Gospel Story Finder

Brother Torales softly bears his testimony. He speaks of a loving Savior, of the Prophet Joseph Smith, of living prophets, of the gift of the Holy Ghost. Then he recounts to his family an experience that happened on a night such as this:
One dark evening, he and some of his children were walking home on a country road after teaching the gospel to neighbors. As they walked in the light of the moon and stars, they were listening to a cassette tape of the Tabernacle Choir.
“At that moment, I had what seemed to be a vision,” he says. “The heavens opened, and I saw a personage who I understood was the Lord. My family was walking through a scene of great war. People were fighting all around us. But with the Lord near, their fighting didn’t affect us. We walked right through it, unhurt. The Lord led us to a place that was very beautiful. I was filled with light and peace and with an indescribable joy. I imagine that is how it will feel to be in the presence of God.”
Then the scene closed, and President Torales found himself still walking in the moonlight with his children. They were unaware of what had just happened, so he described it to them. It has been a source of great hope for the family ever since.
“I believe it represented things in our lives and in the future,” says President Torales. “Even though there are wars and problems all around us, if we stay close to our Heavenly Father, we can walk through them and be blessed.”

Tom Geffe wasn’t exactly “golden.” He called the missionaries names. He threw the Book of Mormon in the trash. He smoked. He drank. He swore.
All the more reason to love him. That was the attitude of his twin brother, Bill, and the members of the St. Peters Ward. Bill and Tom started the discussions at the same time. Tom dropped out but Bill got baptized.
“Bill would give me books and I wouldn’t read them,” Tom says now. “He would tell me he was learning about the priesthood, and I would think, Yeah, you’re crazy.”
Bill kept at it.
“I’d go to Church activities,” Tom says. “But I’d always be the rebel. I was just in it for the fun.”
Bill invited Tom to youth conference. Tom figured he’d skip the spiritual parts.
“But I ended up at this big testimony meeting. All of these kids were bearing their testimonies. One nonmember girl said she knew the Church was true and she was going to be baptized. Her testimony was so powerful I thought, Wow! I want to be a part of that!”
The change was immediate. Tom quit smoking, quit drinking, quit swearing. He started the discussions again, started reading the Book of Mormon. Tom discovered the gospel was setting him free. “I felt better about myself. I felt free to be the things I really wanted to be.”
The missionaries asked Tom to join the Church. He felt it was right, but wanted to be sure. They all prayed.
“I felt really warm inside, and a big smile came over my face,” Tom explains. “I knew I should be baptized.
“People who knew me before could not believe I was joining the Church,” Tom says. “But it was the best thing I ever did. It sticks with me every day, knowing Heavenly Father loves me.”
The story doesn’t end there. Bill, who was a year ahead in school, is serving in the Texas Houston East Mission. He relies a lot on Tom’s letters of encouragement. “He tells me the same things I used to tell him,” Bill says. “Keep on trying, even when it’s hard. Stay strong.
“I don’t know if I have more I-want-to-go-home days than other missionaries,” Bill says. “But when I have one I’ll reread a letter, or look at Tom’s picture, and think how we’ve been able to help each other. It gives me courage to go on.”
Tom also plans on a mission.

While a stake president is normally found among the current leadership of the stake, there are exceptions. On one occasion we interviewed brethren into the late evening, unable to feel the confirming Spirit among the outstanding men we were meeting. Finally, after exhausting the prepared list of those to interview, we turned to respected men not currently serving in leadership positions. As we met with a Gospel Doctrine teacher at 10:00 p.m., the Lord powerfully confirmed this was His selection. Only after extending the call did we learn that he had been at his home, awaiting our phone call. Several months earlier, before any announcement of a change in the stake presidency, he and his wife were awakened in the night knowing that the calling would come to him.

As an example of the Lord’s timing in my life, I had been at my new job in the BYU Athletic Department for about three weeks when I had to go down to Las Vegas for a business meeting as part of the conference basketball tournament. I woke up very early to make the long drive in time for my meeting at noon. My wife and I prayed fervently that I would make it safely. Caleb had been in the hospital for a few weeks, and we had been up many late nights to be with him. Despite every precaution and physical effort I could make, just outside of St. George I fell asleep in the blink of an eye while driving full speed down the freeway.
I woke up to find myself heading down a hill into the median dividing the highway—one set of tires on the pavement, the other set in the weeds and gravel. I quickly spun the wheel to take me back on the road, but this only caused me to do a 180-degree turn across the lanes of traffic. Thankfully no other cars were near me. Once I got to the far right side of the road, I had the fleeting thought that I could pull it off and would be able to stop the car on the right shoulder. Not so. I think the car was still traveling about 60 to 70 miles per hour when I slammed into the sand and sagebrush, flipping the car over.
Eventually the car came to an abrupt stop with me hanging upside down by my seat belt. I undid the catch and fell to the floor—which had been the roof of the car. It was impossible to open any of the car doors. They were all wedged shut because the car had become fairly flattened to the ground. I climbed through a window, since all the glass in the vehicle had shattered.
Besides a bruised and embarrassed ego, I was completely unharmed. The only cut I had was a small slice on my hand where a piece of glass had stuck me when I released myself from the seat belt and fell to the ground. After being checked out by the police (who also issued me a ticket), my sweet grandmother who lived in St. George somehow let me borrow her car so I could finish my trip to Las Vegas. I walked into my meeting about fifteen minutes late.
The hard part was telling my boss, Tom Holmoe—who was also at the basketball tournament—that I had destroyed a university vehicle during my first month on the job. To make a bad situation worse, my seat at the basketball game following the meeting happened to be directly in front of President Samuelson. I spent the game pulling glass out of my hair as inconspicuously as possible.
In my mind the timing of that wreck was life turning one degree colder. I was trying to make a good first impression at my job. My wife and I were doing our best to take care of a sick child. We had prayed for safety.
The Lord’s timing and purpose were made clear over the following days and months. Tom is a great boss and has never held the accident and the loss of the car against me. The university eventually replaced the car but thankfully didn’t have to replace me—because I was still alive. The Lord had preserved me from what should have been a fatal accident. Having come so close to death helped me more fully appreciate my life and the people around me. I especially enjoyed the time spent with Caleb late at night when I would wake up to take care of him. Not only did it mean I was still alive, but Caleb was too.

I thought about Dean Smoot’s comments, and how we as humans constantly try to push the laws of nature as well as the laws of God, when I read in the newspaper about a young man celebrating his birthday at a hotel. He and his friends had been drinking and were probably not thinking clearly when he decided to jump from one tenth-floor balcony to the next. Being successful the first time, he attempted a second leap and fell to his death. “We were just out having a good time,” said his friend, “but now] I realize how quickly life can be taken away.”

This definition of pride—as much as I hate to admit it—made me realize that I am prideful, in the sense that I’m often in opposition to my husband. Even small decisions can turn into heated discussions that end with both of our feelings hurt.
For example, I’ve caught myself thinking, “I’m tired, so he can just cook dinner tonight,” without considering that my husband might be just as tired—or more tired—than I am. This thinking usually leads to a “who’s more tired” contest, which just leaves both of us annoyed—and still hungry.
I absolutely love my husband, but by virtue of being human, neither of us are perfect. We both do our best, but there are moments when we still let pride come between us.

Finally, I’ll always remember a man I met when I was driving a delivery van through downtown Seattle. I was earning money for my mission. I met a wide variety of people, but Larry was the most interesting by far. I had just run some boxes into a store and was hustling back to my van when he came up alongside and extended his hand.
“Hi, my name is Larry. Will you be my friend?”
“You bet,” I agreed with a smile. It was plain that Larry was mentally disabled. I’m sure some thought it was funny he would walk up to a total stranger asking for friendship. But I believe Larry was only innocently asking out loud the same question so many ask silently, Will you be my friend? If we would all just say, “Sure,” wouldn’t it be cool? Cool-aid.
We all know how it feels to be thirsty, so thirsty we can hardly stand it. I’m convinced that’s how many in the world feel right now, thirsty for attention, approval, acceptance, and love. We can do something about it! By giving cool-aid—the coolest aid of real selfless service—to those around us, we can quench the thirst that our brothers and sisters have and leave joy that will last longer than the purple mustaches on my upper lip ever did.

When I was nine years old, I was the only Mormon student in a very large private Catholic school in Ibadan, Nigeria. It was announced one day that the archbishop of the Ibadan Diocese would be coming to our school, and everyone was very excited. He is a very important person, and he makes such a visit only every four years. Great preparations were made—the school was repainted and decorated with flowers and balloons, the lawn was cut, and we were all reminded that we should look our very best on this special day. On the day of the visit, I woke up two hours earlier than usual just so I could get ready. I was very excited to wear my new school uniform, and I was eager to show it to my brothers and sisters before I left for school.
At eight o’clock, all the teachers and students were waiting when the honored guest arrived. After he greeted us and made a few remarks, he asked, “Who was Saint Martha?” The hall was quiet. After several moments of uncomfortable silence, he asked the question two more times. It was easy to see that the archbishop was disappointed because no one answered his question.
I felt very nervous. I was confused when he asked about Saint Martha, but I felt sure I knew the right answer. I had learned about Martha in Primary, but I was afraid to raise my hand—partly because I belonged to a different church and partly because I was so shy. I had not even talked much to my classmates, and answering this question would mean standing in front of a crowd of more than 1,000 people!
But I remembered how I always stood up in church to bear my testimony, and the Spirit gave me the courage I needed. The next thing I knew, my hand was in the air and I was being called on to answer. I then found myself standing beside the archbishop in front of the largest crowd of people I had ever seen. All eyes seemed to be glued to me. Everyone was waiting for my answer. My legs were shaking as I stated that Martha was the sister of Mary and Lazarus. There was another silence after I answered. Then the archbishop’s expression changed, and he asked me to explain further. I remembered the story from Primary, and I told about Jesus Christ’s visit to Mary and Martha and about how he raised Lazarus from the dead (see Luke 10:38–42 and John 11:20–45).
The archbishop seemed very impressed with my answer and asked for a round of applause for me. He then shook my hand, hugged me, and asked which Catholic church I attended. I explained that I am a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and that I learned these things in my church Primary class. He smiled and said, “Gbenga, you have made me very happy today. I am very proud of you, your church, and whoever taught you. Without you, nobody would have answered that question, and I would have been greatly disappointed.” He then rewarded me with a scholarship for my last year at the school. This made me feel very thankful for the Church, my Primary teacher, my family, and the Spirit of God, which directed me.
Since that day, I have been referred to as “scholarship boy.” Every time I hear that phrase, it brings back good memories and reminds me that I should always listen to the promptings of the Spirit.

I hearkened back to the teachings that came from my home: I was taught obedience as a very young man. I’m happy for that teaching. I’ll never forget the time when I was eighteen and signed a professional baseball contract. As I was ready to go to spring training for the first time, my mother said, “Glen, I’ve got a piece of advice for you.”
“Yes, Mother dear, what would that be?”
“Put on a clean pair of socks every day.”
I thought, “Gee, that’s good advice.” But after the eighth day I couldn’t even get my shoes on. As a result of that training, when I was asked to occupy this position, I immediately said yes.

Howard R. Driggs tells of an incident in the life of the poet Longfellow that illustrates the concept I would like to stress:
“It happened that, while the poet, at over eighty years of age, was still teaching at Harvard, one of his appreciative students asked him, ‘How do you keep so perennially young, Professor Longfellow? We never get tired of your classes. You always have something new and interesting to give.’
“‘I’ve never had that question put to me before,’ returned the poet. Then, looking out of the window, he said, ‘Do you see those two apple trees in the yard?’
“‘Yes.’
“‘Do you observe any difference between the blossoms on the older tree and those on the younger one?’
“‘No,’ replied the student, ‘they look just alike to me.’
“‘How do you account for the fact that the old apple tree flowers out as beautifully as does the young one?’ persisted the teacher.
“‘I can’t explain it.’
“‘Let me tell you the secret. That old tree managed last year to grow enough wood to put forth its new blossoms. Blossoms, you know, always come on the new wood.’
“‘Oh, I see,’ said the young man, ‘to keep young one must keep growing.’
“‘Yes,’ came the quiet response” (in Especially for Mormons, comp. Stan and Sharon Miller, Provo, Utah: Kellirae Arts, 1978, 4:2–3).

The day two activity for young men was river trekking. They were asked to wear white shirts and neckerchiefs. Since there was a very recent downpour, the river was filled with ankle to knee-high deep water. Young Men leaders were situated in front, in the middle, and at the back of the pack. We were having a great time appreciating the Lord’s creation in the company of fellow priesthood holders.
We began feeling the heat of the sun as proceeded with the trek. Most young men took their neckerchiefs off. Many of them dropped their neckerchiefs just about anywhere. I was prompted to pick up every neckerchief I saw along the riverbank.
After about two hours of trekking, our stake president instructed the leaders in front to start our way out of the riverbanks. Thirty minutes have passed, and we still could not find a safe exit.
Finally, the leaders found an opening, but the climb was quite steep. We tried the suggested route but found out that it was too slippery and that it was almost impossible for us to climb up and out of the riverbank. We figured we needed to hold on to something to pull ourselves up the hill and out. Going back or finding another route was too tedious and was going to take longer. We each said a prayer in our hearts for a miracle to happen.
I was reminded of the neckerchiefs I collected. We tied each end together until we were able to create a strong enough rope where the young men could hold on to and pull themselves out. With everyone helping each other, we were all able to get out safely. That was the miracle of the neckerchief!

President Kimball’s life has been one full of service to the Church. From 1914 to 1916 he served in the Central States Mission, after which he attended the University of Arizona. He served as clerk and counselor to the president of the St. Joseph Stake and as president of the Mt. Graham Stake. Then in July 1943 he received a phone call from Salt Lake City that stunned him and changed his life. When President J. Reuben Clark, Jr., informed President Kimball over the telephone of his call to the Council of the Twelve, he was so overwhelmed that he blurted out, “Not me, Brother Clark! You can’t mean that!”
When his son had told him there was a phone call from Salt Lake City, he had had a premonition it was about a high Church calling, but he didn’t think it would be the apostleship. Later he said of the experience, “My heart pounded fiercely. I was virtually speechless. I felt as though the sky had fallen in—this seemed utterly impossible.” The Lord had chosen him to be an apostle through his mouthpiece on the earth, President Heber J. Grant. President Kimball was ordained an apostle and set apart as a member of the Council of the Twelve October 7, 1943.
Speaking of that call President Kimball has said, “In these long weeks since July eighth, I can tell you that I have been overwhelmed and have felt that I was unable to carry on this great work; that I was unworthy; that I was incapable because of my weaknesses and my limitations. I have felt many times that I was up against a blank wall. And in that interim I have been out in the desert and in high mountains alone, apart, and have poured out my soul to God. I have taken courage, from one or two scriptures which constantly came to my mind and of which people continued to remind me. One was from Paul and as I felt so foolish, small, and weak, I remembered that he said: ‘Because the foolishness of God is wiser than men; and the weakness of God is stronger than men. For ye see your calling, brethren, how that not many wise men, after the flesh, not many mighty, not many noble are called: But God hath chosen the foolish things of the world to confound the wise: and God hath chosen the weak things of the world to confound the things which are mighty; … that no flesh should glory in his presence.’ (1 Cor. 1:25–29.)
“When my feeling of incompetence wholly overwhelmed me, I remembered the words of Nephi when he said: ‘… I will go and do the things which the Lord hath commanded, for I know that the Lord giveth no commandments unto the children of men, save he shall prepare a way for them that they may accomplish the thing which he commanded them.’ (1 Ne. 3:7.) I want to tell you that I lean heavily on these promises, that the Lord will strengthen and give me growth and fit and qualify me for this great work. I have seen the Lord qualify men. In my church experiences I have helped to make many bishops. I have seen them grow and prosper and become great and mighty men in the church; men who were weak and men who were foolish, and they became strong and confounded the wise, and so I rely upon that promise of the Lord that he will strengthen and empower me that I may be able to do this work to which I have been called.” (Improvement Era, November 1943, p. 702.)

In the military service during World War II, I associated with some fine young men of great promise. But little by little, I saw some of them turn from the decent, God-fearing qualities of Dr. Jekyll and revert to the baseness of a Mr. Hyde. For some, it began by drinking coffee because the water was foul, and the water decontamination pills had such an unpleasant taste. The coffee led some to take an occasional drink of beer. Every soldier serving overseas was allocated a ration of cigarettes and an occasional bottle of whiskey, which were worth considerable money.
President George Albert Smith (1870–1951) once gave this advice: “If you cross to the devil’s side of the line one inch, you are in the tempter’s power, and if he is successful, you will not be able to think or even reason properly, because you will have lost the spirit of the Lord.”4 Some soldiers stayed on the safe side of the line and never experimented with nor trafficked in these addicting substances, even though they were given to us free. But others would sample the cigarettes or alcohol as a diversion to the challenges of the war. A few were even drawn away into immorality, believing that the stress of war justified lowering their standards and letting the Mr. Hyde side of their personalities take over.
After the war, those who had become addicted to tobacco, alcohol, and immorality found that they could not readily shake off these bad habits. The young men who had started out with such potential crossed that line inch by inch, robbing themselves and their families of the promised happiness and experiencing instead divorce, broken families, and heartaches.
Those who never lowered their standards did not succumb to these addictions. They came through that stressful period of their lives stronger and more prepared to lead productive, exemplary, and happy lives as faithful fathers and grandfathers of righteous families. They have also served as honored and respected leaders in the Church and in the community.

That’s a fine looking hole you’re digging, son,” Daddy said. “What’s it going to be?”
“A grave,” Aaron answered.
Daddy’s brow wrinkled thoughtfully. “A grave? What for?”
“A bird. Katie found it. We’re about ready for the funeral. Do you want to come?”
“I think I might,” Daddy replied.
Just then Katie marched solemnly down the walk, bearing a shoe box in her arms. Andy, Jana, and Shauna followed, carrying peach blossoms and flowers.
“Do you want to look in the box, Daddy?” Katie asked, lifting the lid.
There on a fluff of blue silk lay a robin, red breast up and feet sticking in the air.
“Poor little fellow,” Daddy said.
“Mama said he’s probably quite happy,” Katie responded.
“By the way, where is Mama?” Daddy asked.
“Coming,” Mama called. She had stopped to pick a daffodil.
Gently Katie laid the box in the hole.
“Your robin is being buried by my lizard,” Andy remarked.
“His lizard had a silent funeral, because lizards don’t make any sound,” Jana explained to her parents.
“When we have funerals for creatures, we do the same as they do,” Aaron elaborated. “That’s why we don’t preach in bird funerals, because birds don’t preach. They just sing. So now we’ll sing.”
Katie waved her arms and everyone sang, “Up, up in the sky, where the little birds fly …” After the song, Aaron carefully shoveled dirt over the box, mounding it neatly, then everyone arranged their flowers on top.
“Have a nice sleep, little bird,” Katie said. Looking up at Mama and Daddy, she added “We’ve named this place Sleepy Hollow.”
“How lovely,” Mama said.
As the family sat around the supper table that evening, the children were thoughtful.
“Mama, why did you say Katie’s robin was probably happy?” Jana asked.
“I know,” Andy spoke up, “because it doesn’t have to eat worms anymore.”
“How do you know?” Aaron asked.
“Because robins will go to heaven and worms won’t.”
“Who said so?” Aaron persisted.
“Both Mama and Daddy,” answered Andy. “When Mama found a worm in her apple, she said, ‘Ugh, the filthy thing.’ And you remember when Daddy read to us that no filthy thing would go to heaven?”
“Inherit the kingdom of heaven,” Aaron corrected.
“It means the same thing. Worms won’t get to heaven.”
“How do you know robins will?” Aaron asked.
“They will,” Katie piped up, “because robins are always cheerful. Even when it rains, they sing.”
“Daddy, will there be birds in heaven?” Aaron asked.
“I can’t quite imagine heaven without them,” Daddy answered.
“What about rabbits and squirrels?” Jana asked.
“I can only tell you what the scriptures say about it,” Daddy replied. “Usually, when we talk about the resurrection, we think of people. But the scriptures teach us that man, the earth, and all the life upon it will be resurrected, mentioning especially the beasts, the fowls of the air, and the fishes of the sea. The Savior gave His life so that everything would rise from the dead, even lizards and robins.”
“Where will everything go?” asked Aaron.
“There will be a place prepared for everything. The Bible tells us that John saw noble beasts in heaven.”
There was a thoughtful silence, then Andy spoke. “I know some noble beasts—our cow and Grandpa’s horse.”
“Woodpeckers are noble,” Katie added. “You should see the noble hole one pecked in Uncle Perry’s barn. The sparrows later built a nest in it.”
“Heavenly Father is mindful of all His creations,” Mama said. “And He knows exactly where they will go, for they are important to Him.”
“That’s what our Primary teacher said in the lesson about being kind to animals,” Jana added.
“I like to think about having pets in heaven,” Andy remarked.
Leaning contentedly back in her chair, Katie sighed. “I’m thinking what heaven must really be like. I can imagine bluebirds and pink birds and yellow and green birds all singing and baby kittens purring and flowers blooming and lots of strawberries to eat. Heaven will have families who love each other just like we do. And we can thank Jesus for what He did for us.”
“You’re right, dear,” Mama said. “And when you kneel and pray to our Father in heaven in the name of Jesus Christ, you can thank Him now and every day.”

In my late teens I joined the Church against the wishes of my family. When I was in my 20s, I began working on my family history after my father passed away. Soon after, I became a busy wife and mother raising young children, and the family history work stopped.
Because I didn’t have any family in the Church, I had a strong desire to research my family history. I loved doing it and always longed to have more time to work on it.
When I was 33, my life took an unexpected turn when my health began to decline. Where I once was able to hike with my family, taking a walk around the block became difficult. Cleaning house in two hours on a Saturday became impossible, and I was just happy if I could get through vacuuming. Where I once had a large circle of friends, now my circle of friends declined because I could no longer be there for them as I had in the past.
It was at this time that I began to take up my family history again. My daughter began doing research for her dad’s side and in one evening completed work that had taken me years to do. I completed several generations on my line and submitted the names to the temple for the work to be completed. I had always wanted to go through the temple for my family members myself, but my health and the distance from the temple made it impossible.
After submitting the names, I began to cry, feeling like I had let my family members down since I wouldn’t be there with them on the special day the ordinances were done for them. A week later as I logged on to FamilySearch.org to check the progress of their temple work, I saw something amazing. Not only was the work being completed, but members in the Accra Ghana Temple were doing the work! I was so surprised to see members halfway around the world completing temple work for my little family. I burst into tears again thinking of the sacrifices of the people in Ghana as they made their way to the temple for my family. I am so grateful for those members of the Accra Ghana Temple district who did what I could not: attend the temple and grant my family the blessing of temple ordinances.

This is illustrated by a news commentary, the author of which is Michael Josephson. Mr. Josephson said:
Though I get special pleasure out of hosting Thanksgiving dinner for my large extended family, the real burden of the holiday falls on the lovely shoulders of my wife, Anne. She's the one who deals with tenting the yard and organizing the feast including three turkeys and a symphony of side dishes. And she does all this while juggling our four young children, a big dog and two new puppies. So you can understand if her enthusiasm for the holiday is more muted.
There was a time when I thought she was going to resign. It was a week after she planned and hosted a business reception at our home for nearly 100 people and she was weary. She told me how she had come to dread the pressure and work of Thanksgiving. Then, just as I was bracing myself to hear her renounce the job, she completely surprised me by changing direction. 'This year,' she said, 'I have a whole new feeling toward the holiday. I've been thinking about it a lot and I've decided to be grateful rather than resentful.' Then she told me how lucky we are to have such a large and close family and the space and resources to provide Thanksgivings that our children will always remember.
Can you see why I love her so much? She has taught me that gratitude is not always a spontaneous emotion; often, it's a matter of choice. It's a perspective of appreciation that doesn't necessarily make life easier, but it always makes it better.

I read of a young woman who exercised that kind of faith and trust. For many months her mother had been seriously ill. Finally, the faithful father called the children to her bedside and told them to say good-bye to their mother because she was dying. The twelve-year-old daughter protested:
“Papa, I do not want my mamma to die. I have been with her in the hospital … for six months; time and time again … you have administered to her, and she has been relieved of her pain and quietly gone to sleep. I want you to lay hands upon my mamma and heal her.”
The father, who was Elder Heber J. Grant, told the children that he felt in his heart that their mother’s time had arrived. The children left, and he knelt by his wife’s bedside. Later he recalled his prayer: “I told the Lord I acknowledged his hand in life [and] in death. … But I told the Lord that I lacked the strength to have my wife die and to have it affect the faith of my little children.” He pleaded with the Lord to give his daughter “a knowledge that it was his mind and his will that her mamma should die.”
Within an hour the mother died. When Elder Grant called the children back into her room and told them, his little six-year-old boy began to weep bitterly. The twelve-year-old sister took him in her arms and said: “Do not weep, Heber; since we went out of this room, the voice of the Lord from heaven has said to me, In the death of your mamma the will of the Lord shall be done” (Bryant S. Hinckley, Heber J. Grant: Highlights in the Life of a Great Leader, Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Co., 1951, pp. 243–44).

“Once, when I was about seven years old, Mother gave me a dollar bill and asked me to go to Joe Wood’s market to buy a pound of hamburger. As Joe Wood put the hamburger on the counter, I put my hand in my pocket for the money—but the dollar bill was gone! I just panicked. I said to him, ‘I’ll have to come back later,’ then ran out of the store and retraced my steps, looking for the money. I couldn’t find it. I got all the way back home without finding it.
“I couldn’t face Mother and tell her I’d lost the dollar, so I ducked under the kitchen window and went around to the coal shed. I knelt down on the ground and told Heavenly Father that I just had to find that money. Then I crawled back under the window and went down the street again. There in the parking lot I found the dollar! Gratefully, I picked it up and went into the store to pay Joe Wood his money and get the hamburger.

Once I had a treasured friend, Hyrum Adams, who seemed to experience more of life’s troubles and frustrations than he could bear. Finally he lay in the hospital, terminally ill. I knew not that he was there.
Sister Monson and I had gone to that same hospital to visit another person who was very ill. As we exited the hospital and proceeded to where our car was parked, I felt the distinct impression to return and ask whether Hyrum Adams might be a patient there. Long years before, I had learned never, never, to postpone a prompting from the Lord. It was late, but a check with the desk clerk confirmed that indeed Hyrum was a patient.
We proceeded to his room, knocked on the door, and opened it. We were not prepared for the sight that awaited us. Balloon bouquets were everywhere. Prominently displayed on the wall was a poster with the words “Happy Birthday” written on it. Hyrum was sitting up in his hospital bed, his family by his side. When he saw us, he said, “Why, Brother Monson, how in the world did you know that this is my birthday?” I smiled but I left the question unanswered.
Those in the room who held the Melchizedek Priesthood surrounded this, their father and my friend, and a priesthood blessing was given.
After tears were shed, smiles of gratitude exchanged, and tender hugs received and given, I leaned over to Hyrum and spoke softly to him: “Hyrum, remember the words of the Lord, for they will sustain you. He promised, ‘I will not leave you comfortless: I will come to you’” (John 14:18).

You may be a modern mighty woman of Israel in the face of great tragedy. One such modern mighty woman of Israel is your age. She served as a missionary with us in Guatemala. She just finished her graduate degree and will soon be getting married. During our service in Guatemala, she and her companion were kidnapped. Heavenly Father would not let me share that difficult and miraculous experience with you today. However, the Spirit does allow me to quote one of the first things she stated upon her safe release: “We taught them [meaning the kidnappers] all of the lessons.”

She recently had to face the loss of her father in a tragic accident. After the accident, but before his passing, she told my wife and me that she knew Heavenly Father had prepared her to face hard things. In a humble and committed manner, she indicated that she was prepared and would valiantly face what Heavenly Father asked of her. Of course she wanted her dad to survive, yet she knew she was prepared to accept the will of Heavenly Father. She taught her mission president what it means to be a modern mighty woman of Israel.