we were disappointed to see that it, too, was already full. As it slowed and stopped, we all scrambled to find a place to get on. Looking out for young Mario, I pushed him into one of the cars. But the train was already moving; it had stopped for only a few seconds! As it disappeared into the darkness, Mama asked, “Where is everyone?” All of us were there except ten-year-old Mario. “Where is my son?” Mama asked frantically. I tried to explain what had happened and told her we must trust in the Lord.
Heartsick, we looked at the broken engine from Valdivia. It was our only hope. We managed to climb aboard the back part of the coal bin—fifteen people carrying suitcases and packages, crammed into a space not more than four meters wide. An hour later another engine was hooked to our engine, and we began the ten-hour trip. There we were—men, women, and children—holding onto bars and railings, many standing on one foot with the other foot hanging off into space, some strapped on with belts. We were cold and wind-blown. Sparks from the engine’s smokestack rained down on us.
After two and a half hours of traveling, the relief engine was replaced by a diesel engine. Occasionally, our desperation turned to panic as we wondered what was happening to our little Mario, who was by this time three hours ahead of us.
It was one o’clock in the afternoon when our train finally reached our destination. The central station in Santiago was like a sea of people. Shortly after we began searching, we heard a small voice saying, “Mama, mama.” We hugged Mario and each other and wept with joy. The Lord had heard our prayers.
Young Mario told us how frightened he had been. The journey seemed so long that it made him feel like crying. Finally, he had found a space between two seats, where he had slept all night. When he arrived in Santiago, he didn’t know what to do. He told us that only his faith in the Lord and his desire to meet the prophet had sustained him.

I would like to share an incident which took place during the Vietnam War. There were some who were convinced that the United States was engaged in a noble and justifiable war. However, public opinion was changing, and there was opposition which argued that the U.S. should pull out of Vietnam.
President Harold B. Lee was the President of the Church at the time. While at an area conference in another country, he was interviewed by reporters from the international news services. One reporter asked President Lee, “What is your church’s position on the Vietnam War?” Some recognized the question as a trap—one which could not be answered without a very real risk of being misunderstood or misinterpreted. If the prophet answered, “We are against the war,” the international media could state, “How strange—a religious leader who is against the position of the country he is obliged to sustain in his own church’s articles of faith.” On the other hand, if President Lee answered, “We are in favor of the war,” the media could question, “How strange—a religious leader in favor of war?” Either way, the answer could result in serious problems regarding public opinion both inside and outside the Church.
President Lee, with great inspiration and wisdom, answered as would a man who knows the Savior: “We, together with the whole Christian world, abhor war. But the Savior said, ‘In me ye might have peace. In the world ye shall have tribulation’ (John 16:33).” And then the prophet quoted that other comforting scripture from John: “Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you” (John 14:27). President Lee then explained: The Savior was not talking about the peace that can be achieved between nations, by military force, or by negotiation in the halls of parliaments. Rather, he was speaking of the peace we can each have in our own lives when we live the commandments and come unto Christ with broken hearts and contrite spirits. (See Conference Report, Oct. 1982, p. 101; or Ensign, Nov. 1982, p. 70.)

June and Dallin had talked about the future of their family before she passed away. They agreed that remarrying would be a blessing to him and their family. On August 25, 2000, Elder Oaks married Kristen M. McMain.
Kristen Oaks describes her life with President Oaks with one simple sentence: “We are united in the work of the Lord, and it has showered us with countless blessings.” She creates family gatherings as often as possible because it brings so much joy to the entire family. June is always a part of the conversation.

Many years ago I worked for a railroad. I was in charge of what is called head-end traffic. One morning I received a call from my counterpart in Newark, New Jersey. He said, “Train number such-and-such has arrived, but it has no baggage car. Somewhere, 300 passengers have lost their baggage, and they are mad.”
I went immediately to work to find out where it may have gone. I found it had been properly loaded and properly trained in Oakland, California. It had been moved to St. Louis. But some thoughtless switchman in the St. Louis yards moved a small piece of steel just three inches, a switch point, then pulled the lever to uncouple the car. We discovered that a baggage car that belonged in Newark, New Jersey, was in fact in New Orleans, Louisiana—1,500 miles from its destination. Just the three-inch movement of the switch in the St. Louis yard by a careless employee had started it on the wrong track, and the distance from its true destination increased dramatically. That is the way it is with our lives. Instead of following a steady course, we are pulled by some mistaken idea in another direction. The movement away from our original destination may be ever so small, but, if continued, that very small movement becomes a great gap and we find ourselves far from where we intended to go.

The summer after Mother came home was wonderful. Primary was grand! We had Primary on weekday mornings. One week we made little dolls out of stockings. Then we made them little leather dresses. We cut fringe into the bottom of the dresses and added beading. Then we braided hair. We also embroidered faces for them. We made them little beds out of cardboard and yarn.
Primary was the beginning of my testimony. I learned the gospel there and felt the Spirit through good music. I remember the leaders who taught us the songs with so much energy. Singing was fun! I don’t remember anybody telling me what I was feeling, but it was the Spirit. That’s the kind of power that good music has.

On the last Sunday in April 1834, Joseph Smith invited a number of the leaders of the Church to address Zion’s Camp volunteers gathered in a schoolhouse. After the brethren had concluded their messages, the Prophet arose and indicated that he had been edified by the instruction. He then prophesied:
“I want to say to you before the Lord, that you know no more concerning the destinies of this Church and kingdom than a babe upon its mother’s lap. You don’t comprehend it. … It is only a little handfull of Priesthood you see here tonight, but this Church will fill North and South America—it will fill the world.”11
Men such as Brigham Young, Heber C. Kimball, Orson Pratt, and Wilford Woodruff listened to and learned much from the Prophet that night—and years later helped to fulfill his prophetic pronouncement. What glorious opportunities these men had to observe, to learn from, and to follow the Prophet.