Gospel Story Finder

Sister Franco, Second Counselor in the Primary General Presidency, talked about one of her favorite Primary teachers when she was growing up. Back then, Primary was held on Tuesday afternoon. Every week, her teacher made the class a chocolate cake! Years later, Sister Franco found out that her teacher walked instead of riding the bus so that she could save enough money to make those cakes. She was unselfish and loved her class.

My husband, Max, and I were married in the fall, and the next spring we both graduated from BYU. During this time the military draft was in force, and Max had received a letter indicating that he would be drafted into military service upon graduation. During Max’s two years in the service I taught school near my hometown so that I could be near my family. After his service, Max worked with his family ranching operation for a year. Then we decided he should come back to BYU to get more education. Finances were tight, and I was expecting our first baby, but we were able to find a tiny basement apartment that fit our budget, and he started school. Shortly after, Max was called to be the Young Men president. He was a little concerned because his studies were rigorous and took a lot of time, but he accepted the calling.
One day my husband came home quite devastated. He had received a C on his first test in a class that was critical to his major. He had studied hard, and he began to doubt his ability to compete in that major. His shoes were filling with the sand of discouragement and doubt. For several days he couldn’t eat or sleep as he worried about what to do. He considered giving up and going back to life on the ranch to do what he knew best and what he was comfortable with. After a lot of prayer and soul-searching, he decided to continue with his education, and he graduated with honors.
In hindsight, the C on a test was such a little thing, but often it is the little things—the little grains of sand—that distract us and keep us from seeing with an eternal perspective. I will always be grateful that my husband was willing to dump the sand from his shoes and move on. Because he was willing to pay the price and move beyond his comfort zone, many doors of opportunity were opened to him. Throughout his life he has used his skills and knowledge not only to bless our family but many others as well.

A boy in my class is mildly handicapped. (I will call him Joe, not his real name.) He is a slow learner, and he stutters, so everybody thinks he is odd. One day at school when I sat by him, a mean boy thought he was being clever by picking on him. But I didn’t think it was clever at all. Joe went and told the teacher. When the teacher came over, I stood up and told her about other mean things that had been done to Joe that he had not told her.
This summer my mom was talking to his mom, and she told my mom that just about every day after school Joe came home crying. When she said that, it made me feel so good that I had been nice to him.
Lisa Miller, age 9Great Falls Fifth Ward

I played football for thirteen years and was a projected number-one draft pick into the National Football League until one day in practice that dream ended. Lyle and I lined up fifteen yards apart in a tackling drill, and on the coach’s whistle, we ran into each other full speed. In a violent head-on collision, our helmets crashed, my shoulder was smashed into my sharp fiberglass pad, and we slammed to the ground. When Lyle got off of me, my arm dangled at my side and a sharp, burning, piercing pain penetrated the entire right side of my body.

I had compressed my neck, severed the axillary nerve in my right deltoid, and suffered a grade-two concussion, which meant that as I lay in bed that night, I heavily perspired, profusely shook, threw up several times, and cried myself to sleep.

Most thought it was only a shoulder injury, but I was paralyzed physically and emotionally for fourteen months. I visited sixteen of the best doctors in North America, who all told me that I would not get any better.

Have you ever heard this? What if you believed it? You would never get any better.

Sure, it was a physical injury, but it affected my whole life. I couldn’t write anymore; I was right-handed. I couldn’t concentrate on school or work because it felt like someone was biting my shoulder and burning my body 24/7. My arm would get crazy contractions that felt like somebody had plugged it into an electric socket. Once I went home to a family gathering, and as I was sitting at the dinner table, my arm suddenly twitched and knocked a bowl of mayonnaise off the table about twenty feet. At the next meal my younger brother showed up wearing a batting helmet and goggles!

Before long my life was in a downward spiral that hit rock bottom, and I didn’t think I could get up and go again. Can any of you relate? Have any of you ever felt lonely in a loved one’s arms or alone in a crowded room? I have. Have any of you ever had your heart broken by someone you loved or had your dreams shattered by a career-ending athletic injury or lost your starting position on your team or not gotten accepted to the grad school of your choice or blown off a semester so badly that you could lose your scholarship? I have.

And to make it worse, I had people come up to me and say, “I know what you are going through.” No, they didn’t!

Psychologists tell us that the average person talks between 100 and 200 words per minute, and yet we think between 200 and 400 words per minute, which means no one ever knows everything that we think or feel or all that we want to say. The author Henry David Thoreau was right when he wrote, “The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation” (Walden [1854], I, “Economy”).

So again, the question remains: What are you going to do about it?

You can’t quit—it is a league rule! Yet no one knows your pain and sorrow. So where do you go? To whom do you turn?

If you remember nothing else I say today, always remember that you are never all alone at any time or for any reason because our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ is always there and always understands everything you are going through and will help you help yourself through it. In my darkest moments I knew “I [could] do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me” (Philippians 4:13).

I received several priesthood blessings over the course of my ordeal, and, yes, the Lord blessed me with strength to carry on. However, although He could have completely and instantaneously healed me, He did not.

I felt like the brother of Jared when God told him to build a boat but didn’t tell him how to light the journey. The brother of Jared had to find the solution on his own, which incidentally included him asking the Lord to touch the stones to illuminate the way.

In my case, what God did give me was an inspirational understanding of the giant difference between being depressed and being discouraged—the wisdom that there is a huge difference between being depressed and being disappointed—which meant getting better would also be a joint venture between me and heaven in which I would pray and plead to Almighty God as though everything depended on Him and work as though everything depended on me.

The bottom line: I stayed paralyzed for fourteen months because I was asking the wrong questions. I was blaming God, asking Him, “How could You let this happen to me?” And I was asking the doctors, “How can I get better?” When I should have been asking God, “Why did this happen and what am I supposed to learn from this?” and asking myself, “Why should I get better?”

You see, once we answer why, figuring out the “how to” is simple.

Part of my answer was realizing that football was just what I did, not who I was as a man. When you identify yourself in terms of what you do instead of who you are, you become a human doing instead of a human being—unacceptable if significance is what you seek.

Now that I have fully recovered, I must confess that my accident is clearly one of the best things that ever happened to me. Because adversity introduces us to ourselves, I am the man I am and have the perspective I have because of this heartbreaking, dream-shattering ordeal. And through it all I learned that if you do today what others won’t, you can accomplish tomorrow what others can’t. It is guaranteed that with God’s help you can always turn your setbacks into comebacks and your stumbling blocks into stepping-stones.

Like many new converts, I struggled to live the Word of Wisdom and the law of tithing. Tithing was for me the most difficult. How could I possibly take something away from the little that was just barely enough? The Lord helped me understand how I could do just that by teaching me a wonderful lesson.
As I began to pay tithing, I realized I would have to put my finances in order. I immediately began to budget my money better. I made a list of all my monthly expenses, starting with tithing. I compared the list to my monthly income. To my astonishment, there was enough to live on and even a small amount for savings. I was also surprised to see how much money I had previously spent on alcohol and coffee. The Lord blessed me financially and spiritually as I worked to live His law.

“No, let’s do what we did last year!” said Caleb. “Remember? We earned money doing jobs. Then on Ellen’s birthday we walked around town helping people. I put coins in parking meters so people wouldn’t get tickets.”
“I paid for someone’s lunch!” said Mark.
“What did I do? I can’t remember.” Abby looked at Dad.
“You saw a mom and baby sitting in the rain,” Dad said. “So you—”
“Oh yeah! I gave them my umbrella.”
Dad spooned peas onto Abby’s plate. “Do you remember why we do service each November?”
Mark remembered how sad they all felt when Ellen, his baby sister, died two years before. He still felt sad about it sometimes, especially during special family times or when Mom cried.
“I remember,” Mark said. “When it was almost Ellen’s first birthday, we were sad, so we made up ‘Ellen Projects’ to help people. Mom said serving helps us feel thankful for what we have.”
“And when we feel thankful, we feel happy,” Mom said. “Even when we are missing our baby.”
Suddenly Mark had an idea. He remembered the note his Primary teacher gave him to thank him for giving a talk in Primary last week. Her note made him feel warm and happy inside.
“I know!” Mark said. “Let’s write thank-you notes for our project this year.”
“How many would we write?” Caleb asked.
“We could all write one note a day,” Mark said.
“Let’s see.” Dad put down his fork. “Ellen’s birthday is in 23 days. If we each write one note a day from now until then, that would be … 115 notes!”
Caleb did some math in his head. “That’s 120 happy people! Because the five of us will be really happy after writing all those notes too.”
For the next 23 days, Mark and his family tried hard to notice helpful things people did for them. The first week, they wrote thank-you notes to their grandparents and school and Primary teachers.
The second week, Mark wrote to his friends, his coach, and the garbage collector. Caleb wrote to the bishop, the bus driver, the people at his favorite bakery, and the school janitor. Abby wrote to her doctor and the grocery store clerk who gave her a sticker.
One afternoon, Abby stared at her paper. “This is getting hard,” she said. “I don’t know anybody else!”
“It’s fun!” Mark said. “There are so many people to thank.”
The last week, Mark wrote to his dentist and his piano teacher.
Caleb wrote to his coach, a playground teacher who helped him when he got hurt, the librarian, and the road workers fixing holes in the street.
Abby wrote to cousins and to Mom, Dad, Mark, and Caleb.
On November 23, the family wrote thank-you notes to Ellen. Abby looked at the sky. “I said thank you to baby Ellen for helping me so much.”
“How has she helped you?” asked Mom.
“She showed me how many people do nice things,” Abby said.
“This is my favorite Ellen Project so far!” Mark bounced on his toes. “It makes me want to help people more, even if I never get a thank-you note.”

After nearly two years in the refugee camp, her life took another turn. Muriel and the rest of her family moved to the United States to start a new chapter in a new land. For all she had seen and lived through, Muriel was still only eight years old.
That’s when her parents decided to find a new church to attend.
“I learned to care for young children when I was still a child myself. I had to! My parents needed my help.”
“My Mom and Dad always wanted to worship God and give thanks to Him,” Muriel says. “One Sunday, not long after we arrived in the United States, they said, ‘Let’s go look for a church.’”
They didn’t have to look far. While walking around town they came across two missionaries of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints on the street.
Before long, Muriel was baptized along with her parents. Muriel’s younger siblings were baptized once they were old enough.
Muriel with her mother and youngest sibling.
A lot of what she learned at church was familiar to Muriel, who’d been taught about God and Jesus Christ her whole life. Other topics were new. “I’d never heard of Joseph Smith or Brigham Young or the Book of Mormon,” she said.
Those weren’t the only new things. There was a whole new culture to learn. Here, Church members made a big difference. They taught the family how to use some of the electronic devices and appliances that were different from back home. They helped with the language. And they helped most of all by simply being friends.
Muriel encourages youth today to do the same thing. “Refugees need friends too. Our family didn’t have any friends when we came to this country, but once we joined the Church, we had so many people visit us! Now we have many friends.”
Over the years, Muriel has been able to help serve those same friends who blessed her life early on.
After she entered Young Women, Muriel served in class presidencies and assisted with all kinds of youth activities. She served and taught and shared her testimony.
Through faith in the gospel, Muriel and her family continue to find hope even during life’s struggles.
But one of the best ways she continues to help her friends is by lending her strength in the gospel and her faith in God.
“Some of my friends are struggling to find hope right now,” she says. “But I always tell them, nothing bad lasts forever. For me, I feel like there’s nothing God can’t get you through.
“Sometimes all I can pray for is courage to hold on longer. To keep pushing on. God has always helped me find that courage. For the most part, the blessing of courage to keep pushing ahead is all you really need.”

Our family had just experienced a devastating house fire, and all eight of us were living in a temporary three-bedroom mobile home in our front yard. Our family faced challenges and discord.
My husband was not active in the Church at the time. Our two teenage sons were making choices that would lead only to sorrow. Simultaneously, I was serving as Young Women president in our ward, and several of the young women were struggling with serious temptations. Some of their parents also faced struggles and therefore were not assisting their daughters at this critical time.
I knew these young women needed me to help them through their spiritual land mines. I knew my six sons needed me. I knew my good husband depended on my strength. Yet there seemed to be nothing but darkness around me, and I felt empty, weak, and incapable of leading these loved ones to safety.
Late one night as I rocked our infant son in the stillness of our temporary home, my thoughts turned to those who needed me to be strong. I felt the pervasive darkness that surrounded them. In my anguish I prayed with all my heart that Heavenly Father would show me the way to help them despite my inadequacies. He answered immediately and showed me the way.
I seemed to see myself in our ward’s large cultural hall, which had no windows. It was late at night, and there was not even a glimmer of light. Then I lit a tiny birthday candle. It seemed so insignificant, yet the power of that miniscule light was enough to displace the blackness.
That was my answer! The quantity of darkness surrounding us in the world simply does not matter. Light is eternal and is vastly more powerful than darkness (see 2 Corinthians 4:6; Mosiah 16:9; D&C 14:9). If we remain worthy of the constant companionship of the Holy Spirit, our souls can reflect sufficient light to displace any amount of darkness, and others will be drawn to that light within us.
This was all I needed to know. This simple insight has carried me through the past 25 years with the knowledge that with the Lord’s help and guidance, we can do—and be—all that He needs us to do and be in this world of darkness.

When Heather decided she wanted to go out for baseball, she didn’t think twice about the fact that there are no girls’ teams in her area. Today the petite 15-year-old with long dark hair and bangs is the only girl playing on boys’ teams in her league, and she’s doing pretty well.
The Drummonds are not the most outspoken kids in the world. They’re doers rather than talkers. But they will open up if you ask. Heather, for example, will tell you that she doesn’t feel short-changed by not growing up with a mother. “I’ve lived with guys all my life, so I do the things they do,” she says. “But I also do girl things. My best friends are girls. I don’t think growing up only with guys has hurt me.” Heather has her own ways of asserting her femininity. In the dugout, for example, even though she tucks her long brown hair up under her cap and wears a bulky uniform like the rest of the players, you can’t miss her because she’s the one wearing pink lipstick. And sometimes, when the other players lose their tempers and start swearing, they’re quickly reminded that a girl is present when Heather tells them, “Hey—watch your language!” And, she says, “They usually apologize.”
“Some of the guys I play with are kind of mean,” says Heather. “They say the only reason I’m on the team is because the coach doesn’t know how to cut a girl. I have to play extra hard to overcome that. I’ve been tempted to quit, but when I am, I just tell myself I have to stick in there, because everyone would think I can’t handle it. I can handle it,” she says with conviction, and you don’t doubt her.

The Primary has played an important part in helping to bring many people into the Church in Puerto Rico. In 1964 a family moved to Ponce, Puerto Rico. Because there was no organized branch in this city, the family held services in their own home, including a Home Primary for the three children. Several other children started attending this Primary. Because they did, these children and also their parents were baptized. This was the beginning of a branch in Ponce.

For the family history experience, the two organizers, Liz Seymer and Asti Liang, borrowed some real-life family histories from stake members. They wrote the stories, leaving out some important details but leaving in clues to help uncover these facts. From the clues given them, the girls had to figure out where they needed to go for more information. Around the cultural hall were tables and resource people. One had census records. Another represented cemetery headstones. Others represented the Church’s Family History Library and computerized records. If the girls asked the right question of the person in charge of the table, they were rewarded with the correct answer. But if they didn’t know the correct question to ask, they didn’t get an answer, just as in real life. They had to retreat and do a little more figuring.
Mounted on easels to one side were the photographs of the families the girls were researching, as if they were just waiting to be found. Hilary Ekstron of the sixth ward said, “Our group had to go to five different places just to find out one thing. But it was really interesting.” It was surprising how quickly the girls became involved in their “mystery” family as they were introduced to certain types of records and how information is recorded.

Carrie settled down on the floor in front of a display case full of Christmas jewelry. She waved to her big brother, and he grinned. He was standing on the risers with other members of the children’s choir waiting to begin their Christmas concert at the mall. She thought he looked very handsome in his choir uniform. The boys in the choir were all dressed alike in white shirts with red-striped ties. The girls all wore blue dresses with lacy white collars and a red rose. They looked very dressed-up.
Carrie thought back to earlier in the day, when the choir had given a concert in a local church. The church had very tall stained-glass windows that reflected a softly-colored rainbow of light across the children’s faces as they sang. Their beautiful voices rose to the high rafters of the church. Mom had said that they sounded just like angels. Like the angels that announced the birth of Jesus Christ to the shepherds long ago, Carrie hoped.
Now the choir was giving the same concert at the shopping mall, but things felt different here. Carrie looked around. She was impatient for the concert to begin, but not if it was going to be this noisy. A nearby cash register was making loud beeps as a store clerk rang up sales. There was a person in a teddy-bear costume entertaining some giggling children. People were talking loudly around a large Christmas tree decorated with gifts that could be bought at the different stores in the mall.
Finally the concert began. A boy in the choir stepped forward and began to sing a solo with a violin accompaniment. When Carrie had heard this song in the church, it made her feel joyful. At the church, everyone had listened quietly. She had even noticed tears in the eyes of some of those in the audience. As she looked around the shopping mall now, few people were listening. Most were busy shopping or chatting or eating. She didn’t see reverent tears in anyone’s eyes.
When the concert was over, she was sad that hardly anyone had really listened to the beautiful music. Taking her mother’s hand, she walked out of the mall to meet her brother.
“Did the shepherds listen to the angels, Mom?” she asked. “Or were they too busy tending the sheep?”
Mom smiled. “They listened, Carrie. That’s how they knew where to find Baby Jesus.”
“Did the angels sing for anyone besides the shepherds?”
“I don’t know. The scriptures don’t tell us about anyone else.”
“What about all the people staying near the stable? You told me that there were so many people in Bethlehem that there wasn’t any room in the inns for Mary and Joseph.”
“The city was very crowded that night. But I suppose those people were too tired to listen to angels after their long journey to Bethlehem. Or maybe they were busy finding a place to sleep, preparing food, or thinking about the taxes they’d have to pay.”
Carrie thought about that for a few minutes, then sighed. “Mom, I hope that no matter what I’m doing, I’ll always be able to hear the angels sing.”
“Me, too.” Mom gave Carrie a hug. “Me, too.”

When I was 14, my father was diagnosed with cancer. Doctors estimated that with chemotherapy, he had a 50 percent chance of living eight years or longer. Since the alternatives were even less encouraging, my father decided to suffer through the six months of weekly treatments.
At the end of the chemotherapy, my ward in Bountiful held a special fast for my father. It was a marvelous experience to join in faith for a common cause. When the diagnosis came back, the doctors could find no sign of cancer. After I left for my mission, I received letters from my father telling me of his continued improvements and how he even ran a marathon. Things seemed to be going well.
The summer before my mission ended, I was serving with a missionary named Elder Causse. He was from a branch in Bourdeaux, France, a place I had once considered “out there in the mission field.”
One morning my mission president called me into his office and told me my father would be calling. When the phone rang, the president excused himself and left me alone. I was apprehensive as I picked up the phone.
My father greeted me, then told me his cancer had relapsed. He would again go through chemotherapy. I then spoke to my mother, who told me our ward was going to fast again. I said I would join in the fast as well. After I hung the phone up, I wiped away a few tears and walked out of the office.
On the way back to our assigned area, I explained the situation to Elder Causse. He promised to fast with me, and his promise gave me comfort. But he did not stop there. He wrote to his family in France and told them what had happened. They, too, said that they would fast for my father and that they would ask the members of the Bourdeaux Branch to join the fast as well. I was astounded that they would fast for the health of a man they did not know.
At that moment, the Spirit spoke softly to me, and suddenly I understood what it means to be “fellow-citizens with the saints, and of the household of God” (Eph. 2:19). We are of one faith, united in the gospel with bonds stronger than illness or death. We are truly brothers and sisters. None of us is a stranger, no matter what land we happen to worship in.

When Lorenzo Snow was finishing his studies at Oberlin College in Ohio, his sister, Eliza R. Snow, invited him to come to Kirtland to study Hebrew under a famous professor. Lorenzo eagerly accepted.
Eliza wanted her brother to join the Church as she had. After studying the gospel, Lorenzo prayed to Heavenly Father. His prayers were answered, and he was baptized in June 1836.
Several weeks after his baptism, Lorenzo still had some unanswered questions about the gospel. He believed that it was true, but he wanted to know it. One night while he was studying, he felt depressed.
Deep in thought, Lorenzo left his books and went walking through the fields around his house. A feeling of darkness and confusion overcame him. He had made a habit of praying every night in a nearby grove, but that night he did not feel like praying.
Still, Lorenzo knew that he should pray, so he went to the grove and knelt down. As soon as he began praying, he felt the Spirit stronger than he had ever felt it before. He knew that the gospel was true and that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ lived and loved him.
Lorenzo later became the fifth President of the Church, and he often told the story of the night that he gained his testimony. The memory of that night stayed with him and strengthened him throughout his life.

It was a beautiful day, so I decided to ride my bike to the ward barbecue. I wouldn’t be able to stay long because I had cross-country practice. As I was getting ready to go, the idea of taking some peanut butter crackers crossed my mind. How silly, I thought, I’m going to a ward barbecue. I don’t need to take any food.
As I pedaled to the barbecue, I again thought I should’ve packed some peanut butter crackers. Too late now. Soon I was at the park waiting for the food to be ready. I waited and waited and waited. By now my stomach was growling, and I was getting hungrier by the minute. But I couldn’t wait any longer; it was time for practice, and I had to leave. I wished I had those crackers.
When practice was over, I pedaled back to the barbecue, wanting desperately to eat. I made it to the park just as people were driving off. Please let there be food left! I scrambled trying to find leftovers. Hamburgers! Yes, there were some left! I slapped some meat on a bun and devoured my cold burger.
As I took another a bite, I had a new thought: Heavenly Father cares about me. He was trying to send a message that would have helped me. It’s miraculous, really, all the ways we are watched over. To have the Spirit’s guidance is an amazing blessing, even if it’s a simple thought like taking peanut butter crackers.
Angela T., Washington, USA

“I want to speak about the dead.”
Thousands of Latter-day Saints hushed as Lucy Mack Smith’s voice echoed through the large assembly hall on the first floor of the nearly completed Nauvoo temple.
It was the morning of October 8, 1845, the third and final day of the fall conference of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Knowing she would not have many more opportunities to speak to the Saints—especially now that they planned to leave Nauvoo for a new home far to the west—Lucy spoke with a power beyond her feeble seventy-year-old body.
“It was eighteen years ago last twenty-second of September that Joseph took the plates out of the earth,” she testified, “and it was eighteen years last Monday since Joseph Smith, the prophet of the Lord—”1
She paused, remembering Joseph, her martyred son. The Saints in the room already knew how an angel of the Lord had led him to a set of gold plates buried in a hill called Cumorah. They knew that Joseph had translated the plates by the gift and power of God and published the record as the Book of Mormon. Yet how many Saints in the assembly hall had truly known him?
Lucy could still remember when Joseph, then only twenty-one years old, had first told her that God had entrusted him with the plates. She had been anxious all morning, afraid he would return from the hill empty-handed, as he had the four previous years. But when he arrived, he had quickly calmed her nerves. “Do not be uneasy,” he had said. “All is right.” He had then handed her the interpreters the Lord had provided for the translation of the plates, wrapped in a handkerchief, as proof that he had succeeded in getting the record.
There had been only a handful of believers then, most of them members of the Smith family. Now more than eleven thousand Saints from North America and Europe lived in Nauvoo, Illinois, where the Church had gathered for the last six years. Some of them were new to the Church and had not had a chance to meet Joseph or his brother Hyrum before a mob shot and killed the two men in June 1844.2 That was why Lucy wanted to speak about the dead. She wanted to testify of Joseph’s prophetic call and her family’s role in the Restoration of the gospel before the Saints moved away.
Lucy knew the Saints would help her make this journey if she chose to go. Revelations had commanded the Saints to gather together in one place, and the Twelve were determined to carry out the Lord’s will. But Lucy was old and believed she would not live much longer. When she died, she wanted to be buried in Nauvoo near Joseph, Hyrum, and other family members who had passed on, including her husband, Joseph Smith Sr.
Furthermore, most of her living family members were staying in Nauvoo. Her only surviving son, William, had been a member of the Quorum of the Twelve, but he had rejected their leadership and refused to go west. Her three daughters—Sophronia, Katharine, and Lucy—were also staying behind. So too was her daughter-in-law Emma, the prophet’s widow.
As Lucy spoke to the congregation, she urged her listeners not to fret about the journey ahead. “Do not be discouraged and say that you can’t get wagons and things,” she said. Despite poverty and persecution, her own family had fulfilled the Lord’s commandment to publish the Book of Mormon. She encouraged them to listen to their leaders and treat each other well.
“As Brigham says, you must be all honest or you will not get there,” she said. “If you feel cross, you will have trouble.”
Lucy spoke more about her family, the terrible persecution they had suffered in Missouri and Illinois, and the trials that lay ahead for the Saints. “I pray that the Lord may bless the heads of the Church, Brother Brigham and all,” she said. “When I go to another world, I want to meet you all.”6

Some people may feel that they need eloquent words or lofty reasoning when sharing their testimonies. But simple words offered in faith and humility contain great spiritual power. Sister Anne Osborn Poelman tells of her conversion to the Church. As she met with the missionaries, the most powerful testimony was unexpectedly borne by a young elder who had been a missionary just one week. He was nervous. Sister Poelman tells that when she challenged his statement that he knew the gospel was true, “he paused and gulped. ‘Well, Sister Osborn,’ he finally said as he looked me straight in the eye, ‘I guess I just believe it so hard I know it’s true!’ How can anyone argue with such an earnest, deeply felt testimony? I really couldn’t” (The Simeon Solution, Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Company, 1995, page 59).

I would like to share a personal experience from my life that illustrates this principle. In my early youth, pride and peer influence began creeping into my life as it does with many adolescents. I began to take offense easily and was quick to anger. In the 1980's the phrase "burn'd ya" was a way to shown how clever you were at putting others down in a way that made them feel frazzled and unable to defend themselves against your clever criticism. Being good at "burning" people fed one's pride and served to build an increasingly rebellious nature. I succumbed to these temptations and at times responded in hurtful ways to my parents and siblings. Despite this great weakness, I had developed a pattern of consistent personal scripture study and prayer which allowed the Holy Ghost to prick my conscience often. Each time I would get angry and arrogant I would feel disappointed in myself. I finally vowed with intense personal commitment that I would quit it.

Overcoming this weakness, however, was not that easy. Day after day I would try to control my anger by sheer will power. Day after day I would falter. My personal prayers began to include petitions to the Lord to help me with this weakness and these petitions became more and more sincere as they continued for perhaps 3 or even 4 years. By the time I was approaching 16 years of age I still hadn't completely overcome this weakness. Sure I had made some progress but came to the frightening realization that although I was doing my very best it just wasn't enough. I began feeling helpless against this obstacle and knew that it stood in the way of my exaltation. My prayers then began sincerely acknowledging that I just couldn't fix it and that I desperately needed his help. I humbly began asking for a miracle.

What occurred throughout the next months happened quietly and almost imperceptibly until one day I was in a situation that normally would have offended me and made me angry. I recall saying to myself "Wow, I don't feel offended or angry at all". When this continued month after month I realized that a miracle had occurred for me. Not only did I not get angry but I had become very patient -- my weakness had been turned into a strength. I humbly witness to you that it was the grace of my Savior that performed this transformation. I testify that "it is by grace that we are saved, after all we can do."[20]

I remember an incident when the Holy Ghost guided me as I was touring last summer to Scandinavia. The International Folk Dance Ensemble was to give a fireside for our last evening in Finland before we left for Saint Petersburg, Russia, the next morning, where we would end the tour. We always appreciate the opportunity to share our testimonies, both in word and song, with the Saints we meet in the many areas we visit. Earlier that day we had been hosted by the American embassy in Finland. It was a pleasant encounter and an opportunity to let those there know about our beliefs and what we stand for. One of our leaders was carrying all of the tour funds because much money had been transferred to other currency. Inadvertently the black case containing the money was left at a bus stop when all of the group jumped on for a quick transfer that would get us back in time for the fireside.

It was when we had reached another transfer that the black case was found missing. While the rest of the group went to the chapel, the leader quickly retraced connections, only to find the bag missing. We were all downhearted and worried because the Russian officials would not allow us to finish the tour without our own funding. We sought out a room in the ward house and knelt while a prayer was offered in our behalf. We were indeed a somber group.

After we left the room, a member of the Church who knew about the loss asked me what we would do. I said without hesitation, “The case will be found and all will be well.” I had such a calm feeling. I knew that our Father in Heaven was watching over us. For me, however, this was not a normal response. Losing that much money anywhere in the world would be disastrous.

We went on to ready ourselves for the fireside as planned, but just as we were about to proceed, a man came to find the leader who had lost the bag. The man reported that a black case had been found and turned into the police, who had seen the USA address and called the American embassy where we had just been hosted. The embassy personnel had called us, knowing where we were expected to be that evening. Two young boys of about 13 or 14 found the bag and turned it in when they saw how much money there was. They might have been afraid that it was gang related. As is customary in Finland, a certain percentage of any money found is due the finders. What a small price the $500 given to the boys was compared to how penniless we would have been. Within a five-hour period, all factors had fallen into place to find and return the money we so badly needed. This truly was a miracle.

As I said, the Holy Ghost confirmed to my mind throughout this ordeal that all would be well. What a blessing to have the Holy Ghost to guide and lead us daily.

When Eddy Bourdeau was baptized in 1983, he never imagined one day becoming the district president for the entire country (before its recent division). “I didn’t have a strong conviction at first,” he says. “In fact, I was apprehensive about receiving the Aaronic Priesthood.”

Then he read several books on Church history that increased his dedication. “When I came across an account of the early pioneers who left their homes, countries, even families, to go to an unknown wilderness in Utah, I thought, ‘They traded everything. They wouldn’t sacrifice that much for something that wasn’t true!’”

His subsequent reading of the Book of Mormon added to his conviction that “if they can do it, I can do it, no matter how hard things get.” He now recalls many blessings—such as his returned-missionary wife—that came to him when he decided to devote himself to God. “God provides. He’ll help us here in Haiti,” he says. “But we ask that the members throughout the world pray for us as we try to start over again. We need your prayers.”