Gospel Story Finder

During the past several years, since the series of events began that led to my divorce, I have experienced more sleepless nights and have prayed more earnestly than at any other time of my life.
Why had the one thing I feared most happened to me? How could I rebuild my shattered hopes? I remember seeing a cartoon of a small boy giving a book report, saying, “This book taught me more about horses than I ever wanted to learn.” I often told the Lord in my heart, “This experience is teaching me more about emotional maturity than I ever wanted to know.”
One night in particular, I poured out my heart to God. I felt overwhelmed by the events that left my children without a father in the home. During that dark time, it seemed impossible to bear the thought that I had destroyed something precious and had lost something vitally important to me, and to my children. I did not sleep well that night.
I knew Christ had died so that we might not have to bear the weight of our failures and guilt indefinitely; but I could not see how even my repentance and Christ’s atonement could undo what had gone wrong in my own, my former husband’s and my children’s lives. I thought, “The Lord himself has never injured anyone, as I have, through ignorance, selfishness and poor judgment. He has never failed. He does not have to bear the constant burden of knowing that he has damaged a loved one’s life.”
“Neither do you,” came the quiet answer in my mind. I was suddenly flooded with the realization that when I accepted our Savior’s sacrifice for my sins, he had taken them on his shoulders in a more real sense than I had ever understood. Once I had repented of those sins and made what restitution I could, the matter of who had been at fault was no longer important; the concern shifted form the past to the future. “Now,” I seemed to hear, “what shall we do to help our children, you and I together?” That deeply impressed me: my children are Heavenly Father’s children, too, and the work of teaching them to love the Lord and live the gospel is as important to him as it is to me.
As soon as I understood that fact, I felt my feelings of failure and inadequacy go away. I realized that I didn’t need to be perfect before I could be a good mother. By humbly admitting my weaknesses and by exerting faith in Christ, I had taken into partnership, or had been taken into partnership by, a perfect Being. I was not rearing my children alone after all—I had the right to do so together with a loving Father who desired their welfare (and my own) even more than I could comprehend! That was a comfort beyond description.

More than a year after Nancy and I were baptized, she began dating a young man named Luke. He had a bubbly personality and seemed to radiate love and excitement. At the time Nancy met him, he was looking for direction in his life and was eager to take the missionary discussions when Nancy told him about the gospel. His sister, Leonarda, also was interested in being taught.

Although Luke and Leonarda agreed with most of what was presented, they had trouble accepting that Joseph Smith was a prophet. Once they gained a testimony of Joseph Smith then everything else (the Book of Mormon, the restoration of the gospel, and the gospel principles taught by the prophets) would fall into place.

They came to our home to be taught by the elders. Once again the discussion centered on Joseph Smith. One of the elders suggested that we should each take a turn asking Heavenly Father if Joseph Smith was a prophet and then listen silently for a minute for the answer.

I won’t forget the feeling of peace that came into that room and touched each of our hearts as the Spirit bore witness to each of us that Joseph Smith was a prophet of the Lord. For some of us a testimony was gained that night; for others the truth was reaffirmed. Luke accepted baptism and Leonarda was baptized a few years later with her parents’ approval.

Since that night the Spirit has borne witness to me many times of the truthfulness of other gospel principles. But this experience stands out in my mind because it was one of my first experiences with personal revelation from a Heavenly Father who loves me. I learned that night the truth of the counsel found in Matthew 7:7, “Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you.” [Matt. 7:7]

Eliza R. Snow, second General President of the Relief Society, offered a riveting answer. Because of Missouri’s infamous extermination order, issued at the onset of the grueling winter of 1838,7 she and other Saints were forced to flee the state that very winter. One evening, Eliza’s family spent the night in a small log cabin used by refugee Saints. Much of the chinking between the logs had been extracted and burned for firewood by those who preceded them, so there were holes between the logs large enough for a cat to crawl through. It was bitter cold, and their food was frozen solid.

That night some 80 people huddled inside that small cabin, only 20 feet square (6.1 meters square). Most sat or stood all night trying to keep warm. Outside, a group of men spent the night gathered around a roaring fire, with some singing hymns and others roasting frozen potatoes. Eliza recorded: “Not a complaint was heard—all were cheerful, and judging from appearances, strangers would have taken us to be pleasure excursionists rather than a band of gubernatorial exiles.”

Eliza’s report of that exhausting, bone-chilling evening was strikingly optimistic. She declared: “That was a very merry night. None but saints can be happy under every circumstance.”8

Thirty years ago, while my wife and I were preparing for our civil marriage and our temple marriage, we received a call informing us that civil marriages were canceled due to a strike. We received the call three days before the scheduled ceremony. After several attempts at other offices and not finding available appointments, we began to feel distressed and doubtful that we really could get married as planned.
My fiancée and I “called,” pouring out our souls to God in prayer. Finally, someone told us about an office in a small town on the outskirts of the city where an acquaintance was the mayor. Without hesitation, we went to visit him and asked him if it would be possible to marry us. To our joy, he agreed. His secretary emphasized to us that we had to obtain a certificate in that city and deliver all the documents before noon the next day.
The next day, we moved to the small town and went to the police station to request the required document. To our surprise, the officer said that he would not give it to us because many young couples had been running away from their families to get married secretly in that town, which of course was not our case. Again, fear and sadness overtook us.
I remember how I silently called out to my Heavenly Father so as not to fall. I received a clear impression in my mind, repeatedly saying, “Temple recommend, temple recommend.” I immediately took out my temple recommend and handed it to the officer, to my fiancée’s bewilderment.
What a surprise we had when we heard the officer say, “Why didn’t you tell me that you are from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints? I know your church well.” He immediately began to prepare the document. We were even more surprised when the officer left the station without saying anything.
Fifty minutes passed, and he did not return. It was already 11:55 in the morning, and we had only until noon to deliver the papers. Suddenly he appeared with a beautiful puppy and told us it was a wedding gift and gave it to us along with the document.
We ran toward the mayor’s office with our document and our new dog. Then we saw an official vehicle coming toward us. I stopped in front of it. The vehicle stopped, and we saw the secretary inside. Seeing us, she said, “I’m sorry; I told you noon. I must go on another errand.”
I humbled myself in silence, calling with all my heart to my Heavenly Father, asking for help once again to “not fall.” Suddenly, the miracle happened. The secretary said to us, “What a beautiful dog you have. Where could I find one like that for my son?”
“It is for you,” we immediately replied.
The secretary looked at us with surprise and said, “OK, let’s go to the office and make the arrangements.”
Two days later, Carol and I were married civilly, as planned, and then we were sealed in the Lima Peru Temple.

While lining up to return to class, a classmate found a CTR ring on the ground. He asked if anyone wanted it. I knew what CTR stood for and wanted to keep the ring. I wore it for the rest of the day. At home, I told my mom what happened. I thought she’d be excited for me. I was surprised when she said I should return it to the lost and found. She said it wasn’t my ring and someone might be looking for it. I didn’t want to give up the ring. Later that night, I said a prayer asking Heavenly Father to help me make the right decision. The next day at school I put the ring in the lost and found. I felt really good inside.

When I was 22, my life took an unexpected turn: my mother passed away. She and my father were people of great faith, and they had raised me in the gospel. After her death, my father moved away from our country to the United States. As time went by, I began to feel very lonely since I am my parents’ only child. I did not have my mother with me here on the earth, and my father lived far away; I only saw him for three weeks out of the year.
It was with those feelings that I began to increasingly seek refuge in my “friends” from college and from the office where I was working. Little by little, I began to find false happiness in temporal things. I stopped attending church, and I gradually became completely inactive. Later, I married a wonderful young man who, though he had very good principles, did not know about the gospel. We had three children: Leah, Isaac, and Ismael.
Illustration by Kelley McMorris
One October, my father came to visit and see the new baby. During his visit, six-year-old Leah asked her grandfather why he never brought her grandmother with him. My father then explained to her that Grandmother was in a very special place close to Heavenly Father. As soon as my father left, Leah forcefully told me, “Mom, I want to meet Grandma. I know she is in heaven, but I also want us to be there together someday—Grandma and Grandpa, Dad, Isaac, Ismael, and you, and me. I want to live with you forever. I want us to be the same family up there that we are down here so we can play with Grandma!”
I did not know what to say. I touched her beautiful, innocent face, and then I walked off to my bedroom. I fell on my knees and cried until I ran out of tears. I asked Heavenly Father for forgiveness. I knew that I had left the path that would allow us to live together as an eternal family. I had failed in my responsibility to lead them along the right path, and I had failed to talk to my husband about the gospel.
When I was able to stand, I contacted a Church leader, and he put me in contact with the elders in my ward. The following night, they came and taught my husband. From that night on, our lives changed forever. Now we attend church every Sunday as a family. I have a calling that allows me to help less-active sisters. We are also preparing to attend the temple.
The Spirit of God sometimes guides us through those we least expect. This time it happened through my six-year-old daughter. I now know that by being sealed in the temple, I can live with my family forever.

I also know something of the tensions of uncertainty. When I was a seventeen-year-old high school student in Provo I joined the Utah National Guard field artillery unit that had once included my father. I was corporal in that unit when the Korean War broke out, two weeks after I graduated from high school. Our field artillery group was alerted for active duty, and most of the units were soon called up and sent to training and on to Korea. When it came time to register at BYU in the fall I fully expected to be on my way to Korea before my first quarter was over, but after prayerful consideration I decided to register anyway since this would at least give me something to do while I waited. In that atmosphere of uncertainty I began my college work. The tension and uncertainty continued for the succeeding four years, but so did I. My unit was never called, but the prospect was never far from my mind, especially since missionary work was sharply curtailed and persons immediately vulnerable to military orders, such as I, were not called.

I have been remarkably blessed by the moral influence of women, in particular my mother and my wife. Among other women that I look to in gratitude is Anna Daines. Anna and her husband, Henry, and their four children were among the pioneers of the Church in New Jersey, in the United States. Beginning in the 1930s, when Henry was a doctoral student at Rutgers University, he and Anna worked tirelessly with school and civic organizations in Metuchen, where they lived, to overcome deeply rooted prejudice against Mormons and to make the community a better place for all parents to raise their children.

Anna, for example, volunteered at the Metuchen YMCA and made herself indispensable. Within a year she was appointed president of the Mothers’ Auxiliary and then “was asked to run for one of the three women’s positions on the YMCA board of directors. She won without opposition, and so joined the very council that only a few years before had refused to let the Saints meet in their building!”2

One of the most beautiful stories in our heritage, an experience of President Heber J. Grant’s, bears witness that a testimony about the right relationship between life, death, and the spirit world can comfort us in times of sorrow, help us understand God’s purposes, and teach us the true nature of our existence. President Grant writes:
“I have been blessed with only two sons. One of them died at five years of age and the other at seven. My last son died of a hip disease. I had built great hopes that he would live to spread the Gospel at home and abroad and be an honor to me. About an hour before he died I had a dream that his mother, who was dead, came for him, and that she brought with her a messenger, and she told his messenger to take the boy while I was asleep; and in the dream I thought I awoke and I seized my son and fought for him and finally succeeded in getting him away from the messenger who had come to take him, and in so doing I dreamed that I stumbled and fell upon him.
“I dreamed that I fell upon his sore hip, and the terrible cries and anguish of the child drove me nearly wild. I could not stand it and I jumped up and ran out of the house so as not to hear his distress. I dreamed that after running out of the house I met Brother Joseph E. Taylor and told him of these things.
“He said: ‘Heber, do you know what I would do if my wife came for one of her children—I would not struggle to keep that child; I would not oppose her taking that child away. If a mother who had been faithful had passed beyond the veil, she would know of the suffering and the anguish her child may have to suffer; she would know whether that child might go through life as a cripple and whether it would be better or wiser for that child to be relieved from the torture of life; and when you stop to think, Brother Grant, that the mother of that boy went down into the shadow of death to give him life, she is the one who ought to have the right to take him or keep him.’
“I said, ‘I believe you are right, Brother Taylor, and if she comes again, she shall have the boy without any protest on my part.’
“After coming to that conclusion, I was waked by my brother, B. F. Grant, who was staying that night with us, helping to watch over the sick boy. He called me into the room and told me that my child was dying. I went in the front room and sat down. There was a vacant chair between me and my wife who is now living, and I felt the presence of that boy’s deceased mother, sitting in that chair. I did not tell anybody what I felt, but I turned to my living wife and said: ‘Do you feel anything strange?’ She said: ‘Yes, I feel assured that Heber’s mother is sitting between us, waiting to take him away.’
“Now, I am naturally, I believe, a sympathetic man. I was raised as an only child, with all the affection that a mother could lavish upon a boy. I believe that I am naturally affectionate and sympathetic and that I shed tears for my friends—tears of joy for their success and tears of sorrow for their misfortunes. But I sat by the deathbed of my little boy and saw him die, without shedding a tear. My living wife, my brother, and I, upon that occasion experienced a sweet, peaceful, and heavenly influence in my home, as great as I have ever experienced in my life.” (Improvement Era, June 1940, pp. 330,383.)

As a surgeon, I found that a significant portion of my professional time was taken up with the subject of pain. Of necessity I surgically inflicted it almost daily—and much of my effort was then spent trying to control and alleviate pain.
I have pondered about the purpose of pain. None of us is immune from experiencing pain. I have seen people cope with it very differently. Some turn away from God in anger, and others allow their suffering to bring them closer to God.
Like you, I have experienced pain myself. Pain is a gauge of the healing process. It often teaches us patience. Perhaps that is why we use the term patient in referring to the sick.
Elder Orson F. Whitney wrote: “No pain that we suffer, no trial that we experience is wasted. It ministers to our education, to the development of such qualities as patience, faith, fortitude, and humility. … It is through sorrow and suffering, toil and tribulation, that we gain the education that we come here to acquire.”1
Similarly, Elder Robert D. Hales has said:
“Pain brings you to a humility that allows you to ponder. It is an experience I am grateful to have endured. …
“I learned that the physical pain and the healing of the body after major surgery are remarkably similar to the spiritual pain and the healing of the soul in the process of repentance.”2
Much of our suffering is not necessarily our fault. Unexpected events, contradicting or disappointing circumstances, interrupting illness, and even death surround us and penetrate our mortal experience. Additionally, we may suffer afflictions because of the actions of others.3 Lehi noted that Jacob had “suffered … much sorrow, because of the rudeness of [his] brethren.”4 Opposition is part of Heavenly Father’s plan of happiness. We all encounter enough to bring us to an awareness of our Father’s love and of our need for the Savior’s help.
The Savior is not a silent observer. He Himself knows personally and infinitely the pain we face.
“He suffereth the pains of all men, yea, the pains of every living creature, both men, women, and children.”5
“Let us therefore come boldly unto the throne of grace, that we may obtain mercy, and find grace to help in time of need.”6
Sometimes in the depth of pain, we are tempted to ask, “Is there no balm in Gilead; is there no physician there?”7 I testify the answer is yes, there is a physician. The Atonement of Jesus Christ covers all these conditions and purposes of mortality.
There is another kind of pain for which we are responsible. Spiritual pain lies deep within our souls and can feel unquenchable, even as being racked with an “inexpressible horror,” as Alma described.8 It comes from our sinful actions and lack of repentance. For this pain too there is a cure that is universal and absolute. It is from the Father, through the Son, and it is for each of us who is willing to do all that is necessary to repent. Christ said, “Will ye not now return unto me … and be converted, that I may heal you?”9
Christ Himself taught:
“And my Father sent me that I might be lifted up upon the cross; and after that I had been lifted up upon the cross, that I might draw all men unto me. …
“Therefore, according to the power of the Father I will draw all men unto me.”10
Perhaps His most significant work is in the ongoing labor with each of us individually to lift, to bless, to strengthen, to sustain, to guide, and to forgive us.
As Nephi saw in vision, much of Christ’s mortal ministry was devoted to blessing and healing the sick with all kinds of maladies—physical, emotional, and spiritual. “And I beheld multitudes of people who were sick, and who were afflicted with all manner of diseases. … And they were healed by the power of the Lamb of God.”11
Alma also prophesied that “he shall go forth, suffering pains and afflictions and temptations of every kind; and … he will take upon him the pains and the sicknesses of his people. …
“That his bowels may be filled with mercy, … that he may know according to the flesh how to succor his people according to their infirmities.”12
Late one night lying in a hospital bed, this time as a patient and not as a physician, I read those verses over and over again. I pondered: “How is it done? For whom? What is required to qualify? Is it like forgiveness of sin? Do we have to earn His love and help?” As I pondered, I came to understand that during His mortal life Christ chose to experience pains and afflictions in order to understand us. Perhaps we also need to experience the depths of mortality in order to understand Him and our eternal purposes.13
President Henry B. Eyring taught: “It will comfort us when we must wait in distress for the Savior’s promised relief that He knows, from experience, how to heal and help us. … And faith in that power will give us patience as we pray and work and wait for help. He could have known how to succor us simply by revelation, but He chose to learn by His own personal experience.”14
I felt the encircling arms of His love that night.15 Tears watered my pillow in gratitude. Later, as I was reading in Matthew about Christ’s mortal ministry, I made another discovery: “When the even was come, they brought unto him many … and he … healed all that were sick.”16 He healed all that came to Him. None were turned away.

This past conference, Sister Barbara Thompson, who is in the Relief Society general presidency and is single, shared these words:

When I left high school, my goals were to attend college . . . , get married to a handsome man, and have four perfect, beautiful children. . . .

Well, as you may know, many of my goals were not realized in the way I had hoped. I finished college, served a mission, got a job, continued on with my schooling . . . , and continued working in my profession for many years. . . . But there was no handsome man, no marriage, and no children. . . .

One work colleague who was not a member of our Church said to me, “Why do you continue to go to a church that puts so much emphasis on marriage and families?” My simple answer to her was, “Because it is true!” . . . With the Church and gospel of Jesus Christ in my life, I found happiness and I knew I was on the path the Savior would have me follow.

She spoke of one way she could influence others spiritually while being single:

I had the opportunity to serve many years in Young Women and felt that gave me an opportunity to teach and testify to younger women who were developing their testimonies.10

Twenty-five years ago Sister Thompson was Shellie Nielson’s Laurel adviser. Shellie Nielson—who is now Shellie Nielson Seager—wrote Sister Thompson more than 20 years after being in her Laurel class, expressing her appreciation. Sister Seager wrote:

I woke up at 5:15 a.m. and started thinking about you and what an impact you have had on my life. . . .

. . . We were a priority to you. You always showed us so much attention, care, and love. You were always so much fun! . . . Most important, we knew you had a strong testimony of the gospel of Jesus Christ.11

Sister Seager now has a family with five children. Sister Thompson’s influence for good will forever touch Sister Seager and the generations that follow.

The air was cold in the barn, and Dave Peters’s breaths came out in white puffs. “Magdalena Katalena Hoopensteiner Walleniner Hokum Mokum Pokum was her name!” Some of the notes were a little high, but he sang them out anyway, trying to fill his mind with them. “She had two hairs on the top of her head; one was alive and the other was dead.” The cow swished her tail back and forth and chewed slowly on some hay. The cold didn’t seem to bother her much.
“Won’t be long now, lady,” he said, and pinched his first two fingers against his thumb to strip the cream out.
Dave’s hands were getting awfully cold—they weren’t yet used to the fall chill and he never had been able to get the hang of milking with rubber gloves on.
Now Rod Wilson—that was a different matter. Dave laughed to think of how Rod could milk a cow with gloves on, ride a calf without a rope, swim across the narrow part of the lake and back in less than two hours. But not for long—the lake would be frozen up before long. He thought how they would have to go out boating again a time or two before it was too late. No—it was already too late.
He stood up and lifted the heavy bucket over to the can. One more cow and then—warmth! He turned to their big holstein, who had been waiting in the adjacent stall. “She had two teeth in the front of her mouth;” he sang, a little off key, “one pointed north and the other pointed south. Oh, Magdalena Katalena Hoopensteiner Walleniner Hokum Mokum Pokum was her name.” And he leaned his loose blond hair against the cow’s tight black and white hair and breathed his white breath down toward the bucket as he milked. The singing stopped—it was useless—and he shut his eyes against the cold air, pushing his head against the cow’s flank and trying to lose himself in the rhythm of the tug, tug, tug, squirt, squirt.
Rod Wilson, Dave thought, sounding the words in his mind. Why? And he thought of that morning at school when between the second and third periods he overheard in the hall, “Rod’s not sick. He died last night.”
The cow was warm, and Dave hunched himself closer. He wished he could use gloves like Rod. It hadn’t taken long for the story of what had happened to sweep through the school; it went like a fire in the wind. Dave heard all the details, even though he didn’t want to: out late at night in his boat, dropped something into the water by accident, dove out to get it, never came home. It was all conjecture anyway, Dave thought. How were all those people who weren’t there supposed to know what happened?
Just a few more minutes and he would be done. It was so cold. Dave picked up the rhythm, listening to the changing sound of milk squirted against milk as the bucket filled. If the cats would come in, he would give them a taste. They were experts at catching the stream of milk in their mouths—Dave didn’t have to be a good shot. But sometimes he deliberately missed and hit them on a leg, the tail, or their bodies. Then they would lick it off fastidiously. Real economists, those cats.
Rod was a better shot at it than Dave. Dave thought of the summer night a couple of years before when Rod had been helping him with his chores so they could go out on the lake together. Rod had the holstein, and Dave had the jersey, and things were going along pretty fast before Rod started shooting him with milk. But Dave had the advantage—he had a cow between him and Rod, and Rod was in clear view. At least the last pint from each cow, before stripping, landed not in the buckets but on the cows, on Rod and Dave, on the walls and floor. They had started laughing so hard that Dave’s dad came out to see what was up. He failed to see the humor in their battle.
Dave started stripping the big cow and tried to swallow the lump that kept rising in his throat. It made it a little hard to breathe. He had to open his mouth to let the air in, and that made it seem a lot colder than breathing through his nose would have done.
In a few moments he was finished. He lugged the bucket over to the milk can that stood in the corner. This cow gives entirely too much milk, he thought. He tipped the bucket and drained it into the can, watching the milk seep down through the filter. Then he put the bucket on the floor and removed the filter. It would go into the trash pile; the rest would go into the house for washing. Next summer his dad promised to pipe hot water into the barn. Dave wasn’t sure he liked the idea. That meant more minutes in the cold during the winter—and that his mom would no longer offer to wash up the equipment.
The filter dripped warm milk down his fingers and onto the floor. That milk-squirting battle he and Rod had had was nothing compared to what happened after Dave’s dad left that night, Dave thought. He remembered he had started it that time. They were just finishing Dave’s chores—Rod’s parents were wealthy, and he never had many chores to do—and were still damp from the squirting. It was then that Dave had thought, I wonder if this filter will stick to Rod’s back. The moment of thought became the moment of action, and the barn was soon filled with flying filters, milk-drenched; their clothes started dripping, a few filters hung on the ceiling and walls. And yes, Dave smiled, the first one had stuck on Rod’s back. It had taken him completely by surprise. In fact, Dave had won that battle. They were teachers back then; and Rod almost had his Eagle award in Scouting. Dave had taken a little longer to get his.
Now they were priests and almost ready to graduate from school. Almost every Sunday they sat together to bless the sacrament. But next Sunday, Dave thought—and he threw the filter as hard as he could against the wall. Then he let the cow out. After their filter war there had still been some hanging on the walls the next morning when Dave had gone out early for the morning milking. Maybe this one would freeze and harden and hang there all winter. Rod would have gotten a kick out of that.
Some friend you are, Dave thought. Here your best friend dies and the next day all you can think of are the milk wars you had and some silly thing he would get a kick out of.
He was finished early and almost impulsively went out of the barn through the cow’s door, and instead of heading to the house across the lawn, he headed toward the lake through the corral. Rod always ran to the lake, Dave thought, and started to run himself. Not too much longer and it would freeze over. Then he could go out and skate on it.
Rod’s mom hadn’t liked the idea of them skating on the lake. “What if the ice isn’t thick enough?” she wanted to know.
It had been Rod’s idea, and he had the answer. “We have a safe and scientific answer,” he said. “A certain depth of ice will support a certain amount of weight. We drill down and see how deep the ice is at different points of the lake. If it’s well over the danger point, we know we can go out on it.”
Dave stopped running and started to walk. It was too cold to run; the air burned his throat and lungs. Rod had all kinds of crazy ideas and they always seemed to work.
He wouldn’t have stopped to walk, either, Dave thought. He would have run all the way and then would have been waiting cool and comfortable at the boat when you came up. Dave could keep up when he wanted to; he could even sometimes win their races. But not in the cold. Dave never could run in the cold.
I wonder if it gets cold in the spirit world, Dave thought. I wonder if Rod can run there.
Dave reached the boat and squatted in the dirt beside it. I wonder who put the boat back, he thought. I wonder how they found him and how they knew where to put the boat. He thought of how that had been his idea, to build the boat, and how he had shown Rod how to do it. Now that was something Rod wasn’t good at—he had wasted a lot of good lumber trying to build his share of the boat. Dave remembered what Rod had said when Dave had mentioned it once: “I’m not too good at this, and I need to learn. What if you die or something? There wouldn’t be anyone here to show me how to build things. I need to learn.” And then he had laughed and shoved Dave, and they had started wrestling. That was another thing Rod was good at. Dave could beat him almost all the time when it came to pure grapple; but if beat meant pin, Dave was the sure loser.
I wonder what Rod’s doing right now, Dave thought, and then he began to whistle softly to himself. He was a little afraid. The quiet night, black and starless, the black and quiet lake where his best friend had drowned the night before, the thoughts of spirits and ghosts—he began to whistle the tune to “Magdalena Katalena” very softly to himself. But as he did, he thought to himself, I’ll bet Rod wasn’t afraid last night. And then he thought, as he shoved the boat out into the lake and jumped in after it, wetting only one leg and that only to the ankle, that it all wasn’t fair; it just wasn’t fair.
He turned his back to the front of the boat and began to row in deep and heavy strokes. It isn’t fair, he thought to the rhythm of his work, that Rod should have to die when he was so capable and so happy and so spiritual—how could a guy like that drown anyway?
He rowed on out to the spot where he heard that Rod had drowned and sat back in the boat and looked up into the sky. It was as black as the water beneath him, but the water scared him. If it could get Rod, he thought, what would it do to me? And he saw in his mind Rod’s face, white in wet blackness, a pale oval beneath the boat, clawing up to air but never finding it. Dave tried to shut the vision from his mind. He thought of the roadshow earlier that year, in the spring, when Rod had played the turnip and Dave had been the dwarf. Rod had been in Dave’s garden, a turnip almost as large as the gardener. They had laid him on Dave’s kitchen table up there on the stage, and Dave had brought out a knife to cut through his red and whiteness.
No, Dave thought to himself and sat up in the boat. You’re really morbid, aren’t you, Peters? So he tried to see Rod somewhere else, and where he saw him was at a special stake meeting as one of the youth speakers. “I’ve been assigned to speak on why I’m going on a mission,” he had begun, and Dave had groaned. What an awful way to start a talk, he had thought. But he did have to admit one thing: even if Rod wasn’t the best speaker in the world, when he spoke people listened because they knew he meant every word of what he said.
Dave gripped one oar by its end and squeezed it hard. What happened here last night? he thought. How could you let yourself drown? It’s unfair! And then Dave finally leaned over the edge to look into the clear black water. He thought of the legends that always circulated around the town in the summer that the lake was bottomless—and that giant prehistoric fish had been seen by skin divers again that spring.
The lake had been where Dave and Rod spent their free time. That blackness was a deep blue during daylight hours, the kind of blueness whose color by itself invited one to enter. Dave could see Rod, standing on the bow of the boat, clad in cut-off jeans and no shirt, saying, “See ya later, pilgrim!” and then jumping in. He could stay underwater longer than anyone else Dave knew.
He dipped his hand into the water. It was terribly cold, the kind of cold, he thought, that could cramp a person’s muscles in a moment. Why had Rod jumped in? Dave wondered. He knew better. He should have been more careful. They had lots of plans together—plans that would make him be careful. Like Ricks College next fall, where they would room together in the dorms; like the missions they had planned. Rod would be glad to see him make it. Dave remembered the long talks they had had about missions and girls and the gospel and their parents. They had shared fears and doubts. But later Rod became set and firm, his doubts gone. He knew where he was going. And he always knew the right things to say to help Dave make up his mind to do what he knew he should do—even though it sometimes took a lot of discussing before those right things came out.
Dave looked back up at the sky—there were stars out now; the clouds had parted some—and he felt the lump growing in his throat again, and thought, Don’t be stupid. Crying won’t bring him back. And he thought, I’ll bet Rod wouldn’t cry over you. He’d just smile and touch your hand at the funeral and whisper, “Take care, buddy. See ya before too long.”
But those thoughts didn’t help, and Dave’s throat swelled until he felt he couldn’t really breathe, and the white puffs that had been coming from his mouth and nostrils nearly stopped for a moment. And then the hurt pushed itself up and out his eyes so they glistened in the darkness and his breath caught, then rushed out, then caught again, and his eyes glistened.
And he lay back in his rowboat and sobbed in the dark over the lake.
“Why did it have to be you, Rod?” he said out loud. “You were the good one, the strong one. I won’t do much good here. But you were good; you could even milk with gloves on—” and then he smiled through his tears and laughed a little even while he was crying.
“Rod would think you’re a pretty dumb guy,” he said to himself. Then he whispered. “We were pretty good friends, weren’t we, Rod?”
He leaned over the edge of the boat. The white puffs of air floated over the water. They were coming more freely now. Heavenly Father, he said in his mind, Rod was a pretty good guy, and I’m sure you were proud of him. You know we were close friends—best friends—and I’m really missing him. I think we did everything together. I’m feeling kind of alone.
Then he closed his eyes tight, and felt the cold tears on his cheeks, and thought. All I ask of thee is to help me become the kind of person Rod was. I want to see him again.
Dave sat up straight on the boat’s crossbar. He and Rod had had a boat race once. A neighbor had loaned them his boat. They were going to go two out of three, but they didn’t need to. Dave won the first two races. They had laughed and teased each other, and then Rod had jumped out of his boat and swam in four or five quick strokes over to Dave’s boat and started rocking it till he had swamped it.
We haven’t had a good tussle like that for a long time, Dave thought.
And then he said, half aloud, “Beat you to shore, Rod.” He started rowing as hard as he could, puffing out the white air until his lungs felt raw. Getting a little out of shape, aren’t you, Peters, he thought to himself. Maybe you ought to go out for basketball this winter.
The boat hit the bank and he clambered out, getting both feet wet and not caring. He pulled the boat up completely onto the bank and left it there without looking back. His house was over a mile from the bank, and his folks might be getting worried, he thought. He took off in an easy run, singing under his breath, “Her lips stuck out like two big weiners; she used them round the house like vacuum cleaners. Oh, Magdalena Katalena Hoopensteiner—” his white breath clearing the way through the black night before him.

A returned missionary came one day for some advice on whether he should join a particular group on campus at this point in his life. When asked what he thought about it, he suggested several ideas that seemed to point to one course of action. When asked what he really felt inside about it, there was at first a look of puzzlement and then a smile as he recognized that the feeling was different from what most of his reasons suggested.

One day a boy stopped by the office and for several moments talked very negatively and critically about the Church, suggesting several reasons why the Church just couldn’t be the Lord’s. When asked to search deeply within himself, to examine his conscience concerning the matter as to whether or not the Church was the Lord’s, he replied after some reflective thought, “I feel it is true.”

Another individual was advocating the new morality, suggesting that a boy and girl are free to choose the nature of their affectional relationship based on the circumstances of each situation, without fear of law or punishment, neither of which he felt existed. He was confronted with God’s standard of morality and the truth that there is something within each person that comes from the Lord to assist him in distinguishing between good and evil. When he was challenged to look within himself to see which of the two conflicting approaches to morality was really right, he replied, after some pause, “That which I feel is different from that which I have been saying.”

Yes, truly did Mormon write that “the Spirit of Christ is given to every man, that he may know good from evil. …” (Moro. 7:16.) He further said that the true way to judge is to be able to discern one’s feelings, “… for every thing which inviteth to do good … is sent forth by the power and gift of Christ. …” (Moro. 7:16.)

The reflective thought within a person must be sincere and done with real intent. Many times an individual will lay aside the influence of the Lord in favor of what seems appealing or rational at the moment. Such an individual may fluctuate back and forth in his feelings. If the negative feelings are a true source of inspiration, they will continue to be felt if one really wants to know what he should do.

On one occasion a girl was trying to decide whether or not to marry a certain individual and was confused because at times she felt doubt and uncertainty and at other times was certain she wanted to marry him. When they were together it seemed right, but when she was alone or away from him, there was much doubt and uncertainty. We talked about many things: the kind of person she wanted to marry, the element of trust in marriage, possible reasons for her doubt, and why at times it seemed all right. Toward the end of the conversation she was asked to consider what she really felt was the right thing to do. After a few moments she observed that she had really known all along it wasn’t right but had just put aside those feelings. One must follow the counsel of Mormon and “search diligently in the light of Christ that ye may know good from evil. …” He then promised, “… if ye will lay hold upon every good thing, and condemn it not, ye certainly will be a child of Christ.” (Moro. 7:19.)

We gave a chair to a woman in South Africa who had not gotten one on a previous trip. She said to me, “I’ve prayed every day for two years that God would send you back with a chair, and here you are.”
When you give people these chairs, they grab your hand, they cry, they thank you, they very often say a prayer. And they always smile.
Most of us think of a wheelchair as a confinement, but to millions of people it is not confinement, it is freedom—freedom to move, to go to school, to get a job. A chair is hope, self-reliance, independence. Most important, it is dignity.

On the evening of October 26, 1973, two missionaries in Kanazawa, Japan, felt an unusual spirit of warmth and peace as they went from house-to-house. They walked into a small garden and rang the buzzer at the Aburantani home.
Two children, Yuka and Tadakatsu, opened the sliding door. They were surprised to see two tall young men there. Tadakatsu ran back into the dining room. “There are strangers at the door,” he cried.
His older sister, Yuka, said quietly, “I think they are Americans.”
The children’s mother went to the door. The missionaries explained they were representing The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and asked if they could tell her family about it. She talked with her husband, and the missionaries were invited to return.
Yuka and Tadakatsu were eager to help their family prepare for baptism.
The wonderful night of baptism finally arrived. Tadakatsu’s dark eyes shone with happiness as he watched his mother and father and sister. Now he is counting the days until he is old enough to be baptized too!

I have been learning an important lesson about living with uncertainty and vulnerability over the past several years. When my parents divorced thirteen years ago, I experienced an earth-shattering shift in my faith. Although I was already an adult, this shift in the structure of my family was difficult. Suddenly nothing seemed like it was quite right anymore. Prior to the divorce, I was already in a pretty fragile place emotionally and spiritually. I had graduated from college and was working on my master’s degree, but I did not yet feel settled. I felt like I was existing in some no-man’s-land. I felt lost and unsure of what I should do. The divorce amplified that feeling, as the family structure I was accustomed to had disappeared. This was a significant trial in my life, and throughout this experience I began to question my faith.

In particular, I struggled significantly with testimony meetings. I would listen to the testimonies of others, and almost without exception they contained the phrase “I know”: “I know that God lives,” “I know the Book of Mormon is true”—I know, I know, I know. But the problem was that I didn’t know. I believed in God, I believed the Book of Mormon was scripture, I believed that Jesus died for me, and I believed in prophets, but I could not say with confidence that I knew—at least not the way that it seemed everyone else could. I was deep in the grasp of uncertainty.

I honestly believe that some people, maybe even lots of people, have received personal knowledge of the things they bear testimony of. But for me, this knowledge did not come. I have had a handful of powerful revelatory experiences in my life, and because of this I knew that God was aware of me and that He was guiding my life. But this seemed so much less than the confident testimonies I heard from others.

I went through a period of years feeling uncomfortable at church, feeling that I didn’t belong. There were periods when it really felt so much easier to be anywhere but church. During this period I was blessed with good friends and supportive family who helped me navigate. It didn’t happen right away, but over time I came to the conclusion that the only way to manage this uncertainty was to walk through it. So I began to explore and to study. I opened the scriptures and I read the words of the prophets, but I also read other good books on religious topics. I began to have whispered conversations in safe spaces where I could express my uncertainty. Through my study and conversations, I learned that my experience was more common than rare.

During this period I encountered the following scripture in Alma 32:16–18, which reads:
Therefore, blessed are they who humble themselves without being compelled to be humble; or rather, in other words, blessed is he that believeth in the word of God, and is baptized without stubbornness of heart, yea, without being brought to know the word, or even compelled to know, before they will believe.
Yea, there are many who do say: If thou wilt show unto us a sign from heaven, then we shall know of a surety; then we shall believe.
Now I ask, is this faith? Behold, I say unto you, Nay; for if a man knoweth a thing he hath no cause to believe, for he knoweth it. [Emphasis added]

I grew up in the Church; I attended four years of early-morning seminary and four years of religion classes at BYU. I could recite to you this and other definitions of faith, but before this time I had not separated belief and faith as being different from a sure knowledge. This scripture witnessed to me that it was absolutely okay to be unsure and still choose to believe. This was the essence of faith.

Later in my journey I was introduced to Doctrine and Covenants 46:14: “To [some] it is given to believe on their words, that they also might have eternal life if they continue faithful” (emphasis added). I was familiar with this section, but somehow I had always missed this. To believe is a spiritual gift—just as is knowledge gained through the Holy Ghost, mentioned in verse 13 of the same section.

When I began this account, I said I was learning a lesson about living with uncertainty and vulnerability. Over the last five years or so, I have become increasingly comfortable with exercising faith in uncertainty. But this is still a process. I am learning that these feelings of vulnerability, though uncomfortable, help me to be more in touch with the Spirit, and as I continue to walk through this vulnerability, I am growing closer to my Savior.

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

Wanting to carry on a family tradition, 17-year-old Amanda Keawe learned her Hawaiian music skills from her grandmother, Auntie Genoa Keawe, who is famous for falsetto voice singing. “Somebody told me one time, ‘Someone needs to carry on your grandmother’s tradition. Because when she goes on, all her songs will be lost and we’re only going to have records,’” explains Amanda. “I would like to carry on the tradition.”
As Amanda performs in prestigious concerts in Hawaii and Japan, her grandmother sometimes joins her. “Every time I sing with my grandmother, I’m always the happiest,” says Amanda, a Laurel in the Auwaiolimu Ward, Honolulu Hawaii Stake.

An episode of Studio C demonstrates this. Matt is a contestant on Who Wants to Be a Millionaire and has made it to the final question. If Matt answers correctly, he will win one million dollars.
The host asks Matt’s wife what they will do with the money if Matt wins, and she responds that it will go toward helping orphans in third-world countries. With that, the final question is given. The question is “Who was the twenty-sixth president of the United States?” Among the four choices are Theodore Roosevelt and George Washington. Matt is certain that it is not George Washington. Matt knows that George Washington was the first president of the United States. Matt thinks the answer is Theodore Roosevelt, but, to be certain, he polls the audience.
One hundred percent of the audience—which includes Matt’s wife—chooses George Washington. Matt apologizes to the audience and to his wife and tells them that he really doesn’t think it was George Washington.
Matt then is able to phone his sister for help. She just happens to be a professor of history. Matt is confident that she will know. But immediately his sister answers that it was George Washington.
Frustrated, Matt tells them that they are all wrong, that this is basic history—everyone knows that George Washington was the first president. Throughout the entire segment the host continually asks Matt, “Are you sure?” whenever Matt says that he is certain about his decision.
There is a lot at stake, and Matt is starting to succumb to the pressure and is waning in his confidence. He finally gives in, saying the twenty-sixth president must be George Washington, which is incorrect, and Matt loses the million dollars.

It is often through the process of learning what questions to ask, that Lord can help us transform our feelings. Once I was caught in a conflict with a dear friend who seemed to be moving away from Heavenly Father and in the process of that was doing things in our relationship that caused me great pain. I prayed that my friend would stop doing things that hurt me. However, this prayer never felt right. I shared my unease with another friend who knew both of us, and he suggested that my prayer centered too much on me and not the wellbeing of my friend. I then went home and experimented with my prayers. I found that if I prayed that my friend would feel God's love and return to Him, I had a completely different feeling. It was a feeling of light, of joy, and amazingly of great love. It was, as Alma said, a swelling motion that enlarged my soul, and it enlightened my understanding. It was delicious. This was a process where Heavenly Father tutored me on how to refi
ne my prayer. Ironically, at the very same time that my prayer became less about me, it became part of the process of my own healing. As I prayed for my friend in a better way, I experienced fi
rsthand the Lord's promise that love casts out fear.