Gospel Story Finder

One family stands out in my mind. My friend had been the recipient and observer of kindly acts of service by her neighbor. Tenderly and efficiently she saw her care for the sick, notice the shy, cheer the downhearted.

One day, while she was attending a lecture, a mother sitting near her rose hurriedly to take a child out who had become ill. As my friend went to see if she might be of assistance, there was another woman there already. Her manner of helping was quiet and quick, knowing just what to do, and it reminded my friend so much of her neighbor that she finally asked if, by chance, she knew her neighbor, only to find that they were sisters. In that family they had learned the meaning of service. By its selfless nature, service within a family increases spirituality and strengthens bonds of love.

Now, the story I promised to tell you began before the October 1856 general conference, but that is where we will begin. President Brigham Young stood at the Old Tabernacle pulpit on this square and issued a call to go rescue the Willie and Martin Handcart Companies. Two days later, about 30 faithful brethren with good mule teams were dispatched to go bring in the handcarters stranded several hundred miles east. Dan W. Jones, a convert of about five years, volunteered.
After arduous effort, the Willie Company finally was found. Caught in the storms of early winter, the Saints were freezing and starving to death. The relief party did all they could to improve conditions, but for some it was simply too late. The morning after the rescuers’ arrival, nine of the company were buried in a common grave.
Some of the rescuers were assigned to escort the handcarters to the Salt Lake Valley, but others pushed further eastward in an effort to find the Martin Company. Finally they were found, along with the Hodgett and Hunt Wagon Companies, bogged down and helpless in the snow east of Devil’s Gate, Wyoming.
Members of the Martin Company were in dire straits. Their food rations had been cut to a few ounces of flour per day. Only a third of them could walk, and deaths were recorded daily.
The leaders of the rescue party wisely decided to spare no effort in getting the suffering survivors to safety in the Salt Lake Valley. Because of the shortage of space in the wagons, it was necessary to leave most of the handcarters’ possessions in storage at Devil’s Gate till spring.
Brother Dan W. Jones and two others from the relief party, along with 17 young men from the wagon companies, were called to stay behind to guard the property. They were left to face five winter months in Wyoming, hundreds of miles from help, with scarcely anything to eat, and under conditions of extreme privation. Imagine the sacrifice! Offers were made to each man to join the wagons bound for the valley, but every one of them chose to stay behind, obedient to the call to serve.
That winter was recorded as one of the most severe ever. The intrepid watchmen struggled to repair the cabins at Devil’s Gate; killed the remaining cattle; stored the tough, stringy beef for food; and reconditioned and stacked the goods they were left to protect.
They killed a few buffalo, but the hunting became bad. Soon they were reduced to living on animal hides, from which they scraped off the hair, then boiled the leather. They ate the leather wrappings off the wagon tongues, old moccasin soles, and a well-worn buffalo hide that had been used as a foot mat for two months. At one point Dan Jones was literally preparing to eat his own saddle!
In February of that extreme winter, a member of the Snake Indian tribe visited and helped them. That first night he and two scouts came to camp loaded with good buffalo meat.
The winter passed, and finally, early in May, the relief wagons began to roll in. Of the various communications Brother Jones had received, one critical letter from Brigham Young had not arrived. Loading and shipping of the stored goods could not commence without it.
For days they waited, becoming increasingly anxious. Finally Brother Jones sought the Lord in prayer to know how to proceed. He recorded the following testimony: “Next morning without saying anything about the lack of instructions we commenced business. Soon some one asked whose teams were to be loaded first, [and] I dictated to my clerk. Thus we continued. As fast as the clerk put them down, orders would be given, and we passed on to the next. We continued this [way] for four days. … All the teams were loaded up, companies organized and started back [to the valley]” (Daniel W. Jones, Forty Years among the Indians [1960], 107).
The 17 young men were loaded on the last wagons departing to the Salt Lake Valley, where they would be reunited with their families and loved ones.
Brother Jones arrived later to report to President Young, feeling not a little uncertain how he would be received. Should he have waited for the President’s written orders? As everything unfolded, it was learned that President Young had indeed dictated a letter of instructions, which was never received. Dan carefully presented his detailed report. It was a testimony to him to find that the inspiration he’d received in Wyoming was exactly the same as in the prophet’s letter.
Dan Jones’s young men had done more than they ever would have imagined they could:
They had crossed the plains in wagons and by handcart, mostly on foot.
They had seen many of their friends and relatives die along the way.
They had volunteered to spend the winter 300 miles from their destination.
They had survived a harsh winter with little food and few, if any, comforts.
They had heeded the call of the prophet to serve their fellow Saints.
They had endured to the end nobly and were blessed for their efforts.
I repeat, brethren: Ordinary men, blessed with the privilege of holding the priesthood of God, may be called upon to do extraordinary tasks and accomplish mighty feats through faith in that sacred power!
One of my Book of Mormon heroes, Ammon, the great son of Mosiah, explains how much two people can accomplish when one of them is the Lord: “Yea, I know that I am nothing; as to my strength I am weak; therefore I will not boast of myself, but I will boast of my God, for in his strength I can do all things; yea, behold, many mighty miracles we have wrought in this land, for which we will praise his name forever” (Alma 26:12).
To you young men of the Aaronic Priesthood and to you brethren of the Melchizedek Priesthood, I witness that we can perform “many mighty miracles,” as testified by Ammon and by Dan Jones! They took the Lord as their guide, listened to and obeyed the Holy Spirit, and learned that they could indeed perform mighty miracles, which thing they never had supposed.
Our own challenges in this day will be great. Our needs will be significant. Our loyalty to great gospel truths must be no less valiant than that of those young men over 140 years ago.
It is my prayer, brethren, that each of us will make the Lord—and His revealed word through His servants, the prophets—the guiding influence in our lives. Each of us has a miracle to perform, a journey to complete, and a marvelous mission to fulfill.
May Heavenly Father bless you to know that you are one of His chosen sons in a blessed and royal generation, and that He has mighty miracles for you to perform. With His strength and the guidance of the Spirit, you too can do all things! To which I testify in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

It sounded like a typical service project: round up a group of Relief Society sisters to put on a short choir program at a local hospital’s respite care center, though no one from our ward was a patient there.
We found ourselves crammed into a small room with nine elderly patients facing us in their wheelchairs. Their faces seemed blank, empty of expression. It was hot and stuffy, and I thought, “Let’s get this over with.”
I was to lead the music, so I turned my back to the patients and concentrated on the program. As we began, I heard one patient calling, “Mama, Mama,” while another clapped and made noises. I felt uncomfortable, but in a few minutes we would finish and go home.
As we prepared to sing our last hymn, “How Great Thou Art” (Hymns, no. 86), we invited the patients and medical personnel to join with us. I turned around to lead everyone in the singing, and that’s when I saw her—a tiny, wrinkled, white-haired lady with a lap full of tissues wet with her tears.
She motioned for me to come to her. I did so, and when I bent my head to listen, she took my hand. Her whole body trembled as she whispered, “I’m a Latter-day Saint. It’s so wonderful to have my sisters come.”
The Spirit filled my soul, and I knelt beside her, tears streaming from my eyes. She put a frail arm around me and patted me as if she understood my emotions. Everyone began singing the hymn, but I couldn’t get the first verse out.
As the patients and staff sang of God’s greatness, the Spirit filled the room, and all were touched. I finally gained control of my feelings and joined the others, singing:
When Christ shall come, with shout of acclamation,
And take me home, what joy shall fill my heart!
Then I shall bow in humble adoration
And there proclaim, “My God, how great thou art!”
After the program the Relief Society sisters mingled with the patients and staff. The white-haired sister told us she had been lonely and had felt surrounded by strangers until we came. We didn’t know she would be there, but Heavenly Father did.
I was reminded that all of these people were our brothers and sisters, that they needed love and comfort, and that someday I could be in their place. I was touched that we could be instruments of a loving Father, and I was grateful that our service project had taught me a powerful lesson about love.

Let's explore one last principle. We live in a world that glorifies idols and champions. We appreciate those who are striving to be stronger, higher, and faster. But the strongest girl I ever saw was actually pretty frail and would have been no match in an athletic contest. No one would covet her young life, which was full of fear, confusion, and a deep self-loathing. It was during this time that she was being abused by her stepfather.

Millie was physically and sexually abused by her mother's second husband. He was not a nice guy, but we will leave his punishment to the powers that be. Millie wasn't interested in punishing anybody. She knew what pain is like and didn't want to be involved in giving or receiving any more of it.

When I met Millie, she was a young woman trying to understand what she had done to deserve such treatment. In her confused and painful thinking, she was certain that he wouldn't have done it without some provocation or enticement. He had told her that it was her fault. And grown-ups are always right, aren't they?

But Millie was strong even with that misplaced sense of responsibility for her traumatic circumstances. She was trying to fight her way out. She was trying to figure out how to live with the memory of the abuse and not be consumed by it. For some time, the best she was able to do was to label herself a victim. This was an important first step, realizing that she had been victimized and that it wasn't her fault, but for Millie it wasn't enough. She wanted freedom from the on-going victimization of the terrible experience. She wanted to somehow let go of it completely.

One day Millie was stunned by a thought-provoking passage from Victor Hugo's Les Miserables. It reads, "The soul helps the body and at certain moments uplifts it. It is the only bird that sustains its cage." This came as a revelation to Millie. She could see that her body is sort of like a cage that surrounds the real Millie. If that is so, she wondered, then could it be that he was hurting the cage, but that the bird was not damaged at all?

Of course! He could beat the cage, he could abuse the cage, he could even break the cage, but he couldn't get at the beautiful bird inside. Even if he destroyed the cage, the bird would just fly free beyond his ability to afflict any more harm. He might frighten the little bird out of singing for a while, but he could not take away her song forever. With this insight Millie was liberated.

Millie stopped calling herself a victim. She ceased defining herself by what he had done to her. The abuse is something that happened to her it is not her. Millie is one of the strongest people I have ever met. The principle: Bad things may happen to me, but they are not me.

Many years ago 11-year-old Cori sat in front of the television listening to general conference. When she was younger, she drew pictures, but today she was listening closely for the things the prophet wanted her to do. President Ezra Taft Benson (1899–1994) asked everyone to read the scriptures, go to the temple, spend more time with their families on Sunday, and have family home evening. Cori knew that if she followed the prophet, she could help make her family stronger. Today Cori knows that following the prophet’s counsel increased her family’s love for one another and for Jesus Christ.

There’s something thrilling about sitting on a bench, hands over the piano’s ivory keys, waiting for your cue from the conductor. Accompanying is one of my favorite hobbies, but it is not one that is noticed. Sometimes my ego gets in the way, and I want someone to acknowledge my efforts.
We accompanists back up performers, maintain the tempo, and create the harmonizing and feeling of the music. At times, we even cover the mistakes of performers. We put in long hours before and after rehearsals. Sometimes we are last to receive the music but first to be expected to learn it.
During a difficult time, I was struggling with these feelings. I felt that no one appreciated my work. One night I knelt beside my bed to tell Heavenly Father.
I began my prayer by listing everything I was doing and not receiving thanks for. I didn’t need much, but I needed something. I told Him that I felt forgotten.
During my complaining, the Spirit whispered a thought to my mind that changed my whole perspective.
I stopped praying as I suddenly saw my situation in a different light. I began going through my list of complaints, thinking of them in terms of Heavenly Father as the accompanist. I was surprised and humbled as I thought about how we may not realize how much He helps us, adds to our life, covers for our mistakes, and “neither slumber[s] nor sleep[s]” (Psalm 121:4) for our sakes. Do we invite Him last but expect Him first?
After that experience, I began to thank Him for His superb accompaniment in my life. Everything I am is because of Him and His Son. What a different perspective! He didn’t chastise me for my feelings or my complaining. Instead, He chose to teach me. He taught me a different way to see Him and others.
Now when I fall into the self-pity trap, I remember my Great Accompanist—the One I’m rehearsing with and the One I need to thank. Heavenly Father taught me to appreciate Him in a different way than I ever had, to see those around me with more appreciation, to have more of a grateful heart, and to remember His Son’s words: “I am come that they might have life, and that they might have it more abundantly” (John 10:10).

Consider that you are invited to a friend’s house for breakfast. On the table you see a large pitcher of freshly squeezed orange juice from which your host fills his glass. But he offers you none. Finally, you ask, “Could I have a glass of orange juice?”
He replies, “Oh, I am sorry. I was afraid you might not like orange juice, and I didn’t want to offend you by offering you something you didn’t desire.”
Now, that sounds absurd, but it is not too different from the way we hesitate to offer up something far sweeter than orange juice. I have often worried how I would answer some friend about my hesitancy when I meet him beyond the veil.
A story related by Elder Christoffel Golden, of South Africa, refreshed my concerns. He was recently in Lusaka, Zambia, attending a meeting of new converts. A well-spoken, well-dressed stranger with a Book of Mormon in hand walked in. He stated he had driven past the chapel many times and had wondered what church met there and what they taught for doctrine.
At the conclusion of the meeting, this gentleman stood up, raised his copy of the Book of Mormon high in the air, and asked, “Why have you kept this book hidden from the people of Lusaka? Why have you kept it a secret?”
As I heard this story, I flinched that one day some friend might ask me, “Why have you kept this Book of Mormon, with its message of truth and salvation, a secret?”
My reply, “I was afraid I would damage our friendship,” will not be very satisfying to either me or my friend.
Brothers and sisters, I pray that we may put our fears and our hesitancy behind us and no more keep secret the great treasure that is ours.

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

“One of our first meetings in India was a New Delhi Stake devotional during which the opening prayer touched my heart—and Harriet’s heart—deeply.
“The prayer, offered by Sister Dorothy Elisabeth Mehra, was an earnest plea of a pure child of God to our Father in Heaven that created a profound spiritual opening to the messages of the evening.
“She began with an appeal to Heavenly Father to strengthen her as it were the first time in her life praying in such a setting. ‘Please help me, so I don’t have any kind of problem in saying a small prayer to you,’ she confided aloud from her heart.
“Recounting her experience, Sister Mehra said she simply wanted to ‘talk to God’ because she was ‘shivering with fear.’ She felt the Spirit as divine help heralded an answer to her prayer. As she calmed down, her prayer brought forth the Spirit strongly, and filled the meeting hall.
“Her simple, sincere prayer moved many. I realized what we were hearing was a heartfelt conversation with Heavenly Father. Isn’t that what prayers are?
“I later learned that Sister Mehra’s prayer drew on a testimony that has grown since 2011 when she first met missionaries at her friend’s home in New Delhi. The way the missionaries spoke about Jesus Christ moved her. In 2012, she was baptized with her two daughters and disabled son.
“In a tender exchange after the meeting, Sister Mehra asked me to pray for her son, and I gladly promised that I would. Her faith and belief in prayer is emblematic of the members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in India.”

One day in an ethics class in 1967, a young professor of theology, Inge Lønning, who later became rector of Oslo University and editor of Church and Culture, stated that people in Norway enjoyed total freedom of choice regarding religion. Rigmor quickly spoke up. “That applies only to members of the state church,” she told him. “Just try and believe some other religion.”
Later, during a class break, she explained to Professor Lønning that her former husband had been misled by misinformation about the Church in a book written by Einar Molland. When Professor Lønning mentioned that he often had lunch with Einar Molland, Rigmor asked him to arrange an interview for her.
And so it was that Rigmor Heistø, a convert of just a few years, found herself in the office of Norway’s leading theologian. “Good morning, Mrs. Heistø,” he greeted her. “I can understand people converting to Catholicism, to Methodism, or to Baptistism. But how can anyone convert to Mormonism?”
With her typical disarming and good-humored candor, Rigmor replied, “If I hadn’t known any more about the Church than you do, it would be the last thing I would have done.” She then asked, “Where did you get this nonsense in your book?” When Professor Molland explained he had found it in books in the university library, she told him that he could have easily received correct information from the mission president, whose office was just a hundred meters down the road. Then she explained the damage that misinformation had done in her home.
Professor Molland was saddened and promised to correct the section about the Church in the next edition. In 1977, true to his word, Professor Molland allowed mission president John Langeland, Sister Heistø, and others to check the section on The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in a revised edition, which was published in 1978. “I have never felt the Spirit move me so much,”remembers Sister Heistø of that important meeting. “When I left Professor Molland’s office, we were the best of friends.”

Take the case of Brother Arvin, for instance. He was young, scarcely out of college. He was a mild-mannered and happy-go-lucky sort of fellow and was never known to have been very serious about anything before; in fact, he was considered to be the community jokester. It is little wonder that the Sunday School superintendency was a bit nervous about his first teaching assignment. Would he use his classroom to act like a stand-up comic and waste the precious and valuable time of his students? Would he study his lesson manual and be prepared to teach the precepts contained therein?
The fears of the superintendency seemed to be well-founded when Brother Arvin appeared for his first lesson with two large suitcases in tow. From past experience, they knew these leather-covered boxes could have contained anything from crumpled newspapers to a live snake.
With the aid of a class member, Brother Arvin set up a table in the classroom, and before prayer, meeting the entire table was littered with a collection of many miscellaneous items, some of which looked as though they had recently been snatched from a quiet resting place in the nearest trash can.
After prayer meeting and opening exercises, a member of the superintendency accompanied Brother Arvin to the class to introduce him. After the opening prayer and an appropriate introduction, Brother Arvin stood before the group. He smiled his infectious smile so broadly his molars were visible. Then he began one of the most interesting and absorbing lessons ever witnessed by anyone in that classroom. The subject matter had been fully mastered, and every point was reinforced through the aid of one of the items Brother Arvin had brought in the suitcases.
He hoisted an old ruler aloft. It was so dim with age and handling by countless hands that the numbers identifying the inches were no longer distinguishable. After everyone in the class had looked at the item, he simply asked, “How do you go about measuring the effectiveness of prayer?”
Spurred on by the sight of that old ruler, the class members were drawn into a most interesting and provocative discussion. Even class members who often were content merely to sit and listen week after week without contributing to discussions voiced their views. Lesson manuals that had heretofore never been opened since they were purchased were scanned for clues to words to communicate the thoughts of those class members who sometimes find it very difficult to put their own thoughts into words.
In subsequent lessons, Brother Arvin used more items, smiled more smiles, and taught superb lessons with the aplomb of a master teacher. Perhaps none quite had the creative magic of the first lesson, but his students readily agreed that the lessons got better as time went on.
Why was Brother Arvin successful? Was it possibly because he was so interesting and unpredictable that no one ever knew what he would bring to class in those suitcases?
Brother Arvin’s success was the result of a number of well-applied precepts. In the first place, his lessons were truly creative. His introduction to a subject was so stimulating that his entire class became caught up with enthusiasm. Brother Arvin was always enthusiastic, and the class sensed it and became enthusiastic also. This, in turn, bolstered his own feelings of well-being and drove him to even greater heights of enthusiasm. The entire process was a delightful circle with creativity as the hub.

About this time, President Joseph F. Smith and his counselors in the First Presidency suggested to members of the Church that they hold a family home evening once each week. Accordingly, my father would gather us around a little table after supper to read the Book of Mormon. We read it from cover to cover that year.
Because Mother had taught me to read, I was privileged to take my turn in reading aloud. What excitement I experienced as we approached the Third book of Nephi and the coming of the Savior! With feelings of sadness we continued through the books of Mormon, Ether, and Moroni. These feelings were strongly reinforced by my father.
Father told me the story of Grandfather Durham, who had been inspired to compose a melody called “The Nephite Lamentation.” Thomas Durham had been promised in a patriarchal blessing that he would hear music as it was sung in the heavens. My father related how one night my grandfather had a dream. In it he saw twenty-four men by a stream. They looked very sad. Their leader arose and addressed them. Then he heard a melody played on what sounded like a trumpet. The impression came to him that it was a dream concerning Moroni and the last twenty-four Nephites. He awoke. In the late hours of the night he went to his little organ and played the tune he had heard and wrote it down. Later, a choir in southern Utah sang the tune to the words of “O My Father,” (Hymns no. 139) and it was published in modified form in the Primary songbook.
Hearing this music and reading the Book of Mormon in these early years with my parents made a forceful impression upon my mind concerning the reality and truth of the Book of Mormon.
I hope that each of you will watch and listen carefully to what your parents say and do. I pray they will teach you well. I also hope that the music you hear in your home will be uplifting and inspiring, because we believe that “if there is anything virtuous, lovely, or of good report or praiseworthy, we seek after these things.” (A of F 1:13.) The place to begin with good things is at home with your family.
Finally, let us all remember the commandment: “Honour thy father and thy mother: that thy days may be long upon the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee.” (Ex. 20:12.)

What an awful day! Today at school I didn’t talk to anyone, I didn’t play with anyone at recess, and I didn’t sit with anyone at lunch. My family has been living in this new town for two weeks, and I still don’t have any friends!
As I walked up to my new house, I saw my younger sister playing with the girl from across the street. She waved. “Hi, Rosa!”
I turned my head and didn’t say anything back. Three girls on our street are the same age as my younger sister. How many girls on our street are my age? None. Not one!
I pushed through the front door and dropped my backpack on the floor.
“Sister Garcia called from the Primary to remind you about activity day today,” Mom said.
“I don’t want to go to activity day,” I grumbled. “I just spent all day with kids I don’t know. I don’t want to spend another hour with girls I don’t know!” Talking to people you don’t know might be easy for some people but not for me.
“I know it’s been hard moving here and leaving all your old friends,” Mom said. “I’ve been praying that we will make some new friends soon.”
“Me too,” I said. “I pray for that every night, but so far Heavenly Father hasn’t answered my prayers. It’s like He isn’t listening.”
Mom squeezed my hand. “Maybe the call from Sister Garcia is your answer,” she said.
“How can that be the answer to my prayers?” I asked.
“Sometimes when we pray, Heavenly Father expects us to do something to help answer our prayers,” Mom said. “It’s called acting in faith. We have to do more than just pray. Sometimes we have to act in faith before we get the blessing.”
“Could it be possible?” I thought. “Could going to activity day really be the answer to my prayers?”
Later, Mom asked me if I wanted a ride to the activity. I took a deep breath and nodded. Even though I was afraid, it felt like the right thing to do.
My heart was beating fast as we arrived at the church. Sister Garcia welcomed me and led me to a chair at the table. Her kind voice and warm smile helped me feel better.
A girl across the table looked at me. “Hi, I’m Teresa,” she said. “Are you new?”
There was a lump in my throat, so I just nodded.
“I think I’ve seen you at school,” Teresa said. “What class are you in?”
I swallowed nervously. “Mrs. Lee’s class,” I told her.
“I’m in the class right next door!” she said.
We talked about our classes and our favorite subjects. As we talked, I was surprised at how much we had in common. We even both liked roller-skating!
When Mom picked me up after the activity, I jumped into the car.
“Mom, can I play with my new friend Teresa?” I waved at Teresa, and she waved back.
Mom thought it was a great idea, and for the rest of the evening, my new friend and I roller-skated up and down my street.
That night as I knelt by my bed, I thanked Heavenly Father for answering my prayers. At first I was scared to go to activity day, but I’m glad I did. I’m glad I was brave enough to act in faith.

Carrying a friend on a ten-mile mountain hike under the hot summer sun may not sound like a great way to spend a day of youth conference, but Todd Beam and Zach Reed of the Seattle Washington Shoreline Stake did just that. The hike would have been nearly impossible for their friend, Travis Freeman, because of physical impairments that require him to walk with crutches. Impossible, that is, without the help of a few good friends.
“Zach and I were on the committee that planned the youth conference. We wanted Travis to be with us,” says Todd. “We just had to figure out a way.”
With the help of a friend, Todd’s dad built a sort of cart with a seat in the middle for Todd and Zach to carry Travis up the mountainside. Dubbed the “Travis Trolley” it became a symbol for the conference, which focused on overcoming trials and giving service.
“I actually think it was harder for Travis than it was for Zach or me,” says Todd. “He had to hold himself up the whole time, and that was hard work.”
Travis, Todd, and Zach were put in the first of eight hike groups, so that if they fell behind, there would be seven more groups of youth and leaders to assist them. Trailing just slightly behind them was another boy, Layne Mohlman, who carried Travis’s crutches to be used at the conclusion of the hike. Even when the handles came off the cart three quarters of the way to the final destination, the boys didn’t give up. Zach carried Travis the rest of the way on his back!
The hike concluded in a large meadow, which, Todd reports, “felt just like coming into the promised land.” Though all the boys were tired, they were happy and proud of their accomplishments. Best of all, Travis had been able to experience the first true hike of his life.
All participants in the conference were given bracelets to wear as a reminder of the theme of the conference. The inscription on the bracelets read: “All these things shall give thee experience, and shall be for thy good. The Son of Man hath descended below them all. Art thou greater than he? Therefore, hold on thy way” (D&C 122:7–9).
As Zach, Todd, Layne, and Travis learned, sometimes, “holding on thy way” means holding on to a friend.

At least once a year, an environmental inspector visits our school district. Typically, the inspector is cordial and small talk is common. Such was the case with Ryan Pethtel. Ryan noticed pictures of my family in my office, so during each visit we exchanged family stories.
During one visit, Ryan noticed a new wedding picture of my son and his wife at the Washington D.C. Temple. Our conversation turned to the temple, the gospel of Jesus Christ, and the Book of Mormon.
“My wife and I have been looking for a church,” he said. “I hope to give my children what you’ve given yours.”
In preparation for Ryan’s next visit, I wrote my testimony inside a copy of the Book of Mormon and took it to my office. But the next year a different environmental inspector came. Ryan no longer worked for the department. My heart sank, but I kept the book in my office in case I felt impressed to give it to someone else.
A year later, however, I received an email from Ryan to set up a visit. He had returned to his old job. When he arrived, our conversation eventually shifted to the Church. When I handed Ryan the copy of the Book of Mormon, he excitedly flipped through it.
A few months later, I joined my husband, Bill, on a high council speaking assignment in Mannington, West Virginia—Ryan’s hometown. Afterward, a sister in the chapel asked me if I knew Ryan and if I had given him a Book of Mormon. She was Ryan’s wife, Stephanie.
Stephanie said she and Ryan had planned to be baptized the night before, but Ryan was sick. What a blessing in disguise! Bill and I were able to attend their rescheduled baptism three weeks later. At their baptism, Ryan mentioned that the Book of Mormon I had given him remained untouched until his wife contacted the missionaries.
My part in their conversion began with placing a picture of the temple in my office. The picture led to a conversation. The conversation led to the Book of Mormon.
Each act was small, but the consequence was great (see Doctrine and Covenants 64:33). My heart swells with gratitude that my small actions made a big difference and led someone to the Savior.

Two semesters back, I had an encounter with a former student that worked for me over 25 years ago on campus. Meeting him was completely unexpected for both of us, and it was a great chance encounter. The next day, he sent me a text to say what a thrill it was to see me again and how a couple of us in the electrical shop had really transformed his life at a time when he was struggling. I had no idea that we had any good influence on this young man, because we were relentless tricksters. After the text message, I reflected on the inspiration that occurred for both of us to meet on campus at such a random time and location, and how the encounter reaffirmed my testimony that we are inspired and inspire others regularly to bring about the Lord’s purposes.

Sue Ann wants to share the gospel with as many people as she can. Recently a friend of hers, Elouise Meyers, finished the missionary discussions and was baptized. Sue Ann explained, “I had an appointment with my bishop and decided to take a buddy with me. I took Elouise. I knew she didn’t know much about the Church. While we were waiting for the bishop, the missionaries walked by. I asked them if they were teaching anyone that night. They answered, ‘No.’ ‘Well,’ I said. ‘Why don’t you teach my friend?’ They set up an appointment.”

Tongues. Did the Prophet Joseph Smith ever speak in tongues? He did. Brigham Young met him for the first time in Kirtland. They had a meeting. Brigham was called upon to pray, and in the course of this prayer spoke in an unknown tongue. When he and the others rose from their knees and were seated, the Prophet addressed them: “Brethren, this tongue that we have heard is the gift of God, for He has made it known unto me, and I shall never oppose anything that comes from Him. I feel the spirit that Brother Brigham has manifested in this gift of tongues, and I wish to speak myself in the tongue that it will please the Lord to give me.” After then speaking for a time in that tongue, Joseph declared: “Brethren, this is the language of our father Adam while he dwelt in Eden; and the time will again come, that when the Lord brings again Zion, the Zion of Enoch, this people will then all speak the language which I have just spoken.”63

Such was the case in my adult life. After I married my high school sweetheart, we had three beautiful children and were enjoying life together as we had planned and hoped. But then my wife died in a tragic accident. I grieved and despaired for nearly two years before my parents and my wife’s parents encouraged me to consider remarrying—both for me and for my children’s benefit.
After fasting and taking the matter to our Father in Heaven in earnest prayer, I felt it was right for me to remarry.
After a person decides to remarry, it may take some time to find a spouse. In my case I wrote to several friends and relatives who understood my circumstances and told them of my desire to remarry. I asked them if they knew of anyone who would be willing to consider becoming a mother to three children and a wife to a Church district president and banker in South America with many demands on his time. After receiving six recommendations, I took a vacation to the United States and ultimately felt prompted to date and eventually propose marriage to my beloved Helen.
Helen brought a two-year-old daughter into our union, and I brought my sons, ages three and six, and my nine-year-old daughter. In time, we had three daughters together, which gave us a blended family of seven children.
Initially, what made our union possible and successful was that we both received answers from our Father in Heaven reassuring us that He approved of our decision to marry. Without that firm base, marriage after what proved to be a short courtship would have been unwise. But I didn’t expect Heavenly Father to do my work for me. Before taking the matter to Him in prayer, I inquired about Helen’s family background, traditions, testimony, and commitment to the Lord. She also learned enough about me so that she felt we would be compatible.
As we courted, each of us quickly saw in the other three very important characteristics necessary to make a marriage and a blended family successful:
Character. Does the person you are considering marrying hold a temple recommend? Is he or she living a life worthy of the Spirit? Has he or she led a life of service in the kingdom of God?
Capability. Can your potential husband support a family? Is your potential wife capable and willing to help you rear your children? Do you both have the determination to make your blended family successful and to rely upon Heavenly Father in doing so?
Capacity. Do you each have necessary spiritual reserves—generated through faith, prayer, service, and sacrifice—that you can call upon when faced with the challenges of uniting a blended family?

I shuddered, remembering that first day I had asked my parents’ permission to be baptized. They knew I had been studying with the Mormons and going to their meetings, but I don’t think they had admitted to themselves how serious I really was. My father is a quiet man, and kind. He thought about it for a long time before he replied. But my mother reacted immediately. Her face went pale and her mouth hard and tight.

“Absolutely not, Michelle,” she said, and her voice sounded cold and deeply angry. “It is absolutely out of the question, so don’t mention it again.”

“But why?” I demanded. “Why?”

“Why?” she screamed back, her eyes blazing. “Because you don’t know what you’re doing. I’m trying to save you from making a terrible mistake, Michelle. I know. You just have to trust me. I know.”

I wondered what awful things she knew or thought she knew about the Mormons. But no matter how persistently I questioned her, she wouldn’t talk. She just kept saying no in that hard, tight way. In the end, though, my father prevailed. He usually did because he was so reasonable and so patient. He kept reminding her that I was 20 years old. In a few months I would be able to decide for myself, without their approval. He reminded her of what a good girl I was: smart and hardworking, obedient and truthful. “She deserves to find her own way in life,” he told my mother gently.

So we made a bargain. I was to meet with the minister of my own church for classes in theology. I was to learn everything I could about the beliefs and doctrines of the church I had belonged to my whole life. In other words, I was to give their way one last, real chance, as much a chance as I had given the Mormons. Then, if I still wanted to leave—to reject their ways, to become a Latter-day Saint—they would give their consent.

Those visits with our minister, I reflected, had led to one of the most solemn, impressive experiences of my life. I remembered vividly how nervous, almost foolish, I had felt as I walked the path to the old stone church and pulled back the heavy door. My footsteps sounded loud and obtrusive as I crossed the hard, polished floor and knocked tentatively on the door of the pastor’s office. The office, itself, was enough to make me feel overwhelmed. It was large and thickly carpeted, and one entire wall was lined with shelves that supported hundreds of thick, old, impressive-looking volumes. Dr. Allred sat in a brown leather chair behind a massive desk, which separated us awkwardly as I perched on the edge of a chair across from him.

“So you think you want to be a Mormon?” he said suddenly, and his face never changed expression. I couldn’t begin to tell what he was thinking. Before I could find an answer, he continued. “It’s your parents’ idea that you come here, isn’t it?”

I nodded, while he gazed at me, until finally a slight smile began to break up the corners of the thin, long line of his mouth. “Well, let’s see what we can do,” he said, leaning forward across the desk.

We met together three different times, and I read the books and pamphlets he gave me. I answered his questions and he answered some of mine, but our discussions were always very polite and restrained. On our last evening together he sat behind his desk and looked across at me, and he left unopened the heavy book we were supposed to talk about together. Instead he lifted his eyebrow in a thoughtful manner and said, “I’ve done what your parents desired, Michelle. But there’s really nothing I can teach you; both you and I know that. What you do now must be your own decision, of course.”

He hesitated, and I found myself leaning forward in my chair, drawn by the expression on his face and something I felt in the tenor of his voice. He pushed his chair back suddenly and rose, walked quickly to the expanse of books and pulled down a small, slender volume. Returning to the desk he set it down firmly, then pushed it over until it rested mere inches from my own hand, which was gripping the smooth edge of the big desk. The lettering on the leather cover was close to me and easy to see. I gave a little gasp as I read the words: Book of Mormon.

“That’s right,” he said, “the Book of Mormon. I get some of the material for my sermons out of that book.” His voice was soft, but it penetrated deep inside me so that my heart began to beat wildly, and I felt a warm, tingling sensation across my skin.

“I would be a Mormon myself if it were possible.” He picked up the volume and balanced it thoughtfully in his hand. “I am a minister; it is my life. It’s all I’ve ever known. My father was a minister, and his father before him.” He paused and looked up, and his eyes held a sadness that was almost an intrusion to look upon. “But if I were you,” he continued in the same soft, firm voice, “I would become a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”

Dr. Allred rose and replaced the book. I rose from my chair. I knew there was nothing left to be said between us, but I was wrong. At the door he shook my hand warmly, holding me with his eyes. “What I said tonight I have said for you alone. If you repeat it, I will deny that it was ever spoken. And you know, of course, which of us would be believed.”

I nodded, trying to answer with my eyes and my smile, too overwhelmed to be able to do more, and walked home alone through the crisp, silent night.

The next week I was baptized. None of my family attended the baptism. This was something I wanted to do, and I had their permission. But permission and support are not the same thing. Even my kindly father could not offer support for something he could neither agree with nor understand.