Gospel Story Finder

With these thoughts still on his mind, William had his solitude interrupted when a weak voice nearby called out, “Help me, please!” He turned to see a well-dressed woman who appeared to be in her early 30s staggering toward him. She was just barely being supported by a girl younger than himself. The woman pleaded to be put ashore, and then she collapsed in William’s arms. William summoned the ship’s doctor and the captain. It was too late to turn back, so she was carried to her bed below and made as comfortable as possible. “Please look after my daughter,” she urged of William, “and see she gets to the Valley if I cannot.” He promised to do so, even though the thought of being responsible for a 12-year-old girl on such a journey distressed him. He learned from the little girl that the woman, a Sister Wakefield, had joined the Church much against the wishes of her husband and had also influenced her daughter to be baptized. The irate father and husband had forbidden them to go to Zion, but they departed without his knowledge. Now Sister Wakefield was very ill and feared for the well-being of her daughter.
The charge of the pair fell mainly upon William’s shoulders. Whether he was ready for such responsibility or not, he would bear it. That first night aboard ship was an experience he never forgot. Some 65 years later he would write about it in the form of a personal life history that he would leave for his posterity to read and ponder. Seeking solace for himself, or perhaps wanting to comfort his afflicted friends, he took the tin whistle from his bag and played several tunes for the little girl and for her mother who would never walk again.
Six weeks later their ship landed in New York, ending the sea voyage of all but one of the passengers whose journey had ended prematurely when he took ill, died, and was buried at sea. Now the westward-bound Saints would embark on their three-month journey overland to Zion.
William looked after the Wakefields as best he could throughout their travels by steamship and train until they reached the “Old Winter Quarters” on the Missouri. No one was able to determine what illness Sister Wakefield had, but it grew progressively worse. He recorded in his journal, “The worn-out, blessed mother was laid in a tent for the sick. By this time my clothes had to be washed. I went down to a stream and stayed in the water too long, then an awful cramp seized me. I grew very light-headed and was brought to the tent and laid by the side of the sick woman. I remember asking the girl to keep the flies out of her mother’s mouth, then I lost all consciousness and was out of my head for three days. When I came to, I asked for Sister Wakefield and they told me she had been buried the day before. When I asked about the little girl, they informed she had been given to another family and had gone on to The Valley.”
William was remorseful that he would not be able to keep his promise to see the daughter safely delivered to Zion, but he knew she was in good hands and would get there with or without him as the Saints had made a pact to “look after one another throughout all difficulties.” He had heard stories of how effective “the pact” was, and now he was beginning to witness it for himself.

This same sensitivity he enhanced manyfold through mixing with all types of people and through coming to know their problems. When he was twenty years old, George Albert Smith was engaged as a salesman for Zion’s Cooperative Mercantile Institution, traveling through Southern Utah with a companion known to history only as Jim.
One is impressed with the ability of the future prophet even then to mix well with all types of company. He entertained on occasion with his harmonica and guitar and kept himself in good physical shape by exercising with Indian clubs and dumbbells (occasionally giving an exhibition of his prowess with the same in some of the villages).
His sense of humor, which helped him open many hearts, was evidenced from time to time. A demonstration of this is shown in an incident on the journey involving a jug of whiskey that Jim had brought on the trip to share with his customers. This fact bothered George, when he discovered it, because of his own commitment to the principles of the Word of Wisdom. However, there was no sermon preached by him to his companion, no chastisement—just an idea for a great practical joke somewhere along the route of the journey. The chance came before the two left Provo, about fifty miles south of Salt Lake City. While Jim was away from the wagon, the jug was located and carried off secretly to a friend with instructions for him to empty the whiskey and to fill the jug with water. Then the jug was put back in its original place. Several nights later it was brought out by Jim and the secret was revealed: no whiskey, just a jug full of foul-smelling sulphur water—much to the amusement of President Smith, who often loved to retell this story and others when he himself was the victim of a practical joke.

Soon after our daughter’s birth, my husband’s job prevented him from attending church most Sundays. With a new baby, five young sons, and my husband no longer available to help me, I was having a difficult time getting to church.
Many Sundays we arrived late, and sometimes we didn’t get there until sacrament meeting was over and Primary and Sunday School had begun. I spent most of my time walking the halls with my fussy and tired baby.
After several weeks, I was exhausted. We were going to church more out of habit than for anything else. I began to ask myself, Why even bother? It seemed that the only results I was getting were stiff muscles and a headache.
I began to pray for guidance. I asked my Father in Heaven why I should go to church when it was so difficult. I knew attending church was right, but I needed to know why it was important for me personally. When I didn’t receive an answer right away, I continued to ask.
When Easter Sunday came, I again spent the time during church walking the halls of our meetinghouse with my baby and whispering a prayer in my heart: Why should I bother to come? Why is it important for me to continue this struggle?
During Primary class time, I walked past the classrooms and looked inside. Every Primary class was having a lesson about the Savior’s death and Resurrection. I was amazed at the reverence and awe I saw in the children’s faces. Every one of them, mine included, was caught up in the story of our Savior’s greatest gift to us.
Suddenly it was clear why I needed to continue in my struggle to bring my children to church. Maybe I wasn’t getting as much as I wanted from my attendance, but my children were benefiting from their attendance more than I had imagined.
Occasionally we still have a difficult time getting to church. But when we do, I stop and remember the expressions I saw on my children’s faces that Easter morning. I know church is where we belong, and I often thank the Lord for showing me why.

Many years ago now, long before I was called as a General Authority, I participated as a speaker in a young-adult conference. The conference concluded with a testimony meeting in which a handsome, young returned missionary stood up to bear his testimony. He looked good, clean, and confident—just like a returned missionary should look.

As he began to speak, tears came to his eyes. He said he was grateful to stand in the midst of such a terrific group of young Latter-day Saints and to feel good about the life he was trying to lead. But that feeling had only been possible, he said, because of an experience he had had a few years earlier, an experience that had shaped his life forever.

He then told of coming home from a date shortly after he had been ordained an elder at age 18. Something had happened on this date of which he was not proud. He did not go into any details, nor should he have done so in a public setting. To this day I do not know the nature of the incident, but it was significant enough to him to have affected his spirit and his self-esteem.

As he sat in his car for a while in the driveway of his own home, thinking things through and feeling genuine sorrow for whatever had happened, his nonmember mother came running frantically from the house straight to his car. In an instant she conveyed that this boy’s younger brother had just fallen in the home, had hit his head sharply and was having some kind of seizure or convulsion. The nonmember father had immediately called for an ambulance, but it would take some time at best for help to come.

“Come and do something,” she cried. “Isn’t there something you do in your Church at times like this? You have their priesthood. Come and do something.”

His mother didn’t know a lot about the Church at that point, but she knew something of priesthood blessings. Nevertheless, on this night when someone he loved dearly needed his faith and his strength, this young man could not respond. Given the feelings he had just been wrestling with and the compromise he felt he had just made—whatever that was—he could not bring himself to go before the Lord and ask for the blessing that was needed.

He bolted from the car and ran down the street to the home of a worthy older man who had befriended him in the ward ever since the boy’s conversion two or three years earlier. An explanation was given, and the two were back at the house still well before the paramedics arrived. The happy ending of this story as told in that testimony meeting was that this older man instantly gave a sweet, powerful priesthood blessing, leaving the injured child stable and resting by the time medical help arrived. A quick trip to the hospital and a thorough exam there revealed no permanent damage had been done. A very fearful moment for this family had passed.

Then the returned missionary of whom I speak said this: “No one who has not faced what I faced that night will ever know the shame I felt and the sorrow I bore for not feeling worthy to use the priesthood I held. It is an even more painful memory for me because it was my own little brother who needed me and my beloved nonmember parents who were so fearful and who had a right to expect more of me. But as I stand before you today, I can promise you this,” he said. “I am not perfect, but from that night onward I have never done anything that would keep me from going before the Lord with confidence and asking for His help when it is needed. Personal worthiness is a battle in this world in which we live,” he acknowledged, “but it is a battle I am winning. I have felt the finger of condemnation pointing at me once in my life, and I don’t intend to feel it ever again if I can do anything about it. And, of course,” he concluded, “I can do everything about it.”

He finished his testimony and sat down. I can still picture him. I can still see the setting we were in. And I can still remember the stark, moving silence that followed his remarks as everyone in the room had occasion to search his or her soul a little deeper, vowing a little stronger to live by these powerful words given by the Lord:

“Let virtue garnish thy thoughts unceasingly; then shall thy confidence wax strong in the presence of God; and the doctrine of the priesthood shall distil upon thy soul as the dews from heaven.
“The Holy Ghost shall be thy constant companion, and thy scepter an unchanging scepter of righteousness and truth” (D&C 121:45–46; emphasis added).
My beloved young friends, have a wonderful life. Think the best and hope the best and have faith in the future. You have a great life ahead of you. Your Heavenly Father loves you. If any mistakes have been made, they can be repented of and forgiven just as they were for this young man. You have everything to live for and plan for and believe in. To have the approval of your conscience when you are alone with your memories allows you to feel the Spirit of God in a very personal way. I want you to enjoy that Spirit, to feel that confidence in the presence of the Lord always. May virtuous thoughts keep our actions pure today and tomorrow and forever.

Our friend Jasmine was a good example to us too. Jasmine was 12 years old. Her family became our good friends when we lived in the Middle East. In her country, Church members can’t talk about the gospel with others. It’s against the law. But Jasmine decided she could share the gospel by doing what Jesus did. She could show love and kindness to others. Wherever Jasmine went or whatever she did, she tried to be like Jesus. She was a bright example to others.

Old as well as young have benefited from Chea’s desire to share his newfound knowledge. His neighbor, Sophon Heng, a mother of four, and her elderly mother Hong Heng were baptized as a result of Chea’s efforts. Sophon recalls, “Chea was so kind to us. He asked us if we would like to meet two men who would teach us and make us happy. When we said yes, Chea and the elders came to our home each week and taught us the gospel.”

We sat huddled on the wet lawn in front of the Joseph Smith Monument in Sharon, Vermont, draped in ponchos and plastic garbage bags in a vain attempt to keep dry. We strained to hear the speaker over the sound of the rain, as he explained to us the final activity of the wilderness youth conference we were taking part in.
In a few minutes, we would be sent off to be alone in the woods. We were given a list of things to do, including self-evaluation and scripture reading. The last thing we were to do, however, was what really excited me. Alone in the woods, we were to kneel and pray aloud to our Heavenly Father and ask if the Church was true.
Earlier, the speaker had related to us a story about David O. McKay receiving his patriarchal blessing. President McKay was, at the time, a champion marble player, an activity which, the speaker pointed out, required quite a bit of skill. After the blessing, however, the patriarch told 13-year-old David that he had more important things to do than play marbles. The speaker now gave to us that same wise counsel. “Brothers and sisters,” he pleaded, “please, put away your marbles, and take advantage of this opportunity to find out for yourself if the Church is true.”
It was almost silent as we entered the woods and began to break up into smaller and smaller groups. I think everyone could sense, as I did, the importance of what was about to happen. I pulled my poncho over me and took out the worksheet and program we had been given to write on. To begin my solo experience, I sang all of the songs on the program. After completing the other activities, I came to the prayer.
I was excited to pray, but I was also nervous because I had always thought that I would find out whether or not the Church was true when I was older; I had always put it off. I had felt the Spirit before in fast and testimony meetings and when I received a testimony of the Book of Mormon, but I couldn’t honestly say that I knew the Church was true. What if I prayed and there was just nothing? What if, out here in the woods, kneeling and praying aloud got me nothing but wet?
I decided that I’d never know unless I tried, so I knelt on the soggy leaves and bowed my head in prayer. I spoke in a whisper, fearful that someone might eavesdrop, and I asked very simply to know if I really belonged to God’s true church. I finished my prayer and remained kneeling to await an answer.
At first, I received an impression that I already knew the truth of those things. But I figured that must have been my own thoughts, so I prayed again.
“You already know,” came my answer, along with the warm and calm feeling of the Spirit that enveloped me with peace and joy.
My heart quickened, and I couldn’t hold back the smile that soon covered my face. I realized that through my seminary and personal study, I had built my testimony step by step, precept upon precept, so slowly that I didn’t even realize I had it until I put it to the test.
Now I knew that the Church was true and I could put away, or at least put aside, the less important things in my life and get on with my spiritual growth. I felt so relieved, so content, and so grateful that the Lord had taken the time to let me know personally that the Church was true. Already kneeling, I bowed my head again and gave a prayer of thanks to the Lord for his witness to me that, although I hadn’t recognized it before, I already knew.

Recently a friend of mine was returning to his home in Salt Lake City on a plane from Dallas, Texas. His mind was focused upon an important event that was soon to occur in his family. His only son would be leaving home in just a few days to serve as a missionary in a far-distant land. His great love for his son caused him to reflect, “If my son is going so far away to teach about our Church, this had better be the best church!” Then he took out a notepad and pen and began to list the characteristics or qualities one would look for in the best church.
“There should be a program to build and strengthen youth,” he wrote, “an athletic program, a wholesome activity program, a program for teaching and training children, a program for developing the skills and talents of women, a program to provide for the needy, for the ill, for the lonely, for the victims of catastrophes and disasters, a program to provide opportunities for work and service, a program to assist families and individuals in spiritual development and progress.”
His list became long and impressive, and he satisfied himself that his church, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, offered a program to meet the need of every individual. Truly, he determined, it is the best church his son could represent!
My friend felt so good about his list of attractive qualities of the best church that he decided to show it to the gentleman seated next to him on the plane. The man, an executive from a financial firm, responded with interest and respect. Together they reviewed the list, and as they concluded their conversation the businessman asked my friend, “Would you like to know what I would look for in a church? There is just one criterion: the members of that church would best exemplify the teaching of the Savior—‘Love thy neighbor as thyself.’”
My friend said he learned an important lesson from that experience. He had taught this fine man about the programs of the Church without acknowledging that the purpose of these programs is to help members learn how to love God and their fellowmen. He has shared that experience with me and permitted me to share it with you today that we might all be reminded of this.

When the war was almost over, the four other trainers and I received orders to go to Berlin. Hitler was there at that time, and it was the last phase of the war. The Russians were advancing, and the British and Americans were already very close to where I was.
We said we would go to Berlin, but I had prayed about it already, and I had the feeling that I should go home. We knew there was no use in going to Berlin because the war was lost. “Günther,” I said to my best friend, “I am not going. I am going home.”
“I’ll join you,” he decided. I asked him about his hasty decision and he said, “I have watched you all the time. I have noticed that you are quite religious, and I have admired you. I trust in your decisions because I think they are made with some guidance from above.”
The other three trainers decided to go with us, and the five of us left, supposedly for Berlin. As soon as we got out of sight, we hurried into the forest and changed into the civilian clothes we had with us.
The Americans had already arrived and were on the main roads next to the forest. We stayed way up on the peak of the mountain because there we were still quite safe. Our trip home would take us two to three weeks. We slept in the forest—five of us under one blanket—and had to rotate positions every hour because the two on the ends would get so cold. The food we took with us lasted three days. The rest of the time we ate berries we picked in the forest, and once in a while German families gave us food.

Last year, my wife, Maggie, and I ran the Jungfrau-Marathon in Switzerland. Set in the heart of the Swiss Alps, it is considered one of the most difficult marathons in the world. From start to finish, the course climbs over 6,400 feet, or 1,900 meters, as it winds through beautiful alpine villages and rugged, high-mountain terrain. The views carry you through the early miles, but the final stretch turns steep and narrow, forcing runners to hike the rocky path in single file. The last ascent demands careful attention to every step. In this race you are not just crossing a finish line; you are conquering a mountain.

So imagine our surprise when we learned that one of the runners who finished this race was blind. This courageous man ran tethered to a guide. For most of the race, they ran side by side, but as the course turned steeper and more demanding, the guide moved ahead, calling out every obstacle and directing each step. Because he was bound to a guide, the blind runner accomplished what would otherwise be impossible alone.

Old Mom flapped her huge ears and swayed her long wrinkled trunk. The journey from Germany aboard the big ship had been long and tiring.
“Come on, old girl,” the men coaxed. Reaching their bull hooks gently behind her ears, they tugged her along the gangplank and pulled and prodded until she boarded the circus train to her new American home.
“I can’t believe that my friend Karl would send me such an imbecile!” the American circus owner wailed a few days later. “He told me that he was sending his prize queen! But she doesn’t know any tricks, and she doesn’t obey a single command.” Angrily he placed a call to Germany.
“It is not possible,” said the shocked Karl. “Old Mom is the smartest elephant in the world. Only because we are friends have I sent her to you.”
“Perhaps she is deaf,” suggested her new owner.
“Nein, nein (No, no)!” insisted Karl. “Every morning I would say to her, ‘Wie geht’s Mama (How are you, Mama)?’ or ‘Vas ist los (What’s up)?’ and she would greet me like a child.”
As soon as he hung up, the circus owner hurried over to Old Mom. “Wie geht’s, Mama. Vas ist los?“ he asked.
The huge beast immediately fell to her knees, trumpeting happily. She rose to her feet and shimmied her huge backside in a frenzied dance. Then she curled her trunk around the owner in an elephantine hug. In a strange land, among strange people, finally something was familiar!
“I should have known,” the owner said, chuckling. “A German elephant doesn’t understand English. We’ll find someone to translate for her for a while. Then we will teach her English.”
It wasn’t long before the owner had to agree that Old Mom was one smart elephant! Still, a herd could have only one queen. What would happen when Old Mom met the young leader of their herd?
For three days Old Mom was “just another member of the herd.” Then things changed: All one night the circus train had traveled in a driving rain. When they reached their destination, the circus lot was far from the railway tracks. In between were several bridges that didn’t look quite safe.
“Belle!” the circus owner called to his young queen. “Come and test the bridge.”
The man waited and called again, but the young leader didn’t move. Then Old Mom stepped forward. Cautiously she laid one foot on the bridge and waited for a snap. Hearing none, she placed another foot on the span. Stepping daintily, she made her way across the bridge and trumpeted for the others to follow. Old Mom was now in command!
As a leader Old Mom was strict, but fair. She tenderly guarded the young punks (baby elephants) who came to the training lot for the first time. But she had no patience with lazy young bulls (male elephants). It was a favorite trick of some of them to put their heads within an eighth of an inch (3 mm) of the circus wagons and pretend to push. They could fool the roustabouts, but they couldn’t fool Old Mom. She would thump them with her trunk or seize them by an ear and squeeze it hard. If the bull were much bigger than Old Mom, she would whirl and butt the offender mightily in the midriff. One day a particularly ornery bull appeared in the lot acting meeker than all the rest. His rebelliousness was gone—and so were three inches of his tail!
Old Mom had one superior: Fred, the superintendent of the herd. Only he could punish her offenses.
One day a drifter wandered into the circus lot. For days he teased Old Mom. Bellowing with rage and thrashing her trunk, she tried to warn him. But he wouldn’t quit. One day his abuse was too much. Old Mom snatched him in her trunk and threw him against a wall. Then she seized a nearby bull hook (commonly used to punish disobedient elephants), handed it to Fred, and began to “talk” into his ear, pleading like a naughty child. She wrapped her trunk softly around his body, and Fred slowly dropped the bull hook. Perhaps Old Mom believed that she had talked him out of a spanking, but the truth was that Fred had seen the bully teasing his elephant all week. He ordered the man from the circus grounds and warned him to never return. Fred was Old Mom’s protector as well as her punisher.
Old Mom was smart about everything except what she ate. How she loved junk food! And after consuming great quantities of peanuts, popcorn, marshmallows, cotton candy, lollipops, watermelon, and chewing gum, she would lie on the ground, her huge belly swollen, whimpering and squealing and rolling her eyes. It took gallons of paregoric laced with Jamaican ginger to ease her agony.
If Mom’s sweet tooth was a problem, her real teeth gave her fits! She had one stubborn tooth that was constantly ragged and broken. Fred had tried hardening it, sawing it off, and filing it down. Nothing worked. It kept breaking and cutting her cheek. Finally, Old Mom took matters into her own hands. She found an old rag and packed the offending tooth. Then, apparently knowing that there was danger in swallowing the rag, she unpacked the tooth at mealtimes and laid the rag at her feet. After eating, she carefully repacked it. From then on, Fred always saw to it that Old Mom had a fresh supply of clean rags.
One hot summer day the circus pulled into a lot where there was no dust for the elephants to throw onto their backs to rid themselves of the flies that tormented them. Old Mom spied a gunnysack. Picking it up, she waved it around, and the flies flew away. Squealing with delight, Old Mom shimmied and swatted. Suddenly a young bull snatched the gunnysack from her. When Old Mom smacked him on the nose and he dropped it, a punk grabbed the treasure. Soon the sack was flying back and forth like a football. Fred heard the commotion and came running. He yelled for a boy to get each elephant a gunnysack. Within minutes the entire herd was squealing and swatting contentedly. Not one would give up his prize. Imagine the surprise of the circus crowd that night when Old Mom led the elephants into the ring, waving their limp brown flyswatters!

“We had some acreage with a large garden; we also had chickens, pigs, and a cow. I grew up feeding the animals and cleaning the chicken coops and the cow barn. My father and I had an agreement: I would clean the barn every Saturday exactly as he had taught me to do it, and in return he would give me ten cents to go to the Saturday matinee and two cents for penny candy. There was a different movie at the theater each week, and I really enjoyed those Saturday movies.

“My mother worked harder than any woman I have ever known. She had eight boys and one girl, and she taught us discipline by having us work around the house and in the garden.

“I remember that many summer mornings when we’d go into the fields, Mother was right at our sides. We’d pick fruit and berries to can and store throughout the winter. The garden rows seemed very long to me as I worked up and down them throughout the summer.

“My father was a very gentle person. He disciplined us by letting us know that if we did wrong, we disappointed him. He and I were great friends, and he made me feel loved. I knew that he really cared about me. I felt a special bond with my father, for I was born on his birthday, November 25.

“At Christmastime our family would string popcorn and cranberries on thread to decorate the little Christmas tree. Maybe we would only have one gift and a few pieces of candy and popcorn, but they were wonderful Christmases, filled with love and fun family activities.

“We skated on Utah Lake during the winter. Sometimes we would go out a little too far on the ice, and we would hear it crack beneath us. In the summer we would swim in the Provo River, diving off the rocks into the cool, clear water. We played kick the can, hide-and-seek, and marbles; and we used a large tin can nailed to the garage and a little rubber ball to play basketball.

“We always attended church. I was sometimes wiggly and didn’t show all the interest that I should have shown, but I knew that what I was learning there were the things that really mattered.

“One of the spiritual experiences that I remember best from my youth happened when I was about five years old. My next older brother, Jay, had just been baptized. He was walking down a road between Provo and Orem. A man who had been drinking came swerving down the road in his car, and the door handle of the car caught my brother at the back of his neck. Jay had a serious fracture and concussion. We all prayed that he would get better, but after twenty long days in the hospital, he died. I vividly remember my mother and father sitting with us and saying, ‘Jay has gone back home to the God who gave us all life. The Lord could have saved him, but for some reason He didn’t. There will be a work for Jay to do where he is now, and we should not question the Lord. We should not have any bitterness or lasting sorrow.’ We all resolved that we were going to trust the Lord, and we all knew that someday we would again be with Jay.

“As I was growing up in Provo, there was another boy my age in my grade at school. His name was Walt Hansen. He and I were great friends; there was a great bond between us. His family did not attend Church, but Walt came because of the influence of his friends who reached out to him. Years later he became a bishop in the Provo Sunset Ward, and I’ve often heard people say that Walt Hansen was the most kind and helpful bishop that they had ever known. I hope that you children will realize that you may be a good influence in the lives of your friends and help someone else discover the gospel.

“I have two messages for young people: First, try to look on the bright side of things—look for the very best in people and in life. Have confidence in yourself, be happy, and develop good feelings about yourself. Try hard to please your Heavenly Father, because there is much joy from being obedient to the Lord’s teachings. Remember that you never know what the Lord has in store for you. When my parents brought me to Salt Lake City to general conference, we would sit in the balcony of the Tabernacle. I would look down and see the General Authorities. They seemed to be very wise, and they spoke with confidence. I felt the spirit of their testimonies and their love for the Lord. Now I sit in one of those red chairs, but I never thought back then that I would have such a calling.

“My second message to you is to pray to your Father in Heaven. Picture Him in your mind as the personal, loving, kind Father that He is, One who expects you to do your best in your Church assignments as well as in life. Pray for inspiration on how to live your life. I have found that most of my inspiration has come after I have prayed and while I am doing the things that I know that I should be doing. Inspiration and blessings flow as we serve our Heavenly Father.”

Because I studied Come, Follow Me, I think Heavenly Father helped me with school. At first I made lots of mistakes in my homework. Then my dad asked me to start by saying a prayer. After the prayer, I understood better. Soon I was no longer making as many mistakes. When my teachers received my homework, they would say, “Congratulations, Sarah! Keep doing what you are doing!”
I successfully completed my school year. And school at home went well, because we always started with a prayer, just like we do when we study Come, Follow Me.

Grandpa smiled, remembering the leaf whistles Jason’s dad had blown in his childhood days. Then Grandpa seemed caught up in a special memory, and his thoughts began to tumble out.
“I remember a time your daddy came home from school with a big problem. Your grandma told me that he’d gone to his room after he got home, and he just stayed there till suppertime. I noticed how quiet he was when we sat down at the table to eat, so I persuaded him to take a walk with me afterward, and he finally blurted out what was bothering him.
“It seems he’d had an argument on the playground at school with his best friend, Jimmy. Joe’d become so angry that he’d hit Jimmy and made his nose bleed. Then Joe had walked away and come home. Now he felt sorry for what he’d done, but he couldn’t face Jimmy and apologize. Joe had too much pride—but he didn’t feel good about himself, either.
“Then I thought of my treasure—a seashell that I’d brought home with me from the war,” Grandpa went on. “I’d found it on the beach where we landed late one night. As I held it to my ear, it seemed to speak to me. I kept it because the sound of the sea seemed to whisper in my ear. It reminded me of the still, small voice inside me trying to keep me on the right path.
“I hadn’t thought of my seashell for years, but after our walk together that night, I looked for it. I handed the seashell to your daddy and told him to listen to it. When he placed it near his ear, I told him that it was a reminder of the still, small voice of conscience that each of us has within us. Then I asked him what the small voice would tell him about asking forgiveness.
“Your dad sat on the bed next to me. ‘I can’t say I’m sorry,’ he cried. ‘I just can’t!’
“I told him that he must apologize if his friendship with Jimmy was worth keeping and if he wanted to be at peace with Heavenly Father and with himself.
“It was hard for Joe to go to Jimmy and ask for forgiveness,” Grandpa went on, “but he finally listened to his conscience and patched up the hurt feelings.
“I kept the seashell on my desk for a long time afterward,” Grandpa told Jason. “Having to say that he was sorry was a particularly difficult lesson for your dad to learn. It was hard for him to admit his mistakes, just as it is for you and me. He had some stubbornness to overcome. I often reminded him of the seashell and invited him to listen to its voice. It helped him remember to listen to the still, small voice inside himself that was always there. As we grow up, we are constantly faced with choices to make, and seeing the seashell reminded Joe to listen to his conscience and choose the better way. And that is why I consider the seashell a treasure.”

In a university psychology class I once attended the professor made the statement: “It’s unscientific to believe in God.” Questions about religion sprang up. As a result, the class decided that organized religion was bunk.
I began to boil inside, but since my army experience still lingered vividly in my mind, I didn’t challenge the turn of the discussion. But a student in the back of the classroom began to ask some piercing and penetrating questions: “Exactly why do you feel that organized religion is not desirable?” The professor listed all the standard reasons: religious wars, inquisitions, wealth of church, poverty of members in many countries. “I understand how you feel, Professor X, but considering the fact that there are over twelve hundred different Christian forms of organized religion, won’t you concede the possibility that there are at least a few with meaningful programs?” The professor had to admit that was a possibility. He did not have even a casual knowledge of so many different religions.
Then the shock question came: “What is your religious background, Professor X, and what religious education have you had?” The answer became obvious. The professor hadn’t had much. “Then you are not an expert in the field of religion like you are in psychology?” Several of the students gasped loudly, including me. The professor unwillingly confessed that he was not an expert but that his position was one of personal feeling. The discussion rapidly drifted back into psychology.
The point had been made; the professor knew it, and we students knew it. Furthermore, the professor knew that we knew. I felt like shouting, “Whoopee!”

When President David O. McKay was a young missionary in Scotland, he was homesick, discouraged, and low in spirit. As he walked down the street with his companion, he noticed an inscription chiseled in a stone lintel of an unfinished building which read, “Whate’er Thou Art, Act Well Thy Part.” From that moment, he began to act the part of a good missionary and became a great one. This was a learning experience that helped him in numerous important callings he received later in life. (See Cherished Experiences from the Writings of President David O. McKay, comp. Clare Middlemiss, Salt Lake City: Deseret Book, 1955, p. 174.)

In my eyes, Sunshine was about the most popular girl in sixth grade. She wore nice clothes and walked around with other popular girls, giggling and chattering. I always feared they were talking about me.
Imagine my horror when one day my mother told me that she would pick my brothers and me up after school and Sunshine would be riding home with us! My mom had agreed to tutor her in drawing as part of a program for gifted students.
I was terrified of Sunshine because she was so popular. The dreaded time came for the first drawing lesson, and my cheeks burned with embarrassment as Sunshine climbed into our very unglamorous old brown van. I imagined she was used to sleek sports cars. My mind raced the whole way home as I tried to think of what to say to someone so popular. But besides a forced “hello,” I could find no words for Sunshine. I was afraid she might think anything I said was stupid. When we arrived at my house, I quickly escaped into my room.
Years later, as seniors in high school, Sunshine and I ended up being co-editors of the school paper. This meant we had to spend some evenings together each month working on the layout of the paper. By this time, I had a little more confidence, and I actually enjoyed the time I spent with Sunshine. I found we had quite a bit in common. One day as we were talking, the subject of the sixth grade came up. I mentioned how glad I was to be done with that awkward stage of my life. “Me, too,” Sunshine said soberly. “I had no friends at all then.”
I was shocked. I remembered all the rides home when I thought she didn’t talk to me because she was stuck-up. Had she felt awkward and afraid to talk to me, too? Had she felt alone that year, as I had, even though she always seemed to be surrounded by people?
I wonder if Sunshine and I might have become friends back then if I had not been too worried about myself to think about how she was feeling. Since that conversation, I have tried to remember to follow the Savior’s example and reach out to everyone, not just to those who obviously need help. I have realized that no one is too popular for kindness.

A few years ago, I found myself in a serious rut. My self-esteem was low, I focused only on my insecurities, and I constantly compared myself to others.
Regardless of how much I read my scriptures and prayed, I couldn’t shake my overwhelming feelings of inadequacy. I had faith in God, but I didn’t have faith in my ability to feel better.
Eventually, I grew so desperate for relief that I considered trying something I usually rolled my eyes at: positive thinking.
I realized that if I wanted to change my life, I needed to change my thoughts.
As I tried this, it became clear to me that I was righteously exercising a priceless right—I was exercising my agency.
Because my thoughts were focused mostly on my fears and insecurities, I didn’t feel much joy in my life. I prayed for Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ to take away my problems. But I’d forgotten that, in accordance with Heavenly Father’s plan, Christ had also preserved my ability to make choices.
One key to shifting my mindset and feeling better was to choose living with gratitude.
One key to shifting my mindset and feeling better was to choose living with gratitude.
Instead of engaging in negative self-talk, I started actively looking for good things in my day. Sometimes it was a kind comment from a classmate. Other times it was walking home on a beautiful spring evening or eating a good meal.
I soon realized that practicing gratitude magnified my enjoyment of life. Try it! Being mindful of any goodness we experience multiplies its effect (see Doctrine and Covenants 78:19).
I collected good moments like pieces of treasure, and at the end of each day, I was always surprised by how blessed and thankful I felt. The hard parts of my life didn’t disappear, but they began to lose their sting.
As I chose to focus on moments of joy, laughter, peace, and inspiration, I realized that I could choose to create more of them. The power was in me!
My life has changed as I’ve chosen to change my thoughts. I’m more confident, kind, and joyful. I’m more open to trying new things and accepting opportunities. And I’m better at noticing the Lord’s hand in my life.
With the help of Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ, I’ve become better at making decisions that bring me true happiness and peace.

My friend of many years spent his life as a rancher, doing the hard work of raising cattle and sheep in the rugged Rocky Mountains. He once shared with me the challenges and hazards associated with raising sheep. He described that in early spring, when snow on the expansive mountain range had mostly melted, he placed the family herd of approximately 2,000 sheep in the mountains for the summer. There, he watched over the sheep until late fall, when they were moved from the summer range to a winter range in the desert. He described how tending a large flock of sheep was difficult, requiring early days and late nights—waking well before sunrise and finishing long after dark. He could not possibly do it alone.

Others helped tend the flock, including a mix of experienced ranch hands assisted by younger hands who were benefiting from the wisdom of their companions. He also relied on two old horses, two colts in training, two old sheepdogs, and two or three sheepdog pups. Over the course of the summer, my friend and his sheep faced wind and rainstorms, sickness, injuries, drought, and just about every other hardship one can imagine. Some years they had to haul water all summer just to keep the sheep alive. Then, every year in late fall, when winter weather threatened and the sheep were taken off the mountain and counted, there were usually more than 200 that were lost.

The flock of 2,000 sheep placed in the mountains in early spring was reduced to less than 1,800. Most of the missing sheep were not lost to sickness or natural death but to predators such as mountain lions or coyotes. These predators usually found the lambs that had strayed from the safety of the flock, withdrawing themselves from the protection of their shepherd. Would you consider for a moment what I have just described in a spiritual context? Who is the shepherd? Who is the flock? Who are those who assist the shepherd?

An experience which remains vivid in my mind when I felt the Savior yoked up with me, was during the October 2010 general conference. A missionary who had struggled for over six months with homesickness and wanting to go home was really weighing me down. As we approached general conference, I asked for inspiration on how to deal with this challenge. I also asked the missionaries to identify personal issues they were struggling with, then to listen carefully for what would be said in the general conference. Missionaries were asked to listen to both spoken and unspoken words.

We had just watched the Saturday afternoon session, and we were waiting for the priesthood session. Since we were watching the sessions live, it was past midnight in Harare. Some of us were outside, and this missionary who had been struggling with homesickness came and stood next to me. He simply said, “President, I have decided to stay.”

I could hardly believe what he had said. I asked him, “Why have you decided to stay and serve your mission?”

He said that he felt it was the right thing to do. Then he added, “I decided to stay not for myself, but for my children and grandchildren.”

We embraced and rejoiced together.

This missionary became one of our strongest elders. He inspired other missionaries to look to the Lord and to serve with humility, faith, and power.

Now he and his sweetheart have been sealed in the temple, and they are noble, righteous parents. His decision to stay on his mission surely has brought blessings to his family and it will continue to do so forever.

I felt the Lord’s love in taking upon me his yoke as we listened to general conference and sensed this missionary felt the same way. As I now reflect on what transpired, Elder Jeffrey R. Holland’s words come to mind: “If we teach by the Spirit and you listen by the Spirit, some one of us will touch on your circumstance, sending a personal prophetic epistle just to you.”1