Gospel Story Finder

I joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in 1992 in the Netherlands. However, my husband didn’t join and wouldn’t allow our children, Alex and Petra, to be baptized (names have been changed). Even still, the three of us attended church and had regular family home evenings.
All went well for several years until Alex, then 13, announced that he was no longer willing to go to church or attend family home evening. As he got older, things continually got worse. It was difficult for me to stay close to Alex because he not only began drinking and smoking, but he also lied about his behavior. It broke my heart, and I shed many tears and offered many prayers as I pleaded with Heavenly Father to help my son.
Then one night while sitting quietly in the temple, I saw a picture in my mind. It was of a young man passing the sacrament. It seemed that the Lord was reminding me of the reality and power of His Atonement, encouraging me to love my son and to stay by his side.
However, as time progressed, life actually got rougher. After Alex’s father and I divorced, Alex got really depressed. I knew he needed help, but he didn’t want my help and wouldn’t listen if I tried to talk to him.
One night our branch president asked if he could come talk to Alex. Alex was irritated but did agree to have a conversation. After the meeting, Alex was angry with the branch president for encouraging him to serve a mission, saying, “If the branch president really was a man of God, he would know better. He would know that I’m not worthy to go—so why bother me?” That night I knew the Lord had a plan.
The plan began to take shape in an unexpected way when I received a phone call from the local police station. Alex had been arrested. My new husband and I put on our coats and in the middle of the night picked Alex up from the police station. We didn’t make a scene; actually Alex’s stepfather and I said very little.
When we got home, Alex told us what had happened when he and his friend had stolen a scooter. He was so sorry for what he had done. I saw for the first time a broken young man.
The arrest was a turning point for Alex as he began to realize the consequences of his actions and where he was headed. From that day on, so many blessings started to come our way.
The next day Alex told us that he had asked the officer to call us because he knew that we loved him. He also realized how much he had hurt us, and he appreciated that we had stayed calm.
Alex had several member friends who reached out to help him. One invited him to Church activities. Another gave him a Book of Mormon and challenged him to read it. And despite his suffering from dyslexia, I would find Alex reading it now and again.
The next blessing—if I could actually count them—was when Alex asked if we would buy him a suit since he had decided he wanted to go to church. I thought he meant just for Christmas. But to my great surprise, he continued attending even after the holidays.
The next blessing seemed almost too much for me to comprehend. Alex announced that he was going to be baptized. He didn’t need any help from me and arranged everything himself with assistance from his friends and the missionaries who were teaching him. I almost couldn’t believe my eyes when the day came, and I was able to see my son in white, making sacred covenants.
Later as he related the story of his conversion, I realized that Alex’s pain and sorrow had been difficult, but they also helped him become humble enough to bend his knees and ask for help. Alex explained: “One night when my burdens were too heavy to carry, I remembered the words of a good friend who had reminded me that I could always pray for help. That night I decided to give it a try. There was not another door open to me, and since my mom had taught me how to pray, I kneeled down and closed my eyes. As I started to plead for help, the most wonderful feeling came over me. I’ll never forget that feeling; I felt the pure love of Christ. I felt that my problems were taken away from me. My desperate feelings haven’t come back since, and I have been blessed with a testimony of Jesus Christ. My heart was changed, and I desired to follow Jesus Christ.”
After his baptism, confirmation, and ordination to the priesthood, Alex was asked to pass the sacrament—the sacred emblems of the Savior’s sacrifice. Then what I had seen in the temple so many years ago became a living reality right in front of me. I silently thanked Heavenly Father for what I was experiencing. It was a holy moment for me.
The story could end there, but fortunately it hasn’t. I have since watched as the Atonement has continued to work in the life of my son. Remember our inspired branch president? My son’s testimony has continued to grow, and the invitation of our branch president became a reality. Alex recently finished serving as a full-time missionary. He spent two years reaching out and helping others—as the Lord reached out to him.
I am grateful to be Alex’s mother, but I am even more grateful for the Atonement of Jesus Christ that works in the lives of all of us.

“And now I’d like to end my talk with my testimony,” the speaker in sacrament meeting was saying. Sarah and her younger sister, Beth, were sitting with their family near the back of the chapel. Dad leaned forward on the bench and eyed a clear warning to both of them. They weren’t being bad or noisy, but Dad knew what was coming—the family was sitting right in front of Brother Smith.
The speaker finished, “in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.” Sarah bit her lip and closed her eyes in anticipation. Then she heard it—everyone in the whole county must have heard it—Brother Smith added his “AMEN!”
Sarah tried not to giggle, but when Beth started to, she couldn’t help it. Dad rolled his eyes, and Sarah felt bad. She knew that they shouldn’t giggle in church. “It’s Brother Smith’s fault,” she mouthed to her father while she tried to calm Beth down.
Everyone in the ward said “Amen” after a prayer or talk, but everyone else said it quietly, almost to themselves. Brother Smith belted it out as if he were at a football game.
“He is older,” Dad had explained before. “He doesn’t hear very well.” Sarah knew that people who are hard of hearing often shout. But still, when Brother Smith said “amen,” she was sure even people driving by could hear it.
After church, when the family was riding home, Sarah expected another lecture from her father about reverence. But he didn’t say anything.
Beth broke her silence, “Sorry I laughed again, Daddy.”
Sarah poked her leg and frowned at her for bringing it up, but Dad just said, “After lunch I have something I want to show you girls.”
When the family had eaten, Dad took the two girls into his study. “This is something that belonged to your great-grandfather,” he said, pulling a fist-size metal object out of a box.
“What is it?” Sarah asked. “It looks like a clamp.”
“It’s a seal.” Dad pulled out a sheet of typing paper from his desk and placed the paper between the seal’s two round plates. Using both hands, he squeezed the handles together, then released them and pulled the paper out. “See the imprint it leaves on the paper?”
The girls looked at the intricate design and fancy writing embossed on the paper. “Cool!” Sarah exclaimed. “May I try it?”
“Sure.” Dad smiled and got out another sheet of paper. “Great-grandfather was a very important man in the town where he lived. He was a leader, and people trusted him. This seal was his very own; there were no others like it.”
Sarah pushed the handles together this time, then both girls rubbed the texture now on the paper with their fingertips.
“That’s the way Great-Grandpa sent important messages to others,” Dad told them. “He put his seal on the messages, and the people getting them knew without a doubt that the messages were really from him. You see, if people got married or did things that needed a witness, Great-Grandpa used his seal. People everywhere knew that if his seal was on something, it was true.”
“Wow!” Beth said.
“That’s awesome!” Sarah added.
Dad looked at them. “You mean you wouldn’t laugh at Great-Grandpa’s seal?”
“No way,” Sarah said. “It’s an important thing.”
“Yeah, no way,” Beth agreed.
Dad smiled. “Now, did you know that the word amen is also a seal?”
Sarah had known that something like this was coming. Dad made a lesson out of everything. She waited for him to continue.
“Well, that’s what it is—our own personal seal that we put on ordinances, testimonies, prayers, and talks. It means that we know we have done or said or heard something true. Saying ‘amen’ is our seal that tells everyone that we agree and approve.
“Now,” he said, easing the tension, “who wants to use Great-Grandpa’s seal on some of her things?”
“I do! I do!” both girls squealed happily.
All that week Sarah put Great-Grandpa’s seal on the first pages of all her books and everything else she could find. She made special note cards for her friends and even put a seal in her journal.
The following Sunday, Sarah’s family got to church a little late. Dad found a half-empty bench near the back of the chapel, and they sat down just as everyone was bowing his head for the prayer.
In the prayer, Sister Carter said, “We thank Thee for this beautiful day …” As Sarah listened carefully, she thought of Great-Grandpa’s seal. Would she put her seal on these words? “We are grateful for this chapel to meet in,” Sister Carter was saying now. Could Sarah witness that these words were true? “And please bless the prophet and the missionaries.” Did Sarah approve? Did she agree? Sister Carter ended her prayer, “In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
Picturing herself stamping Great-Grandpa’s seal on Sister Carter’s prayer, Sarah said right out loud, “Amen,” just as she heard Brother Smith’s bellowed “AMEN!”
Sarah didn’t laugh. Beth didn’t laugh, either. Dad patted them approvingly. Sarah moved closer to him and whispered, “It’s just his seal, Dad—his BIG seal.”

As she lay in bed, Julia thought back to the twins’ baptisms. They had been asked to sing a duet for the baptismal program. Julia remembered how nervous they had looked when they first got up in front of everyone. But they’d squeezed each other’s hand for courage and sung “Love One Another” beautifully.
When Sister Jacobsen, the stake Primary president, called Julia a few weeks ago, it surprised her. “Your sisters did such a wonderful job that we wondered if you would prepare a song for us also,” Sister Jacobsen had asked.
Before giving Sister Jacobsen an answer, Julia thought about it for several days. Her sisters were a lot more outgoing than she was, and they had lots of friends. Julia had a couple of good friends, but she usually just sat quietly in Primary and at school activities and seldom shared what she was thinking.
Once, Julia had overheard her mother’s friend call her shy. Her mother had replied, “Oh, she’s not really shy—she’s just a good listener.” But from then on, Julia thought of herself as being shy.
Dad had told Julia that after baptism she would be given a special gift, the gift of the Holy Ghost, and it would bless her in many ways. It would even help her gain more confidence. He said that it was one of the greatest gifts he had ever received, and Julia wondered if she’d feel the same. She didn’t really understand how it worked, and wondered how it could help her with her shyness. But she knew that the Holy Ghost is also called the Comforter, and the name sounded like that of a good friend.
One night, after praying and receiving a good feeling, Julia told Sister Jacobsen that she would sing at the baptism. Every night for two weeks she practiced “I Know My Father Lives” with her dad, who would accompany her on the piano. She knew both verses by heart, and her dad even learned them too. It was fun to sing together before going to bed.
As Julia lay in the darkness, the words of the song went through her head. “I know my Father lives and loves me too. The Spirit whispers this to me and tells me it is true, And tells me it is true.” She loved how the song made her feel, and as she softly hummed it, she finally fell asleep.
After breakfast the next morning, Julia dressed quickly in her new white dress. Everyone was happy and excited for her and listened one last time as she sang “I Know My Father Lives” without one mistake.
After changing into her baptismal clothes at the church, Julia and her dad took their places at the front of the chapel. There were five other children being baptized that day, and Julia knew most of them from school. She was surprised to see how many friends, parents, and relatives filled the chapel. A sick feeling of nervousness suddenly swept over her as she thought about standing in front of everyone and singing. She wished she hadn’t accepted, after all.
Julia tried not to think about the song and listened to the talks being given and watched the video presentation about the promises she was making. All too soon Sister Jacobsen announced her name and the song she would sing. Nervously she stood at the podium and looked down at her dad, who smiled warmly at her from his place at the piano.
I can do it, she thought to herself. I’ll just pretend I’m singing in my living room, and I won’t look at the crowd.
“I know my Father lives and loves me too,” Julia sang in a shaky voice. As she continued, she glanced down at the people who filled the chapel. There were so many of them, all looking at her, and all at once her head felt hot and dizzy. The words stuck in her throat, and then she couldn’t remember where she was in the song. There was nothing to do but stop singing.
It seemed to her as if she stood there forever, crying in front of everyone, her hands covering her face. Julia had never been so scared, and she didn’t know what to do. She felt so alone, in spite of all the people there, and she wanted to run out of the church just to get away from everyone.
But the piano was still playing, and through her crying she could hear a man’s voice softly singing the words. It was her dad. He was singing the end of the first verse. Julia wanted to sing along with him, but she was crying too hard. He started the second verse in a clear, strong voice: “He sent me here to earth, by faith to live his plan. The Spirit whispers this to me and tells me that I can, And tells me that I can.”
By the end of the song, Julia had stopped crying and had her eyes on her dad. She realized that the song was over and that her singing of it had been a failure. Embarrassed and still sniffling, she walked to her seat and took her place on the front row. When her dad slipped in beside her, she couldn’t bear to look up at him. She had disappointed her whole family and ruined the entire program. Oh, why did I ever think I could do it? Julia wondered. I’m just too shy.
Julia felt her dad’s strong arms lift her onto his lap. As she slowly looked up at him, she saw that he didn’t look disappointed in her at all. In fact, he had a big smile on his face.
“Oh, Julia,” he whispered excitedly, “this is how I can explain to you exactly how the gift of the Holy Ghost works. When you stopped singing and started to cry, you felt scared and alone, didn’t you?”
Julia nodded, puzzled.
“Then I helped you by singing the rest of the song when you couldn’t finish it. Well, after you receive the gift of the Holy Ghost, you need never feel alone again. When you are scared and don’t know what to do, if you listen very carefully, you will hear another voice coming through. Heavenly Father will send the Comforter to help you. He will help you make the right decisions. Most important, He will comfort you, if you just listen and keep the commandments. Julia, He will always be your friend.”
A warm feeling came over Julia as she placed her small hand inside her dad’s. She no longer felt embarrassed about not completing the song. For the first time she understood why the gift of the Holy Ghost was such a great gift. My own special Comforter, she thought happily.
“Maybe I am a little shy,” she whispered to her dad, “but I am a good listener.”

Dear Little Carrie,
I thought about you a lot on Christmas Day. I imagined you and your mom and dad around the Christmas tree, opening presents and later eating turkey and pumpkin pie. Our Christmas in Paraguay was very different, and I thought you might like to hear about it.
We had decided to visit the Ugarte family for Christmas. They live 80 kilometers through the jungle, in a little village called Itakyry. There is a small wooden chapel there, where we could spend the night. In the Ugarte family are a grandmother, a mother and father, and 11 children. Their house has only two rooms and two beds, so we couldn’t stay with them. We packed some small gifts in the back of the car and left early in the morning of the day before Christmas. Two young elders went with us.
In Itakyry, Sister Ugarte was very sad. It was the day before Christmas, and she had no presents to give her children. It took all their money and time just to provide the essential things that such a large family needed. Nothing was left for gifts or even a special treat for Christmas dinner.
All that morning she worked. She washed clothes in the stream and spread them on the bushes to dry. She tended the garden and cooked black beans and rice for their mid-meal. After they ate, she rocked the baby and mended clothes. As she worked, she prayed. “Heavenly Father, please send our good friends, the missionaries, here for Christmas. I know it is a long way for them to come, but it would make this day special. Please, Heavenly Father.”
We didn’t know that she wanted us to come. The Spirit just told us that it would be good if we did. A bridge was washed away, so we had to walk the last few miles through the jungle. My goodness, how happy the Ugarte family was when they saw us coming through the trees!
That night we had a very special family home evening in the little wooden chapel. The beautiful story of the birth of Christ was told, and testimonies were shared. Then for a long time we sat, watching the silent stars and singing the sacred hymns of Christmas.
The Ugarte children didn’t understand when Grandpa tried to act like Santa Claus the next morning. They did enjoy the simple gifts we passed out, though. There was a small doll for each little girl, sweet-smelling soap for the older girls, and windup toys for the boys.
We missed our own dear grandchildren, but this Christmas in Paraguay was a very special one for us. The best gifts that we can give or receive at Christmastime are love and service.
I’m looking forward to hearing about your Christmas, Carrie. I hope that it was also filled with that special Christmas feeling and that you didn’t miss us too much.
Love,
Grandma and Grandpa

Lance and Londa Chase were among the first to warmly welcome us to Laie. Lance touched many lives through his long and distinguished faculty career at BYU-Hawaii and his ministry as bishop of the Laie 2 nd Ward. We all admired his grace, stamina and dignity as he battled cancer for several years. When he went to Utah for a painful bone marrow transplant, the doctors said he needed to recuperate in a secluded place, a controlled environment where he would not have contact with people and potential germs which might attack his weakened immune system. He also needed to continue to visit the clinic almost daily for several months of follow-up treatments. Being far away from his home in Hawaii made this a problem. Then former VP of PCC and former bishop of Laie 2 nd Brian Bolles and his wife Joan, came forward and said, "Please take over our home. We will move in with Joan's parents. Our home is yours for as long as you need it." Convenient for the Bolles? No. Londa Chase told me that the Bolle's home had a very nice cooling system, but that the air conditioning in Joan's mother's home was broken during that hot summer. The treatment lasted from June through October, almost five months. During this time, the family would come by occasionally to pick up clothes or other goods, and the Chases never felt any resentment or negative vibes from the children or the parents. They were always cheerful and supportive and considered it a privilege and blessing to be able to help.

Remember the Samaritan? "What's mine is yours if you need it."

Said President Marion G. Romney, “It is an easy thing to believe in the dead prophets.” And then he gives this illustration:

One day when President Grant was living, I sat in my office across the street following a general conference. A man came over to see me, an elderly man. He was very upset about what had been said in this conference by some of the Brethren, including myself. I could tell from his speech that he came from a foreign land. After I had quieted him enough so he would listen, I said, “Why did you come to America?” “I am here because a prophet of God told me to come.” “Who was the prophet;” I continued. “Wilford Woodruff.” “Do you believe Wilford Woodruff was a prophet of God?” “Yes, I do.” “Do you believe that President Joseph F. Smith was a prophet of God?” “Yes, sir.”

Then came the sixty-four dollar question. “Do you believe that Heber J. Grant is a prophet of God?” His answer, “I think he ought to keep his mouth shut about old age assistance.”

Now I tell you that a man in his position is on the way to apostasy. He is forfeiting his chances for eternal life. So is everyone who cannot follow the living Prophet of God.” [In Conference Report, April 1953, p. 125]

Many years ago my father built a small cabin on part of the ranch property where he had been raised. The vistas across the meadows were exceptional. When the walls were framed in for the cabin, I made a visit. I was surprised that the window with the view focused directly on a power pole that was a short distance from the house. To me, it was a huge distraction from the magnificent view.
I said, “Dad, why did you let them put the power pole directly in front of your view from the window?”
My father, an exceptionally practical and calm man, exclaimed with some emotion, “Quentin, that power pole is the most beautiful thing to me on the entire ranch!” He then made his case: “When I look at that pole, I realize that, unlike when I grew up here, I will not have to carry water in containers from the spring up to the house to cook, wash my hands, or bathe. I will not have to light candles or oil lamps at night to read. I want to see that power pole right in the middle of the view window.”
My father had a different perspective on the power pole than I did. To him that pole represented an improved life, but to me it was a stumbling block to a magnificent vista. My dad valued power, light, and cleanliness above an aesthetic view. I immediately realized that while the pole was a stumbling block for me, it had great practical, symbolic meaning to my father.
My father saw the pole as a means of providing power, light, and abundant water for cooking and cleansing. It was a stepping-stone to improving his life.

At last she could rest! It had been a long afternoon, mused the weary pioneer, leaning against the tree trunk. Easing off her muddy boots, she rubbed her feet until the aching subsided. Then, picking up her journal, she wrote:
“Our company traveled six miles today, pushing and pulling over hot and dusty trails. Someone accidently stirred up a nest of bees from a dead log, and one girl was stung 12 times! We had a number of repair stops, and three carts had to be abandoned along the way because of broken axles and wheels. But ours seems to be really sturdy and reliable. I believe we’ll make it all the way to the valley! Several of us learned firsthand today about patience and helping others as we loaded bundles from the broken carts onto our own already heavy, creaking carts.”
The journal entry of the young Latter-day Saint has now joined snapshots, worn shoes, and handcarts as a reminder of the three-day trek that was a major part of the Olympia Washington Stake girls campout last July. More than 100 girls shared dried corn, fruit leather, campfires, and 23 handcarts in an effort to gain a better understanding of the sacrifices and dedication of their pioneer ancestors. The enthusiastic organizer behind the event was Sister Fayetta Johnson, stake camp specialist.
The three months preceding camp were busy ones of preparation on both the stake and ward levels. Because Oakville Branch President Daren Johnson had access to a plane, he volunteered to fly over the areas the girls would cover and map out the trails for them. Leaders and girls experimented with all kinds of pioneer-type food available to find the lightest, most nutritious, and non-perishable food available, since they would need a three-day supply and were limited to 17 pounds for all supplies. Busy ward camp directors agreed to complete camp certification before camp arrived, and members of the priesthood built all 23 carts.
During the trek itself, the girls were required to wear long dresses, and a swim in the lake had to take the place of a hot shower. To make the experience as real as possible, a trading post and shaded bowery were set up along the trail, and on the second day out, the carts were ferried, one by one, across the lake on a raft. The evenings were devoted to campfires, singing, telling stories, and sharing testimonies. When at last the journey was complete, the whole party agreed that they had had an unforgettable experience and that they had gained a new awareness and appreciation of the Mormon pioneers who had braved so much in coming west.

I gained my testimony of the power of prayer when I was about 12 years old. I had worked hard to earn some money and had managed to save five dollars. This was during the Great Depression, when five dollars was a substantial sum of money—especially for a boy of 12. I gave all my coins, which totaled five dollars, to my father, and he gave me in return a five-dollar bill. I know there was something specific I planned to purchase with the five dollars, although all these years later I can’t recall what it was. I just remember how important that money was to me.
At the time, we did not own a washing machine, so my mother would send to the laundry each week our clothes which needed to be washed. After a couple of days, a load of what we called “wet wash” would be returned to us, and Mother would hang the items on our clothesline out back to dry.
I had tucked my five-dollar bill in the pocket of my jeans. As you can probably guess, my jeans were sent to the laundry with the money still in the pocket. When I realized what had happened, I was sick with worry. I knew that pockets were routinely checked at the laundry prior to washing. If my money was not discovered and taken during that process, I knew it was almost certain the money would be dislodged during washing and would be claimed by a laundry worker who would have no idea to whom the money should be returned, even if he had the inclination to do so. The chances of getting back my five dollars were extremely remote—a fact which my dear mother confirmed when I told her I had left the money in my pocket.
I wanted that money; I needed that money; I had worked very hard to earn that money. I realized there was only one thing I could do. In my extremity I turned to my Father in Heaven and pleaded with Him to keep my money safe in that pocket somehow until our wet wash came back.
Two very long days later, when I knew it was about time for the delivery truck to bring our wash, I sat by the window, waiting. As the truck pulled up to the curb, my heart was pounding. As soon as the wet clothes were in the house, I grabbed my jeans and ran to my bedroom. I reached into the pocket with trembling hands. When I didn’t find anything immediately, I thought all was lost. And then my fingers touched that wet five-dollar bill. As I pulled it from the pocket, relief flooded over me. I offered a heartfelt prayer of gratitude to my Father in Heaven, for I knew that He had answered my prayer.

When a friend invited me to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in 2020, I reluctantly agreed. At first, I didn’t feel it was the place to be, but I continued to attend sacrament meeting. Eventually, I was baptized.
I did not understand, however, the concept of having a testimony as spoken of by other members of the Church. The sister missionaries and I had read some scriptural verses together, but I had never opened the Book of Mormon on my own. Despite great efforts by members of the Church to welcome me and keep me active, I soon began coming late to church, skipping meetings, and going back to a worldly state.
Then came one day when I felt a mood swing with a troubled heart. I felt I had been too unstable, worldly, and antagonistic toward the things of God. I recognized I was not on the right track. While in this mood, I glanced toward the scriptures on my bed.
I called upon God to say something to me. I said a little prayer and waited to hear anything at all. I needed some comfort and clarity.
Then I heard something. I do not know whether the sound came from inside my mind or inside my ears, but I heard the words “Helaman 3:27.” I knew that the book of Helaman was in the Book of Mormon, so I took the scriptures and went to the table of contents to locate that book.
What I read next was a message from God to me specifically for that moment of my life: “Thus we may see that the Lord is merciful unto all who will, in the sincerity of their hearts, call upon his holy name.”
This passage changed my perception about my actions and about the Book of Mormon. I realized that my actions and insincerity toward God had been wrong and that I needed to call upon Him and repent. I know that God will not deny me His mercies and blessings so long as I am sincere in calling upon Him and following Him.
That’s how my testimony came of the Book of Mormon—a book I had showed no interest in reading. I know that God lives, that He speaks to us today, and that the Book of Mormon is true.

The Savior said, "My peace I give unto you." Oliver Cowdery had been in Joseph Smith Senior's home and prayed to know the truth of the Book of Mormon. There he received a convincing assurance of peace, but he never told Joseph Smith of this experience. Some time passed and human nature took its toll. No doubt he wondered if that experience was some psychological feeling or an impression from heaven. So he went to Joseph Smith and asked him to request a revelation that would be a witness to him that the Book of Mormon was true. Joseph Smith, unaware of Oliver's previous experience, sought a revelation from the Lord. It came in D&C 6:22-23:

"Verily, verily, I say unto you, if you desire a further witness, cast your mind upon the night that you cried unto me in your heart, that you might know concerning the truth of these things. Did I not speak peace to your mind concerning the matter? What greater witness can you have than from God?"

Oliver had received peace. The Lord reaffirmed his prior experience and feelings. There was no way Joseph Smith could have known of Oliver's earlier experience except through revelation. This was the Lord's confirmation that peace comes only from Him.

I have always been fond of a story from the era of the Great Depression. The Mayor of New York City, Fiorella LaGuardia was an unusual leader. New York named an airport after him and perhaps that has something to do with how he cared for his people. While in office he sometimes presided at the Police Court just to keep in touch with what was happening in the streets. One bitter cold day the officers brought in a trembling, ragged man charged with stealing a load of bread. He defended his actions by explaining that his family was starving.

"I've got to punish you," declared LaGuardia. "The law makes no exception." So he fined the man ten dollars. But, as he said that, the Mayor reached into his pocket and brought out a $10 dollar bill which he tossed into his hat. "The fine is paid," he said. "And I'm going to fine everybody in this courtroom fifty cents for living in a town where a man has to steal bread in order to eat. The Bailiff passed the hat and the incredulous man, with a light of heaven in his eye, left the courtroom with forty-seven dollars and fifty cents.

When temple visits for my branch were announced, I attended. Even though I could not yet enter the temple, I often walked the temple grounds. I prayed to Heavenly Father expressing my deepest desires to one day enter the temple. Some of these visits were only 10 minutes, but they had a profound impact on my spirit.
On one particularly cold and rainy evening, I arrived at the temple late. Although the grounds were closed, temple security allowed me a few moments on the grounds. I had with me a copy of the temple’s dedicatory prayer. I was impressed to read it.
I was filled with emotions as I read the following words: “Wilt Thou whisper peace to Thy people by the power of Thy Spirit when they come here with burdened hearts to seek direction in their perplexities. Wilt Thou comfort and sustain them when they come in times of sorrow. Wilt Thou give them courage, direction, and faith, when they gather, as to a refuge, from the turmoil of the world. Wilt Thou reassure them of Thy reality and divinity, and of the reality and divinity of Thy resurrected Son.”1
I knew then that my visits to the temple grounds meant something to the Lord, even though I was not inside the temple.

When my husband and I were first married, he was an undergraduate student with a goal of attending medical school, and I was teaching sixth grade. His classes, part-time work, and studies obviously took most of his time. My obligations with work and spending evenings doing all that was necessary to fulfill my teaching responsibilities also took many hours to complete. Once we included our Church callings, we didn’t have much time together during the week. I found that I was always looking forward to Friday evenings, when not only would things become more relaxed but we could have some time together as well as a little social life during the weekends. I always seemed to have the “thank goodness it’s Friday” mentality. On Mondays, Tuesdays, Wednesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays I was always looking forward to the weekends; thus I was not really enjoying the weekdays. I was happy on Friday nights, Saturdays, and Sundays and a little depressed on the weekdays.

However, one day something occurred that caused me to see this negative outlook in a new light. I can’t recall what caused this change in my attitude, but I was struck with the thought that by wanting the weekdays to pass by quickly and always looking forward to the weekends, I was wishing a very important part of my life away. I realized that my time now was valuable and I should appreciate every day—not wish it away! After all, I didn’t know how many Mondays through Fridays I had in my future. Time passes quickly enough, and, because I wanted it to do so, I did not take full advantage of some valuable opportunities and experiences that were available to me.

I still can vividly recall the time I realized that I should savor and treasure each day and be thankful for and appreciate life. I somehow realized that each day is a gift from a loving Heavenly Father and that if I did not view each day as such, I would be ungrateful. I was always wanting tomorrow or, in my case, the weekend. This was a terrible thing because I was neglecting my todays for my tomorrows.

My father spent much of his life teaching, learning and writing. The last decade of his life he had Parkinsons' disease. While his body gradually broke down, his active mind continued to yearn for learning. He would often say a person needs to use his mind or his brain to fulfill his nature as God's child and unless he gets excited about ideas, about learning; unless he reads books and talks about ideas, and not just the weather and people, he will not fulfill that nature. On one visit to his home during the last year of his life I said: "Dad, what are you reading?" He said: "The Book of Mormon." I said, where are you in the book and how long have you been reading it? His reply: "I began Monday and I'm in Moroni." It was Wednesday. Even with this debilitating disease, his mind was still alert in his late 80's because he had always used it. To fulfill your divine nature, PURSUE AND LOVE INSPIRED LEARNING!

1 In April 1832 Joseph Smith went to Jackson County a second time. A general council of the Church was called, and Joseph was sustained as President of the High Priesthood.
2 The Prophet received a revelation in which the Lord said that the Saints were to work hard and share all that they had with each other.
3 Goods of all kinds were to be taken to the Church storehouse to be distributed according to the bishop’s orders.
4 Four days later Joseph received another revelation: If widows, orphans, or any other members were needy, they were to be provided for through the Church storehouse.
5 The revelation also said that husbands are to love and care for their wives, and parents are to love and care for their children.
6 In May, Sidney Rigdon, Newel K. Whitney, and the Prophet Joseph started back to Kirtland, Ohio. Near New Albany, Indiana, the horses pulling their wagon became frightened and bolted.
7 Joseph jumped out of the wagon unhurt, but Bishop Whitney caught his foot in a wheel and broke his leg and foot in several places.
8 Sidney Rigdon went on to Kirtland, but the Prophet stayed with Bishop Whitney for four weeks while he recuperated.
9 One day during that time, Joseph Smith ate something poisonous. When Bishop Whitney gave him a blessing of health, the Prophet was instantly healed. Soon they, too, continued on to Kirtland.

During filming, my brother Byron lay in a hospital bed in California, USA, while my newborn granddaughter lay in a hospital bed in Salt Lake City, Utah. Byron was dying of cancer, and my granddaughter, born with a serious birth defect, was not expected to live.
I had to miss the reunion because my daughter Angie needed my help and support. On June 3, her first child, Athena, was born with a diaphragmatic hernia. Surgeons operated on her three days later. They did not expect her to survive.
Fortunately, my husband and I were nearby during this trying time. Each afternoon after I finished my Book of Mormon video work, Angie would leave her vigil at the hospital and join us at our motel, where we comforted her and prayed for Athena.
That night, I learned that God had taken Byron home. I’m grateful for the faith I have that I will see him and my parents again. I’m also grateful that God heard our prayers for Athena. After she spent 88 days recuperating in the neonatal intensive care unit, we finally brought her home.

It was beginning to get dark, and the softly falling snow was blanketing the busy New York streets. Tired office workers and shoppers rushed to the waiting horse-drawn streetcars. A driver viciously whipped the tired, thin horses forward, and the miserable animals, cold and hungry, struggled to pull the overfilled cars through the slippery streets.
Suddenly Henry Bergh, a tall, handsome gentleman in a black silk hat, stood on the tracks in front of the departing streetcar and ordered the driver to stop and unload the passengers. When the driver resisted, Bergh pulled him out of the car and threw him into a snowbank. Then Bergh unhitched the overworked, underfed horses. This action caused many streetcars to be stalled behind the first, now horseless, car. Bergh then stopped a car going in another direction.
The “man in the black hat” had been trying for many months to get the streetcar companies to treat their horses more humanely. He wanted them to assign more horses to each car and to not allow too many passengers on a car so that the horses wouldn’t have to work so hard. But no one at the companies would listen to him. Now, finally, after he had blocked traffic for two hours, at least one company listened! Henry Bergh had won a victory. A car was sent out with four horses pulling it, and the streetcar company agreed to treat its horses more kindly.

Soon after I completed my schooling at Utah State, I was working as a Music Therapist in south Louisiana. I was fortunate, and blessed to become well acquainted with my landlords, MaryAnne and Lindy Hoffmann, in the town of Thibodaux, Louisiana. The Hoffmanns owned the music store in Thibodaux. They had no children of their own, and they treated me like a daughter from the very beginning. Lindy was a drummer, and MaryAnne played the piano and clarinet. They were "my people" immediately. We became fast friends, and my parents back in Utah were very grateful to know that their still quite shy daughter was being looked after. They invited me to join them playing in the community band, which I did, and loved. I taught oboe lessons in the back rooms of the music store, and was invited to an occasional dinner. We spent lovely Sunday afternoons in the upstairs great room. But the thing I enjoyed most were my chats with MaryAnne in the evenings after work on the swing in the back yard of their beautiful southern home. They could see in me the teacher and musician that I had always wanted to be. I was working as a music therapist, but they helped me achieve my true dream of being in front of a band! These wonderful people helped initiate a change in my life that eventually brought me here to BYU-Idaho. When the time was right, I moved back to Utah and began my career as a high school band director.

The Hoffmanns are much like my own parents. They are hard workers, they are committed to serving others, they love their family, they are good, and they are honest people. I love being in their company. I always want to be the best I can be when I am in their presence. Lindy and MaryAnne are not members of our church. They have always been supportive of my beliefs and way of life, and the way they live their lives they might as well be members. One of my greatest hopes is that I have been as positive of an influence in their lives as they have been in mine. I have visited my sweet friends several times over the years, but not enough. I spoke with them on Mother's Day just a few weeks ago. They are aging, and I think of them often. They are givers. Their influence on me was life changing. They have been, and are, a blessing beyond my description, and I love them so!

One ordinary Sunday I was sitting with my family in sacrament meeting. We heard the announcements and listened to the prayer; then as we were singing the opening hymn, something very out of the ordinary happened. Elder L. Tom Perry of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles and his wife walked into our chapel! Sister Perry sat in the congregation as her husband walked up and sat on the stand. It was a complete shock to everyone. Elder Perry explained to us that he had planned to attend a different ward but had become lost and decided to attend our ward instead.
Although we were surprised that an Apostle of the Lord had come to our sacrament meeting, we were prepared. The priesthood holders blessed and passed the sacrament reverently. The girls in the congregation were dressed modestly. Our meeting was being run with order. Our building was clean and was a place where the Spirit could be present, and the speakers were ready with well-prepared, inspiring talks.
On a more personal level, I felt that my family and I were prepared. We had been taught by my parents to be reverent, to listen, and to sing the hymns. We didn’t need to change our routine because Elder Perry was there.