Gospel Story Finder

Six-year-old John sat intently listening in Primary as two missionaries talked to the children about missionary work. They explained that Jesus Christ wants every member of the Church to tell people about His true Church.
The missionaries told the children that they were not too young to be missionaries. They could give a copy of the Book of Mormon to relatives or friends who didn’t belong to the Church. And they could also invite them to church or ask them if they would like to have the missionaries teach them about the gospel.
The missionaries asked the children to think of someone they would like to tell about the true Church. Then they challenged the children to talk to that person about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints that week.
John knew exactly whom he wanted to tell about the Church. He loved Grandma Linford very much and wanted her to know about Jesus Christ’s true Church. Grandma did go to church, but not to the church that John and his family went to. He thought carefully about how to ask Grandma to come to church with him.
A few days later, John and his family drove to Grandma’s house. Grandma greeted John and his two sisters, Rachel and Rebecca, with hugs. Soon everyone was busy talking and helping get dinner ready. John couldn’t wait until after dinner to ask his question; it was too important. He whispered to Grandma: “Could I talk to you alone for a minute? I have a very important question to ask you.”
Wiping her hands and looking deep into John’s eyes, she said: “Of course. Let’s go into the living room.”
As Grandma sat down, John’s heart started pounding. Would Grandma listen to his question? Would she come to church with him? He was trying to do what the missionaries had suggested. He had to be brave enough to tell others about Jesus Christ.
“Grandma, will you come to my church sometime?” John asked.
“Well, Sundays are pretty busy days for Grandpa and me, but we’d be happy to go to your church with you,” Grandma said.
“That’s great,” John said. “We belong to the true Church and I want you and Grandpa to belong to the true Church too. We have a prophet and the Book of Mormon and CTR rings.”
Suddenly, John thought he had said too much because Grandma got tears in her eyes. Then she hugged John, kissed him on the cheek, and thanked him for telling her about his Church and inviting her to come. Before Grandma could get another word out, John asked her if she would read the Book of Mormon and listen to the missionaries.
“You are the best missionary ever,” Grandma said. “I love you so much!” Then she hugged him again. Grandma asked John what ward he went to. John said the Third Ward. Grandma said that she and Grandpa went to the 11th Ward. Grandma asked John what church he belonged to. He said, “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.” Grandma said that she and Grandpa belonged to that same church too. John looked confused. Grandma explained that there are thousands of wards all around the world and each one is part of Jesus’s true Church. Not all of Jesus’s followers could fit in one building, but they could all learn His true teachings in a ward where they live. She told John that after dinner they could drive to see the sign in front of her ward building that said “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.” It looked just like the sign at John’s ward building.
John hugged Grandma and said, “Oh, Grandma, I’m so thankful that we are both members of Jesus’s true Church!”

The first time I experienced the power of the Book of Mormon in the life of a convert, I was serving as a missionary in France. My British companion and I spent much of our time knocking on doors—with few results. One afternoon a distinguished, middle-aged lady opened her door. She had little time for us that day, but we left a Book of Mormon and made an appointment to return two days later. When we returned to her apartment and the door opened, I felt a powerful spiritual feeling. She was eager to see us. She had been reading the book and had experienced the powerful feelings of the Holy Ghost. She spoke of her joy and peace. She was prepared for whatever course we as the Lord’s servants would invite her to take.
It was in the cold of February. Our city had no chapel, so we installed a portable baptismal font in an old wooden barn. The steam from the warm water filled the air. The humble members of the branch surrounded the portable font as this sister climbed up the stairs and then down into the water to be baptized a member of the Church.
The peace expressed by this wonderful sister echoed the words of Parley P. Pratt (1807–57) as he spoke about his first encounter with the Book of Mormon: “As I read, the spirit of the Lord was upon me, and I knew and comprehended that the book was true, as plainly and manifestly as a man comprehends and knows that he exists.”

Buried in the sock drawer of my dresser is a baseball. Sometimes while looking for an elusive missing sock, I’ll pull that baseball out, roll it around in my hand, and examine it. At first glance, it’s a normal, slightly used baseball, but it’s actually much more.
In the 1960s my family was living in the suburbs of Pittsburgh. We lived in a diverse neighborhood. My friends were all of different ethnic and religious backgrounds, which led to some pretty deep discussions even as grade schoolers. But the one thing we all agreed on was baseball and the Pittsburgh Pirates.
In 1960, the Pirates won the World Series, beating the Yankees in a close series. One pitcher for the Pirates was Vernon Law. The media had dubbed him “The Deacon,” because he was Mormon. He went to the same meetinghouse as I did, and I was friends with his kids. After the Pirates won the World Series, “The Deacon” brought a bunch of signed baseballs to hand out at church. The balls had been signed by most of the team including Roberto Clemente, Smoky Burgess, Bob Skinner, Bill Mazeroski, Dick Groat, and, of course, Vernon Law. I was lucky enough to get one of the balls. On the ride home from church, I couldn’t wait to show my friends. That ball became my pride and joy. I placed it on the dresser in my bedroom, where I could admire it every day.
Summer meant playing baseball. Games would go on for hours with no limit on innings. Sometimes the scores would run into the hundreds! We would play in empty lots, someone’s backyard, or in the street. One thing that always seemed to present a challenge for us was actually finding a ball to play with. Pittsburgh is very hilly and wooded. A wild throw or foul tip could land deep in the trees, never to be found. We lost lots of balls.
On one muggy afternoon, we were trying to get a game up, and as usual we couldn’t find a ball anywhere. One of my friends suggested that we use my prized, signed ball. I resisted but eventually gave in to the pressure and ran home to get my 1960 Pirates World Series ball.
After the game, I took the ball home, examining it carefully. It had a few scrapes and grass stains on it, but I thought it wasn’t too bad. Still, I felt sick to my stomach. I put it back on the dresser where it sat until the next time we needed a ball. This time it was a little easier to use it. It already had a few scrapes on it; a few more wouldn’t do a lot of harm.
Each time it became easier and easier to justify using the ball. After a while, the names were totally covered in grass stains. It was pretty scuffed up. I tried to clean it with some soap and water, but that made it worse. I didn’t want to see the ball anymore, so I put it in a drawer, out of sight. I was embarrassed and ashamed of what I’d done and didn’t want to be reminded every day. I’d taken one of my prized possessions and ruined it for a stupid game. I’ve kept that ball all these years, still in my dresser drawer.
As I roll it around in my hand, I can still visualize the names written on the clean, white leather. The names are almost invisible now, covered with stains, or rubbed off by use. I suppose I keep the ball as a reminder of the foolishness of youth or the consequences of bad choices. The lessons are there to be learned. How easily we sacrifice our most valuable possession for fleeting enjoyment. How easily we give in to peer pressure. My baseball can never be restored to its original condition. But if we sin, the Lord Jesus Christ, through His Atonement, gives us the opportunity to repent and have Him clean the grass stains and scuff marks off our souls and restore them to a spotless condition.

A few years ago, our little family went through what many families face in this fallen world. Our youngest son, Tanner Christian Lund, contracted cancer. He was an incredible soul, as nine-year-olds tend to be. He was hilariously mischievous and, at the same time, stunningly spiritually aware. Imp and angel, naughty and nice. When he was little and was every day bewildering us with his shenanigans, we wondered if he was going to grow up to be the prophet or a bank robber. Either way, it seemed that he was going to leave a mark on the world.
And then he became desperately ill. Over the next three years, modern medicine employed heroic measures, including two bone marrow transplants, where he caught pneumonia, requiring him to spend 10 weeks unconscious on a ventilator. Miraculously, he recovered for a short time, but then his cancer returned.
Shortly before he passed away, Tanner’s disease had invaded his bones, and even with strong pain medicines, still he hurt. He could barely get out of bed. One Sunday morning, his mom, Kalleen, came into his room to check on him before the family left for church. She was surprised to see that he had somehow gotten himself dressed and was sitting on the edge of his bed, painfully struggling to button his shirt. Kalleen sat down by him. “Tanner,” she said, “are you sure you are strong enough to go to church? Maybe you should stay home and rest today.”
He stared at the floor. He was a deacon. He had a quorum. And he had an assignment.
“I’m supposed to pass the sacrament today.”
“Well, I’m sure someone could do that for you.”
“Yes,” he said, “but … I see how people look at me when I pass the sacrament. I think it helps them.”
So Kalleen helped him button his shirt and tie his tie, and they drove to church. Clearly, something important was happening.
I came to church from an earlier meeting and so was surprised to see Tanner sitting on the deacons’ row. Kalleen quietly told me why he was there and what he had said: “It helps people.”
And so I watched as the deacons stepped to the sacrament table. He leaned gently against another deacon as the priests passed them the bread trays. And then Tanner shuffled to his appointed place and took hold of the end of the pew to steady himself as he presented the sacrament.
It seemed that every eye in the chapel was on him, moved by his struggle as he did his simple part. Somehow Tanner expressed a silent sermon as he solemnly, haltingly moved from row to row—his bald head moist with perspiration—representing the Savior in the way that deacons do. His once indomitable deacon’s body was itself a little bruised, broken, and torn, willingly suffering to serve by bearing the emblems of the Savior’s Atonement into our lives.
Seeing how he had come to think about being a deacon made us think differently too—about the sacrament, about the Savior, and about deacons and teachers and priests.
I wonder at the unspoken miracle that had impelled him that morning to respond so bravely to that still, small call to serve, and about the strength and capacities of all of our emergent youth as they push themselves to respond to a prophet’s call to enlist in God’s battalions and join in the work of salvation and exaltation.

This morning a brown bird flew in our window at school. It almost got tangled in Rosalie’s long black hair. Rosalie screamed, and then all of us screamed. I guess our screaming scared the poor bird, because it started flying around really fast, not looking where it was going. It bumped into the ceiling light, then banged against the chalkboard.
All of us felt sorry for it, and we were afraid it would get hurt if it kept flying around that way. Then I had an idea. I didn’t know if it was a good idea or not, and I almost didn’t suggest it. But no one else had any idea at all, so I said, “Let’s go out into the hall and leave the bird alone.”
Our teacher, Mrs. Rubin, said, “Good idea, Anna.”
We all got up and tiptoed into the hall. Mrs. Rubin closed the door gently. We sat cross-legged on the floor and waited without making a sound.
At first we heard the bird fluttering and flying and crashing into things. Then it got quiet in the room. Our teacher motioned to me to look through the door glass to see what was happening. I stood on tiptoe and peeked.
The bird was sitting on the back of a chair. I could see how fast its heart was beating through the thin part of its feathers. It looked around, saw the open window, and flew toward it and sat on the sill for a minute. Finally, with a swoop, it was gone. I think it needed time to be alone so that it could decide what to do. Sometimes my mom leaves me alone when I get upset about things. I guess that’s why I knew how to help the bird.
Anyway, when we went back inside and sat down to do our morning board work, it was nice to think about the bird at home in the sky.

Sugar Creek was the first camp the pioneers made after they left their warm, comfortable homes in Nauvoo. Within two weeks it was filled with five thousand people, who were waiting for the signal from Brigham Young before going forward on their journey “out west.”
To Tommy and Betsy it was like living in a city, for the tents and wagons were placed along streets as their houses had been in Nauvoo. Between each was a space roofed over with brush to protect it from the weather. There the meals were prepared, and there the children played.
In the center of the camp was a big square, something like a park. On one side of it Tommy and Betsy lived in their covered wagon. Anytime during the day or night they could look out onto the square and see campfires burning and people standing nearby trying to get warm.
One morning, very early, Tommy saw Brigham Young on a wagon box in the center of the square. A moment later his voice boomed out over the camp like a giant cannon: “Attention, Camp of Israel!” And Tommy knew that within minutes everyone in camp would come to the square to hear what Brigham Young would say.
“I hope he tells us that it is time to move on out west,” said Tommy.
“I hope so, too,” said Mother.
But Brigham Young said nothing about going out west. Instead, he said that during the past few days eight hundred men had arrived at Sugar Creek without enough food to last a week, and he asked those who had food to divide with those in need. He promised that if the Saints would do this, the Lord would bless them with all the food they needed.
President Young urged the men to go to the towns on the north and on the south to ask for work building roads, building bridges, or putting up fences; he also suggested that pay be made in food. He reported that featherbeds, watches, dishes, shawls, silverware, and furniture could be traded for corn and wheat.
Tommy and Betsy were especially interested when he told the children they could help by gathering willows from the creek bed to weave into bushel and half-bushel baskets that could be traded for food.
Immediately following Brigham Young’s “Amen,” and even before there was talking or moving around, the people heard the faraway sound of a bell ringing.
“It’s the bell in the temple tower at Nauvoo,” Tommy whispered to Betsy, and to him it was as if the Lord were giving his own “Amen” to the words his prophet had spoken. In the quiet of his own heart, Tommy promised that he would try to do all Brigham Young wanted him to do.
When the meeting was over, Tommy’s father gathered his family around him and said, “We’re beginning a long journey. We’re not even sure where it will end. We only know that the Lord will lead us there. We know also that all we’ll have is what we take with us. Now the problem is, shall we give the food we brought with us to those in need, or shall we save it for ourselves so we can be sure of having enough?”
Tommy remembered the quiet promise he had made. “President Young has asked us to share,” he said, “and I think that is what the Lord wants us to do.”
“I know the Lord will help us get more when we need it,” added Betsy.
Tommy’s father smiled. “I’m glad you feel that way,” he said. “We can’t blame the Saints for coming here without enough food. No one was really ready to leave Nauvoo now, for everyone expected not to leave until spring. Some had money to buy food and equipment, but most of them didn’t, so they had to trade their farms and houses for whatever they could get for them. Brother Johnson, for example, traded his house for only a covered wagon and a yoke of oxen. There was no money to buy food, so they just brought what they had, and I’m sure it will be gone in a few days.”
“He’ll go to a nearby town to find work to buy food,” added mother.
“Are you going, Father?” asked Tommy.
“Yes, Brother Johnson and I are going together,” Father answered. “We’ll leave in the morning.”
“You can take my silver spoons with you,” Mother offered. “I think you can trade them for a wagonload of corn to keep our animals alive and strong until the grass starts to grow.”
“You can take our featherbed,” said Betsy. “I know someone will want that.”
“I’ll gather willows in the creek bed and weave them into baskets, like President Young asked us to do,” said Tommy.
All were so interested in listening to each other that no one noticed Sister Johnson, who had been standing just outside of the covered wagon. They were surprised when she spoke. “You can take my shawl,” she said quietly, “and the little sugar bowl my grandmother gave me.”
As she brought the items inside the wagon, she teetered as if she were going to fall. Tommy’s father jumped off the wagon to help her. “Are you ill?” he asked.
“No,” she answered, “but I am hungry. We haven’t had much to eat the last two days.”
Tommy’s mother hurried to help Sister Johnson lie down. “Munch on this sea biscuit,” she insisted, “while I fix you some hot mush.”
Later Tommy and Betsy and their father went back with Sister Johnson to her wagon. Tommy carried some potatoes, his father some flour, and Betsy a pail of milk.
As she carried the milk, Betsy thought of her kitten she had left in Nauvoo. In her mind she again heard her mother ask, “You wouldn’t want anyone to go hungry just so you could have you kitten along, would you?”
Betsy smiled and said, “No,” very quietly to herself. And this time she meant it for sure!

As a Montana rancher for most of my 70 years, I treasure the parable of the good shepherd, found in John 10:1–18, for I have lived it. The following experiences were particularly powerful in bringing this parable to life.
In biblical times each shepherd vocally summoned his personal flock from the many herds pooled together into a nighttime sheepfold (see vv. 3–4). Likewise, whenever I move my sheep, I simply call, and they follow.
Years ago my spry 96-year-old neighbor, Alice, who also raised sheep, became ill during lambing season, so I offered to do her night lambing. When I entered her lambing shed my first night “on duty,” Alice’s nearly 100 ewes were peacefully bedded down for the night. Yet when I appeared, they immediately sensed a stranger in their midst. Terrified, they instantly sought safety by huddling together in a far corner (see v. 5).
This continued for several nights. No matter how quietly I entered, the sheep panicked and fled. I spoke soothingly to the newborn lambs and ewes as I tended them. By the fifth night they no longer stirred as I worked among them. They had come to recognize my voice and trust me.
Sometime later I told Alice I would feed her dozen or so bum lambs their bottles. (A bum lamb is one whose mother has died or cannot produce enough milk.) Imitating Alice, I called to her lambs, “Come, BaBa! Come, BaBa!” I expected the lambs to hungrily stampede me as they did her. But not a single lamb even glanced up. Alice then stepped out her kitchen door and called. Hearing her voice, they eagerly rushed toward her, clamoring for their milk.
Intrigued, Alice and I conducted an experiment. Standing in my corral, Alice mimicked my call: “Here, lamby, lamby! Here, lamby, lamby!” and received no response whatsoever. But when I called with the exact same words, my sheep quickly surrounded me. Even though the words we used to summon the sheep were identical, our unfamiliar voices went unheeded. The sheep loyally heard only their true shepherd (see v. 4).

When I turned in my missionary papers, my bishop challenged me to not listen to any music at all until my call came. After about a week, the music was gone, but the bad lyrics were still there. Needless to say, my taste in music has changed. I was also able to feel the Spirit more often without the music blaring all the time. Don’t fool yourself into thinking that you are immune to the traps of Satan.
Nicholas Uerkvitz, 19Hereford, Arizona

“She has only 24 hours to live, and even if she makes it, she will be paralyzed from the eyes down with no chance of recovery.” This was the bleak verdict doctors presented to my family in March 2004. At only 30 years of age, I had suffered a stroke that left me unable to speak or move. Yet in those dark, lonely hours, experiences from my previous calling as a Primary music leader gave me hope.
I have always loved music and felt strength in the words of the hymns. Yet prior to my stroke, when I was called to be the ward’s Primary music leader, I was very apprehensive. How was I supposed to make a difference in the children’s lives? My music education background had taught me to set goals in my teaching, so I decided to try to help the children feel the Spirit as we sang. When we sang songs such as “I Lived in Heaven,” I was astonished by the strong presence of the Holy Ghost in the room and by the children’s deep, thoughtful questions about the lyrics.
One of my favorite teaching methods was using American Sign Language (ASL). I found that the children understood the songs better when we discussed how the signs offered a visual representation of the words. I really enjoyed hearing the children sing and watching them sign “I’m Trying to Be like Jesus.” The message rang true in my heart, and I often felt that I was the benefactor of the Spirit that the children invited. I could sense my testimony growing, and I truly felt blessed by the Lord.
The blessings of my calling as Primary music leader were not limited to the Primary room, though. With the calling came the need to practice and play the music at home so I would be prepared each Sunday. As a result, my own children’s love for Primary music increased. The words of these songs brought a peaceful, calm spirit, comforting our children when they were hurt and lulling them to sleep each night. They insisted on listening to the Children’s Songbook CDs in the car—even if the ride was just a short one—and consequently began to memorize many of the songs.
However, it was not until after my stroke that I was aware of the far-reaching effects of this music in my life. With so much recent experience singing Primary songs, I found they were what kept me going during my trials. During my darkest hours I would pray and sing “A Child’s Prayer” in my head. As I cried out like the child of the first verse, “Heavenly Father, are you really there?” He would mercifully answer by reassuring me that I was not alone and that He was there, as stated in the second verse of the song. What a strength and reassurance!
During the recovery process, my husband and children came to my hospital room to hold family home evenings and frequently sang “Love Is Spoken Here.” That was the last song I had taught in Primary, and it was wonderful to hear my children sing it, knowing that I had planted those seeds. As they sang, I could relate to the mother in the song, praying on her knees (how I wished that I too could kneel!). Her pleas to Heavenly Father were also mine. I also shared the same gratitude for priesthood authority in my home. While I could not voice these thoughts to my family, the Primary song voiced these feelings for me.
It has been nearly four years since I suffered my stroke, and I have been able to regain far more abilities than the doctors expected I ever would. I have a small amount of movement in my right arm, which allows me to type on my computer and operate a powered wheelchair. I use a modified form of ASL—which I first learned in my Primary calling—to communicate. Because of this, I can still “sing” Primary songs with my children and express my feelings to family and friends.
Before my stroke I had always planned on singing at my children’s baptisms. In August 2005 my oldest child, Zach, was baptized. I was able to use my right hand to plunk out “When I Am Baptized” while my husband supported me at the piano bench. It felt good to express my deepest feelings about baptism through music and in a way that Zach would understand.
When I began serving as a Primary music leader, I did not think the calling would benefit me. Yet it plainly has! The Primary songs have blessed me with a better understanding of gospel principles, a strengthened testimony, the ability to communicate with my family, and the strength to persevere. The words and melody of Primary songs may be simple, but the message and the power of each one are clear.
We may not always understand why the Lord has given us a particular assignment. Even so, we must trust the Lord and put our faith in Him and His promptings. I am so grateful I was a Primary music leader before my stroke! The songs I can no longer sing can still communicate my feelings of the gospel to others. Every time I hear my children sing Primary songs, I know that their testimonies are being strengthened and that they share my love for the Lord and His gospel.

In 1830 Samuel also sold a copy of the Book of Mormon to Brigham Young’s brother: Phinehas (or Phineas) Young, a Methodist preacher. When he first met Samuel, Phinehas was returning home on horseback from his preaching circuit. He had stopped at a farm for dinner. As he and the family were visiting, a young man, dressed in rough clothes, entered the room. Book in hand, the young man said to Phinehas, “There’s a book, sir, I wish you to read.”
“Pray, sir, what book have you?” Phinehas asked.
“The Book of Mormon, or, as it is called by some, the Golden Bible.”
“Ah, so then it purports to be a revelation?” Phinehas asked.
The young man opened the book to the testimonies of the Three and Eight Witnesses and said, “Here is the testimony of the witnesses to the truth of the book.”
Phinehas read their testimonies. When Phinehas looked up from his reading, the young man said, “If you will read this book with a prayerful heart and ask God to give you a witness, you will know the truth of the work.”
Phinehas promised to read the book. Then he asked the young man’s name.
“My name is Samuel H. Smith.”
Phinehas had seen that name! “Then you are one of the witnesses.”
“Yes,” Samuel said. “I know the book is a revelation from God, translated by the power of the Holy Ghost, and that my brother, Joseph Smith, Jr., is a Prophet, Seer, and Revelator.”
After arriving home Phinehas told his wife, “I have got a book here called the Book of Mormon, and it is said to be a revelation, and I wish to read it and make myself acquainted with its errors, so I can expose them to the world.”
True to his promise, he read the Book of Mormon—twice in two weeks. Rather than finding any errors, he became convinced the book was true. On Sunday, when his congregation asked for his opinion of the book, “he defended it for ten minutes, when suddenly the Spirit of God came on him with such force that in a marvelous manner he spoke at great length on the importance of it. … He closed by telling the people that he believed the book.”
That summer, the Young family, including Brigham, and their friends the Kimballs read the Book of Mormon and believed it.

Although to some it may seem like the Church leaders are taking away our agency, they are really giving us more freedom if we choose to do as they say. One day, my friend was talking to me about her complicated “love life.” She had to deal with a lot of unnecessary stress because she had chosen not to wait until age 16 before dating. She felt very restrained in many ways that she wouldn’t have if she had waited. This friend told me, “You guys are so blessed! At church, when they tell you to wait until you’re 16, they mean it!” The more I thought about this, the more I realized she was right. Sometimes we don’t see the reason for things, but people who have been through it know a lot of things we don’t.Name withheld

I think I will never forget the time the Spirit was shown me through the bright blue eyes of a nine-year-old, handicapped girl.
Heather is an intelligent child with a happy giggle, and a determined spirit housed in a body severely restricted because of physical handicaps. The simplest of activities are very difficult for her.
Because she cannot speak, Heather sends messages with her eyes. A direct gaze means yes, and a blink of her eyelids means no. Through a series of questions, gazes, blinks, giggles, and facial expressions, Heather shares her enthusiastic spirit and brings joy to the lives of everyone around her.
As her therapist and teacher for several years, I have sensed many times that for Heather, the veil between heaven and earth seems very thin. This is often true of handicapped children. If Heather could speak, what could she teach me about the things of the Spirit?
One Monday morning, Heather and I visited about the previous weekend. Heather indicated to me that she had attended Primary, so I began singing some Primary songs. A smile broke across her face whenever she recognized a song. I sang her my favorite, “I Wonder When He Comes Again.” Then I asked her if she had a favorite song. Immediately her eyes focused on mine and I was suddenly faced with the challenge of trying to find out which song she loved above all others.
Through a series of questions I discovered that her favorite song was one she had heard in Primary. She wasn’t sure which songbook it was in, but she knew it was about Jesus. I went through every possible song I could think of. To my dismay and Heather’s disappointment, I could not find the right one.
Heather refused to let me give up the search. For some reason she needed to share her favorite song with me. Finally, I agreed to bring my Primary songbooks to school the following day and go through them with her.
On Tuesday morning, Heather let me know that she was determined to find the song—now! We went through the books, but we couldn’t find it. She liked all of the songs, but none of them was the song. In desperation, I told Heather that if her mother could find the song we were looking for, we would sing it. If not, we would have to live with the fact that we couldn’t find it.
The next day, Heather was more determined than ever to find her song. Tucked in her wheelchair was a Church hymnbook. I sat next to her and, page by page, we read through the book. I sang the first phrase of each song, and each time Heather’s eyes closed in a definite no. Halfway through the book, I began to sing: “There is sunshine in my soul today, …”
As if someone had stuck her with a pin, Heather jumped and smiled. Her bright eyes looked directly at me. Together we laughed, feeling thrilled at the completion of our three-day search. “OK, now we can finally sing your favorite song,” I said. She smiled as I sang the first verse, and as I began the chorus she mustered all the effort she could and joined in with occasional sigh-like sounds. As I finished the chorus she looked at me steadily as if to say, “I liked that part.” I was so grateful I had found the song! I asked if she wanted to hear the rest of the verses and she responded with a firm yes. Again I began:
“There’s music in my soul today,
A carol to my King,
And Jesus listening can hear
The songs I cannot sing. …”
(Hymns, number 174.)
Heather’s reaction to those words was so strong that I stopped. I looked at her as I realized the reality and significance of the moment. “Heather, is that what you like about the song?” I asked. “Is that what you want me to know? That Jesus is listening, and he can hear the songs you cannot sing?” She lifted her head and looked me straight in the eyes. The testimony had been borne.
Feeling guided by the Spirit, I asked, “Heather, does Jesus talk to you in your mind and in your heart?” Her look was penetrating.
Knowing her close relationship with the Spirit, there was one more thing I wanted to know. With reverent anticipation I whispered, “Heather, what does he say?” My heart pounded as I viewed the clear look in her eyes as she awaited my questions so she could share her insight. I felt that the Lord gave me the right questions to ask as I took a deep breath and proceeded. “Does he say ‘Heather, I love you’?” Her eyes were radiant as she confirmed that statement. I paused, swallowed, and continued. “Does he say ‘Heather, you’re special’?” Again, yes. I paused again, with a lump in my throat, and then asked, “Does he say, ‘Heather, be patient; I have great things in store for you’?”
Heather’s head became erect; every fiber of her being seemed to be electrified as her eyes penetrated my soul. She knew she was loved. She knew she was special. She knew she only needed to be patient because great things were in store for her.
The moment seemed too sacred for further words. I leaned forward and pressed her cheek against my own. Without words, but through the bright blue windows to her soul, the truth had been made known.
Yes, Heather, Jesus, listening, can hear.

I hope I don't embarrass myself too much by telling you how I tried to apply this counsel. My approach was to organize what I called my "date a million program." I would try to meet and get to know as many young women as I could. I asked people to line me up with their friends and relatives somewhat like the member referral approach I took as a missionary in Peru and Ecuador. I then created a progressing friends list containing at least six promising "friends" whom I would see more frequently but whom I couldn't see twice in a row so that I didn't prematurely focus on one person and become too romantically involved before I had formed a good friendship. I had around two to four dates a week during this time but most of the dates were to things I already was doing: going to a devotional and then stopping by the Cougareat for a treat, going to a church fireside, attending a lecture or film on campus, etc. I met some wonderful young women and tried to be their friend rather than to court them. I also developed a good list of six progressing friends that I began to spend more time with.

However, my program almost kept me from following my feelings about Margaret Allred. She was so easy to talk to and such a good friend that I found myself wanting to spend more time with her. But I would then lecture myself that I was supposed to let friendship develop and consider many possibilities rather than narrow my search prematurely. Fortunately, as I got up to recapture my testimony one morning and prayed about my progressing friends list, the Lord helped me to see that Margaret was a wonderful person with whom I could build an eternal relationship. He helped me overlook some of the little flaws I saw when I was comparing my progressing friends. I think I was doing what I see some young men and women I know doing now. They approach selecting a companion as though they were a consumer looking for the best product. The Lord helped me see that Margaret would also have to overlook or work with my flaws, perhaps chief among them that I was a perfectionistic romantic. His love for her and for me and his reassurance that this relationship was worth pursuing was a revelation to me at the time.

By the way, at this same time Margaret was following a process very similar to grandfather's counsel. She had been going on dates with a number of different young men but she was clear sooner than I was about feeling that our relationship could be eternal. However, then as now it was harder for young women to initiate dating. Somehow she found out my schedule and I began to be surprised that we just happened to "bump into each other" at many class breaks. She learned that I was majoring in Spanish and decided to take beginning Spanish. She also joined a student government committee that I was also working on. No wonder I came to feel Margaret was such a good friend with whom I could talk so easily!

When the missionary discussions were completed, Brother Kim was not only ready to join the Church, but he wanted to be baptized at the same site as were Joseph Smith and Oliver Cowdery. On 29 July 1951, in the Susquehanna River near the marker commemorating the first baptisms in the restored Church, Seneca Branch President Joseph A. Dye baptized the first Korean Latter-day Saint. As he arose from the water, Brother Kim said he heard a voice saying, “Feed my sheep, feed my sheep.” He later recorded the event at the front of his scriptures, writing below the date of his baptism: “Words given—Feed my sheep.”

For much of my life, I believed if I was obedient to God’s commandments, I was entitled to any and all blessings that I asked for. Imagine my bewilderment when, after trying to live a life of obedience for my nearly 30 years, I watched addiction and a cancer diagnosis devastate my family; my father lose his job at the outbreak of a pandemic; my sister contract a debilitating terminal illness; and several other life-changing events I never dreamed I’d experience.
I spent a lot of time in fervent prayer, trying to figure out why these things were happening. I felt I had earned blessings. Why did it appear that people who made no efforts to be obedient had amazing lives without the kinds of trials I had faced? From my finite perspective, my circumstances felt confusing, frustrating, and unjust.
It can be hard to have a broad perspective amid trials, but looking back, I can see that the Lord’s ways truly are not our ways (see Isaiah 55:8). As finite beings in this mortal sphere, some of us like to be instantly gratified, effortlessly happy, and constantly comfortable.
But Heavenly Father wants better for us. In His infinite wisdom, He understands what each of His children needs to obtain eternal joy, lasting happiness, and divine comfort.
Consequently, we are not always given the blessings we ask for because they are not for our everlasting benefit. Elder D. Todd Christofferson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles taught: “Some misunderstand the promises of God to mean that obedience to Him yields specific outcomes on a fixed schedule. They might think, ‘If I diligently serve a full-time mission, God will bless me with a happy marriage and children,’ or ‘If I refrain from doing schoolwork on the Sabbath, God will bless me with good grades.’ … If life doesn’t fall out precisely this way or according to an expected timetable, they may feel betrayed by God. But things are not so mechanical in the divine economy. We ought not to think of God’s plan as a cosmic vending machine where we (1) select a desired blessing, (2) insert the required sum of good works, and (3) the order is promptly delivered.”1
The Lord said that “inasmuch as ye shall keep my commandments ye shall prosper in the land” (2 Nephi 4:4). The ultimate prosperity Heavenly Father intends for his children is “immortality and eternal life” (Moses 1:39). And because of His deep love for us, He invites us to use our agency to make choices that will lead to that point. But nowhere in the scriptures does it say that He will give us exactly what we want. He knows far better than we do what is best for us. So whether we receive the blessings we are hoping for or not, we are asked to trust that it is for our good (see Doctrine and Covenants 122:7).
The personal revelation to serve a mission was one of the clearest answers to prayer I’ve ever received. Admittedly, I was not thrilled about the prospect of leaving my family for 18 months, but I could not deny the answer I received. So, I obediently heeded the call.
There were wonderful parts of my mission, but I also experienced a lot of challenges that tested my faith and caused me to wonder why I was even prompted to serve a mission! However, as I look back now, I can honestly say that the difficult experiences on my mission strengthened me in many ways, and they prepared me to receive blessings later on.
Sometimes our obedience leads us into a refiner’s fire (see Malachi 3:2), and that is never a comfortable experience. But if we allow that fire to change us, from the resultant ashes comes new growth and beauty (see Isaiah 61:3).
True conversion to Christ includes having complete trust that both He and Heavenly Father want us to have only what is best for us in the eternal scheme. When we wholeheartedly believe that, we can genuinely end all our prayers with “Thy will be done, O Lord, and not ours” (Doctrine and Covenants 109:44). With this commitment to do as President Russell M. Nelson instructed and “let God prevail in our lives,”2 we understand that we will not get all the things we want or think we deserve. We will be content and happy with the blessings that have come to us through obedience to God’s commandments without comparing ourselves with how we perceive other people are living and how God is blessing them.
Abraham’s perspective allowed him to have faith.
Abraham, by Robert T. Barrett
A beautiful example of this true conversion is the prophet Abraham. The Lord told him to “look now toward heaven, and tell the stars, if thou be able to number them: and he said unto him, So shall thy seed be” (Genesis 15:5). So it must have been shocking to Abraham when, in his old age, the Lord commanded him to kill Isaac, the son God had indicated He would use to establish His covenant (see Genesis 17:19). Abraham must have wondered why God would ask him to give up the son who was to follow him in the covenant line. But Abraham never questioned the Lord, recognizing that the Lord knows the end from the beginning and trusting that His promise would be fulfilled.
At the very moment Abraham was about to slay his son, an angel stopped him and commended his willingness to be obedient (See Genesis 22:11–12). Later the angel quoted the Lord, saying: “I will multiply thy seed as the stars of the heaven, and as the sand which is upon the sea shore” (Genesis 22:17). Abraham had faith that somehow the Lord would bless him, even if it wasn’t in the manner he had originally thought.
A powerful reminder from this account is that we can choose how we perceive the workings of the Lord; we can choose to have faith. Abraham could have looked at the Lord’s command to kill his son as profoundly unfair and merciless. Yet Abraham chose to see it differently—he chose to focus on the Lord’s power, reliability, and goodness.
Developing a perspective like Abraham’s isn’t easy—it takes time and practice. At times I have been resistant to developing the humility required for submitting my will and trusting in the Lord. I have thrown spiritual temper tantrums, upset that I’m not getting what I want and feeling bitter that I continue to experience hardships. In these instances, I have failed to see that “to get [us] from where [we] are to where [the Lord] wants [us] to be requires a lot of stretching, and that generally entails discomfort and pain.”3
This does not mean that the Lord wants us to be miserable—just the opposite. The Lord intends that we “might have joy” (see 2 Nephi 2:25). But the word “might” implies that our joy depends on our agency. If we want true, everlasting joy, we choose to see blessings in whatever form and time they come. We choose to remain obedient, even when it doesn’t yield immediate results, because we love and trust Heavenly Father. And we work to understand that the richest blessings are in the lessons we choose to learn from our trials, for those are what draw us closer to Christ.
And isn’t drawing closer to the Savior and becoming like Him the whole point of this life?
I have spent a lot of time focusing on the negative aspects of trials and the disappointment of not getting what I think I want. I still have moments of questioning why my life often seems harder than many other people’s. And I sometimes wonder why, despite my diligent obedience, desired blessings seem to be missing. But I am learning to see that the Lord is constantly blessing me when I am obedient to His commandments (see Doctrine and Covenants 82:10; 130:20–21), even if those blessings do not always come in the timing or manner I may hope for.
Whenever a blessing is not granted in the manner or timing we expect, we have the opportunity to carefully evaluate the ways we have seen Heavenly Father and our Savior show up in our lives, because They always do. When we truly understand this truth, we will have the perspective and courage to humbly proclaim, “Thy will be done.”

Such loving support is vital even to those who might seem not to need it. Ironworkers, for example, have the reputation of being rough and tough. They belong to the craft that erects the steel framework of buildings and bridges. Some of the structures they erect rise into the sky more than 100 stories, and they walk on the narrow flanges of the beams they bolt into place. Some of the bridges they erect span bodies of water hundreds of feet below, and they walk on the narrow girders that will later support the weight of the concrete deck and the impact of heavy traffic.
These workers must be alert and wary, for one false step could be their last. It is essential that they keep their mind on what they are doing. Many accidents resulting in injury or death have been traced to a disagreement at home or to a heavy burden they carried which affected their emotions and took their mind off their work. While their trade gives them the reputation of being insensitive to risk they represent a cross section of normal citizens, whose feelings, concerns, responsibilities, and traits are like anyone else’s. The one trait in which they must excel, however, is self-confidence. They must be fearless.
Jim was an old-timer. He had been an ironworker for over 30 years and had worked on about every type of job in the trade, which gave him a rich background of experience. He had walked narrow beams hundreds of feet off the ground and shimmied to the end of beams to make the connections thousands of times. Connectors are supreme among ironworkers. They take the greatest risk, and their job requires the greatest courage. Jim was admired by his peers as a man of great courage and stability.
One day he was working with a crew of ironworkers on a job in the rugged mountains of the Colorado Rockies when a storm struck without warning. The rain poured down, the lightning flashed, the thunder roared, and the wind blew with fury. The ironworkers quickly descended and gathered in their work shack to wait for the storm to abate. They had been there for about 15 minutes when someone asked, “Where’s Jim?” He wasn’t in the shack. They went outside and looked up at the steel structure. There he was, standing on a beam with his arms wrapped tightly around a steel column. They called but got no response, so two of the crew went up the framework and found him frozen in panic. His arms were so tightly clenched around the column that they had to pry him loose. Then they fastened him to the cable of an erection rig and lowered him to the ground. He was petrified with fear.
They took him into the shack and warmed him by the fire. An hour later the storm was over, the weather was calm, the sun shone brightly, and the birds sang in the trees. The crew started back to work, but Jim stayed behind. He had lost his nerve and was afraid to get back in the air.
The foreman recognized the problem. It was not something for Jim to be ashamed of. It happens to the best of men. The situation needed wise care and attention. If Jim didn’t get back in the air now, he never would. The fury of the storm combined with the risk of his trade had broken the spirit of an old-timer. He alone could mend the damage. But he needed a helping hand as he had never needed one before.
The wise foreman put his arm around Jim and said that what had happened to him could happen to any one of them. The foreman told Jim to get back to work and assured him of his complete confidence that he could do so. Jim knew that the foreman was right. Every ironworker knows he has to go back. Jim knew he had to do it now. It would be even more difficult tomorrow if he didn’t go back today, and within a week it would be impossible. Finally, he demanded of himself that he get up on the steel structure and go to work. His legs felt weak and his body shaky. As he climbed the steel and cautiously proceeded to carry on, the members of the crew gave him a rousing cheer. That gave him the strength and confidence he needed. Jim went to work, and as he strove to keep pace with the others in the crew, he gradually regained his self-confidence. Had the foreman not been understanding or had the other members of the crew been critical, he would likely have been unable to return to work. Jim learned that his fellow workers were his true friends, for they had understood and given him support in a time of dire need.

Karl G. Maeser was certainly one of the most refined and educated men to join this Church in the first fifty years of its restored existence. Trained in the great classical tradition and distinguished in Saxony for his breadth of learning, he gave up virtually everything he had to enter the waters of baptism. Ostracized in his community and with no way to make a living, he brought his wife and two children to America, serving missions as he came and finally joining the Saints in these valleys of the Rocky Mountains. Once here he gave the rest of his life to the educational efforts of the Church, including fifteen years in abject poverty as the first and greatest principal of the then new and struggling Brigham Young Academy located in Provo, Utah.

In December of 1900, two months before he died, Brother Maeser was brought back to see once more the modest single-building campus on University Avenue he had built and loved and defended. He was helped up the stairs and into one of the classrooms where all of the students instinctively stood as he entered. Not a word was spoken. He looked at them slowly, then made his way to the chalkboard. With is bold script he wrote four statements on the board, turned, and walked out of the BYA forever, closing as he did so perhaps one of the most distinguished educational lives this university has ever known.

I shall never forget one night almost four decades ago. My bride, Patricia, and I had been married for two years. We lived in a small duplex on Oahu’s north shore. I was an army infantry officer assigned to a unit at Schofield Barracks, Hawaii. Our brigade had been ordered to war in Vietnam. My plane was scheduled for departure after midnight, and a good Latter-day Saint friend had agreed to take me to the airfield at 11:00 p.m.
All through that long evening, Pat and I sat on the sofa in our tiny living room with our fingers intertwined, watching the hands of the clock approach the fateful hour and listening to the soft lapping of the surf against the shore. The ticking of the clock seemed a metronome of mortality in painful contrast to the muffled rushing of the eternal sea. At last the hour of parting arrived. Inside the doorway to our little home, I clutched my bride to my bosom and kissed her one last time, and then I was gone. As I closed the door, I wondered if I had seen my sweetheart for the last time in mortality. It was truly night.
My friend and I drove silently in the darkness through the sugar cane and pineapple fields of Oahu. My heart felt as though it would break. Then as we passed Schofield, an unseen infantry unit on night maneuvers fired a flare. Its brilliance momentarily lit the inky darkness and seemed to ignite a spiritual flame in the blackness that invested my soul. My thoughts were drawn away from this saddest of days to the very happiest: back to that beautiful December day when Pat and I had entered the holy temple and there were sealed to each other, not just for this life only but for all eternity. I thought of the eternal covenants we had made. Like the sunrise, it dawned on me that no matter what happened in the uncertain future just ahead, Pat would always be mine. When I reached the air base, I telephoned her. In the spirit of a renewed hope and peace born of faith and understanding, we talked and laughed softly before once more bidding each other good-bye. It was only midnight, but for me the sun was already rising.

I had not planned on becoming a single parent of four children in my mid-20s and found myself reeling. I had a modest home to care for, four small children, and no post-high school education. I wondered how I would ever financially support my young family. My answers did not come in days or months but over many years of obeying one prompting after another.
Fortunately I had the habit of turning to the Lord in times of trouble. One night the answer came clearly: “Go to school.” I wondered how this would be possible with the financial obligations I had, so I spoke to my parents and my bishop. They agreed that going to school was the right course, and within a few weeks I was enrolled at a local university, where I earned a degree in elementary education with a special education endorsement.
As a teacher, I was still not making enough money to meet the financial demands of my growing children. I continued to petition the Lord about the lack of funds. During a visit with my bishop, he recommended that I go back to school to obtain a master’s degree. I went home, prayed about it, and enrolled back in school the following semester.
Several years later I was prompted to go back to school again. I scheduled the needed tests, interviewed for programs in educational administration, and found myself enrolled, once again, in a master’s program at another local university. Upon its completion, new employment opportunities opened up to me that have enriched my life with new relationships, fostered personal growth, and helped me discover new talents.
In the temple one night, I was sharing my frustration with the Lord that in spite of my efforts, I was still not able to consistently make ends meet. I felt the warmth of heavenly communication reminding me that all my family’s needs had been met, either by my own work or by the generosity of others, and that as long as I remained obedient, we would be cared for. And as I am reminded by Alma 20:4, “I know, in the strength of the Lord [I] canst do all things.”
I am so grateful to Heavenly Father for the promptings to complete my education and the consequent employment opportunities. I am also grateful for all those in my life who have been so thoughtful throughout the years. I’ve learned I can do more than I thought possible with the help of my Heavenly Father. Of equal significance, I’ve learned to receive graciously and to give generously.

Let me begin by relating an experience to you that I had many years ago when my children were young. One evening while my husband and I were entertaining another couple in our home, the wife began telling us of several "spiritual experiences" she had had. They were comprised of dreams and visions and audible messages sent to her from God. As I listened, at first I was amazed. I didn't really question her experiences--and I still don't--because that is not my place. But as she talked, my feelings went from amazement of her experiences to doubt in myself, because I had never had manifestations of the Spirit that were like that. I began to question my faith, my spirituality.

Now, I knew that she was a good–really good–person. But I knew that I was really trying to be good as well. I was reading my scriptures, praying regularly, trying to keep the commandments, serving in the Church, working to be true to all the covenants I had made with the Lord. In short, I was like many of you--trying hard. I was not by any means perfect, but I felt worthy and I was working at it. I had felt that I was pretty much on the same level as my friend. But I was not seeing the heavens open to me in the same way she was describing and I really began to question myself.

Later in the evening, I began to ask my husband the same questions I am asking you to ask yourselves today. Am I a spiritual person? What is spirituality? What should I expect it to feel like and look like in my life?

Over the years since that time, I have learned a lot about myself, and about my Heavenly Father, and about spirituality. I would like to share some of what I have learned with you today.