Gospel Story Finder

Switch channels with me to a scene on a Saturday night in a ranch home, where a boy who has just answered the telephone nervously approaches his mother. “Mom,” he says, “Bob is on the phone. He and his dad and Tom and his dad are going snowmobiling and shooting tomorrow morning, and they want to know if I can go with them.”

The mother seems startled and uncertain. She is strongly tempted to respond sharply, reminding her boy that he has duties on Sunday morning, that in their family they go to church together, and that when Dad returns later that night he will not consider such a thing. But, instead, she says, “Richard, you are twelve years old. You hold the priesthood. I am sure Dad would want you to make up your own mind and answer Bob yourself.”

The boy goes back to the telephone, and the mother goes to her room and prays their son will give the right answer. Nothing more is said. On Sunday morning the boy and his parents go into town to church, park in the lot across the street, and are crossing, arm-in-arm, when a pickup truck passes. Two men and two boys wave to Richard as they pass. He pauses a moment and says, “Gee, I wish …” The mother catches her breath; then Richard finishes: “I wish I had been able to talk Bob and Tom into coming to priesthood meeting this morning.”

The mother, telling the story, thanks the Lord for this choice boy and his personal decision to do the right thing. Then she weeps as she explains how important that was to all of them. You see, their son was killed in a farm accident that week.

During World War II, I was ordained an elder—one week before I departed for active duty with the navy. A member of my bishopric was at the train station to bid me farewell. Just before train time, he placed in my hand a book: The Missionary’s Hand Book. I laughed and commented, “I’ll be in the navy—not on a mission.” He answered, “Take it anyway. It may come in handy.”
It did. During basic training our company commander instructed us how we might best pack our clothing in a large seabag. He then advised, “If you have a hard, rectangular object you can place in the bottom of the bag, your clothes will stay more firm.” I thought, “Where am I going to find a hard, rectangular object?” Suddenly I remembered The Missionary’s Hand Book. And thus it served for 12 weeks at the bottom of that seabag.
The night preceding our Christmas leave, the barracks were quiet. Suddenly I became aware that my buddy in the adjoining bunk—a member of the Church, Leland Merrill—was moaning in pain. I asked, “What’s the matter, Merrill?”
He replied, “I’m sick. I’m really sick.”
The hours lengthened; his groans grew louder. Then, in desperation, he whispered, “Monson, aren’t you an elder?” I acknowledged this to be so, whereupon he pleaded, “Give me a blessing.”
I became very much aware that I had never given a blessing. My prayer to God was a plea for help. The answer came: “Look in the bottom of the seabag.” Thus, at 2:00 a.m. I emptied the bag. I then took to the night-light The Missionary’s Hand Book and read how one blesses the sick. With about 120 curious sailors looking on, I proceeded with the blessing. Before I could again stow my gear, Leland Merrill was sleeping.
The next morning, Merrill smilingly turned to me and said, “Monson, I’m glad you hold the priesthood!” His gladness was only surpassed by my gratitude—gratitude not only for the priesthood but for being worthy to receive the help I required in a time of desperate need.
If we are on the Lord’s errand, we are entitled to the Lord’s help. His help has come to me on countless occasions throughout my life.

When I was a child, my parents took me to church only occasionally. I was baptized and ordained a deacon, but attending church was not a big part of our lives. By the time I was 14, I wasn’t attending church at all. I was in the middle of yet another custody battle between my parents. When I moved in with my mom, I had no motivation to study, because I saw no purpose in my life. A lot of people stayed away from me in my new school because I wore black clothing and combat boots. My grades were terrible. That was the year I entered ninth grade.
One day I was visiting my grandma when she told me that if I would graduate from seminary, she would give me $100. For me that was a lot of money. I said I’d think about it.
When I went to my new school to register, the school counselor signed me up for three shop classes because other classes were full. I didn’t want to take shop, and then I remembered Grandma’s offer. Suddenly the idea of getting out of shop and getting $100 sounded pretty good. I signed up for released-time seminary. I went to class, but I sat in the back and participated as little as possible.
One day I got to seminary class late, and the only seat available was on the front row. I sat down and heard our teacher, Brother Peck, say, “I don’t know why, but I feel like we need to watch this today.”
We watched How Rare a Possession, a movie about how the Book of Mormon affected the lives of different people. As the movie ended and we got up to leave, something unexpected happened: I realized that I felt peaceful. It was such a foreign feeling that I wondered what it could mean. An impression came: I was feeling the Spirit. At that moment I knew the Book of Mormon was an inspired book.
I started going to church with some friends in our neighborhood. But then we moved and I stopped going.
In my new school I signed up for seminary. I began reading the scriptures daily. One night it hit me just how much my life needed changing. I had been learning about the gospel, but I hadn’t been living it. I was still hanging out with people who made it difficult to live righteously. I knew I had to get serious about changing my life. The next day I went and talked to Brother Porter, my seminary teacher. He told me when and where my ward met.
The next Sunday I went to church but sat down in the back of the chapel. It took a while to make friends because of my reputation, but I kept going each week because I knew that was where I was supposed to be. For my 15th birthday, my other grandma gave me a gift certificate for a haircut and some new clothes. A few days later I was ordained a teacher.
When general conference came, Brother Porter gave us an assignment to watch at least one session. I put off the assignment until Sunday morning. When the session started, I rolled over in my bed and turned on the TV. As I watched President Thomas S. Monson, then the Second Counselor in the First Presidency, talk about the history of the Church in the German Democratic Republic, I felt that same feeling of peace. I recognized it as the Spirit testifying that I was listening to prophets. That afternoon my mom and brothers went grocery shopping. I stayed home to watch another session.
By that point I had made two very important decisions: I would live the gospel, and I wanted to get married in the temple. But I wasn’t going to spend two years on a mission. Then our seminary teacher gave some lessons on missionary work. By the end of the week, I knew that going on a mission was the right thing to do.
I went to the bishop to get a recommend for my patriarchal blessing. Through that experience, I learned that God had a plan for my life. That knowledge helped me form my own plans for the future. My grades improved, and I started getting involved in clubs and activities at school. I was assigned to be a home teacher with a neighbor, who taught me about service and how a priesthood holder should live.
Despite the changes I made, my life wasn’t easy. In some ways it became more difficult. Going to church meant more conflicts with my family over the kinds of activities we engaged in on Sunday and the kinds of movies we watched. Most of the time I went to church by myself. I missed out on dinners, movies, and visits to amusement parks. But that was more than made up for by the Spirit I felt. The Holy Ghost comforted me in difficult times and taught me as I read the scriptures.
When I graduated from high school and seminary, my grandma gave me the promised check for $100. I thanked her and told her I didn’t want it, but she insisted. The testimony I had gained of a loving Heavenly Father, the Savior, the Holy Ghost, the restored Church, and prophets who lead us today was worth far more than any amount of money.

In April of 1830, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was organized in upstate New York. [8] By December of that same year, the Lord had given His fledgling Church “a commandment... that it is expedient in me that they should assemble together at the Ohio.” [9] The following month, He revealed: “There I will give unto you my law; and there you shall be endowed with power from on high.” [10]
Early missionaries found converts in Kirtland, and within months the Saints in New York were making their way to join them. [11] By 1832, the commands started coming to “organize” and “prepare” and to “establish a house, even a house of prayer, a house of fasting, a house of faith, a house of learning, a house of glory, a house of order, a house of God; That your incomings may be in the name of the Lord; that your outgoings may be in the name of the Lord; that all your salutation may be in the name of the Lord, with uplifted hands unto the Most High.” [12]
That language, recorded in the 88th section of the Doctrine and Covenants, is filled with a sense of excitement and anticipation for the outpouring of spiritual gifts the Lord had planned for His people once the temple was built and dedicated in Kirtland, Ohio. The temple is a place where heaven and earth overlap. It is a place where God the Father and His Son, Jesus Christ, can be more present in our lives. It is a place of sacred ordinance and covenant that amplifies and magnifies our most important relationships. In profound ways, “the power of godliness is manifest” most fully in the temple. [13]
Thus, when the Saints didn’t quite move fast enough or give construction of the temple the right priority, the Lord “chastened” them, and invited them to reconsider “the great commandment in all things, that I have given unto you concerning the building of mine house.” [14]
Received in June of 1833 by the Prophet Joseph, the 95th section of the Doctrine and Covenants reads like an anxious parent pleading with a child to receive some wonderful gift that the child cannot yet seem to appreciate or comprehend.
Indeed, the Lord had blessings in mind and was in a hurry. Quoting again from section 95, He says, “I design to prepare mine apostles to prune my vineyard for the last time... that I may pour out my Spirit... [and] endow those whom I have chosen with power from on high.” [15] Aware of how difficult it would be, He continued by promising the Saints that “if you keep my commandments you shall have power to build it.” [16]
Then, the Lord does something that emphasizes just how different and important this house, this temple, is going to be. He says, “Let the house be built, not after the manner of the world... [but] let it be built after the manner which I shall show unto three of you... The size thereof shall be fifty and five feet in width, and let it be sixty-five feet in length... And let the lower part of the inner court be dedicated unto me for your sacrament offering, and for your preaching, and your fasting, and your praying, and the offering up of your most holy desires unto me.” [17]
The “three” referenced in section 95 were Joseph Smith, Sidney Rigdon, and Frederick G. Williams, the First Presidency of the Church at the time. Truman G. Angell, a man who later became the architect of the Salt Lake Temple, recorded in his journal President Williams’ description of how the temple plans promised in section 95 were revealed. He wrote:
Joseph received the word of the Lord for him to take his two counsellors Williams and Rigdon and come before the Lord, and He would show them the plan or model of the House to be built. We went upon our knees, called on the Lord, and the Building appeared within viewing distance, I being the first to discover it. Then all of us viewed it together. After we had taken a good look at the exterior, the building seemed to come right over us. [18]
The revealed plans made such an impression that when he eventually saw the interior of the completed Kirtland Temple, President Williams observed that, “the Makeup of this Hall seemed to coincide with what I there saw [in vision] to a minutia.” [19]
Even with plans in hand, however, the Saints faced many barriers to construction in the summer of 1833. As a people, they were relatively few in number, they did not have enough money, and they were part of a new church trying to come together as a Zion people. [20]
Eliza Snow, who would later serve as the second General President of the Relief Society, described the scene in Kirtland this way:
At that time... the Saints were few in number, and most of them very poor; and, had it not been for the assurance that God had spoken, and had commanded that a house should be built to his name, of which he not only revealed the form, but also designated the dimensions, an attempt towards building that Temple, under the then existing circumstances, would have been, by all concerned, pronounced preposterous.
From 1833 to 1836, the construction of the Kirtland Temple was the primary focus of the Church in Kirtland. On June 5, 1833, they broke ground. On July 23, 1833, they laid the cornerstones. [21] A stone quarry two miles from the construction site was identified, and the Prophet Joseph himself would help quarry the stone used to build the temple. [22] Those who had a team of horses were enlisted to carry stones to the temple site. [23]
Obtaining wood was more difficult. Anything harvested nearby needed to be dried and seasoned before it could be cut and used in the construction of the temple. [24] To that end, the Saints built a kiln that, one historian explained, “required heat and evidently open flame.” [25] Unfortunately, the kiln caught fire frequently. In December of 1835, the Prophet Joseph recorded in his journal that:
The board kiln had taken fire... After laboring about one hour against this destructive element, we succeeded in conquering, and probably saved about one-fourth part of the lumber... There were about two hundred brethren engaged on this occasion; they displayed much activity and interest, and deserve much credit. [26]
Just three days later, the Prophet wrote, “To day the board kiln, took fire again.” [27] When the Saints could not overcome the problems with the kiln, they were forced to contract for lumber with a local supplier. [28]
Interruptions slowed or suspended construction on at least three occasions. [29] During the Winter of 1833–34, there was not enough wood, stone, or other materials. In the summer of 1834, Zion’s Camp took many of those working on the temple to Missouri in defense of Zion. During the winter of 1835–36, harsher and colder weather made work unbearable.
Those who helped build the temple worked long hours at considerable personal sacrifice. A brother named Daniel Tyler described those who worked on the temple this way:
How often have I seen those humble, faithful servants of the Lord, after toiling all day in the quarry, or on the building, when the walls were in course of erection, weary and faint, yet with cheerful countenances, retiring to their homes with a few pounds of corn meal that had been donated. And, in the case of those who lacked a cow to give a little milk, the corn meal was sometimes, for days together, all that they and their families had to subsist upon. When a little flour, butter or meat came in, they were luxuries. Sometimes a little New Orleans molasses, not as good as our sorghum, would be donated; but oftener the hands had to seek a job elsewhere to get a gallon or so, and then return to the labor on the temple. [30]
Others contributed and sacrificed from their homes. Heber C. Kimball reported that:
Women were engaged in spinning and knitting in order to clothe those who were laboring at the building, and the Lord only knows the scenes of poverty, tribulation, and distress which we passed through in order to accomplish this thing. My wife toiled all summer in lending her aid towards its accomplishment. She had a hundred pounds of wool, which... she spun in order to furnish clothing for those engaged in the building of the Temple, and although she had the privilege of keeping half the quantity of wool for herself, as a recompense for her labor, she did not reserve even so much as would make her a pair of stockings; but gave it for those who were laboring at the house of the Lord. She spun and wove and got the cloth dressed, and cut and made up into garments, and gave them to those men who labored on the Temple; almost all the sisters in Kirtland labored in knitting, sewing, spinning, etc., for the purpose of forwarding the work of the Lord. [31]
“Poverty” was a word used often in the many journals and records of the day. [32] When Heber C. Kimball arrived in Kirtland, he described the scene that greeted him:
When I got to Kirtland the brethren were engaged in building the house of the Lord. The commandment to build the house, and also the pattern of it was given in a revelation to Joseph Smith Jr., Sidney Rigdon, and Frederick G. Williams, and [it] was to be erected by a stated time. The church was in a state of poverty and distress, in consequence of which it appeared almost impossible that the commandment could be fulfilled, at the same time our enemies were raging and threatening destruction upon us. [33]
To keep the project moving, money was borrowed and missionaries were called to solicit funds. [34] By March of 1835, while the walls were still going up, Joseph felt the need to provide many of those working on the temple with a spiritual lift. One hundred nineteen individuals were gathered and received blessings given by the First Presidency. [35]
Later that same year, Joseph rallied the Twelve, promising them that:
Great blessings await us at this time, and will soon be poured out upon us, if we are faithful in all things... The house of the Lord must be prepared, and the solemn assembly called and organized in it, according to the order of the house of God... [ordinance there] is calculated to unite our hearts, that we may be one in feeling and sentiment, and that our faith may be strong... If we are faithful, and live by every word that proceeds forth from the mouth of God, I will venture to prophesy that we shall get a blessing that will be worth remembering... our blessing will be such as we have not realized before, nor received in this generation. [36]
On Sunday, March 27, 1836, the Kirtland Temple was dedicated. Of that day, the official history of the Church records Joseph’s account that:
The congregation began to assemble at the Temple, at about seven o’clock, an hour earlier than the doors were to be opened. Many had come in from the regions round about, to witness the dedication of the Lord’s House and share in His blessings; and such was the anxiety on this occasion that some hundreds (probably five or six) assembled before the doors were opened. The [First Presidency] entered with the doorkeepers, and stationed the latter at the inner and outer doors... The doors were then opened. Presidents Rigdon, Cowdery and myself seated the congregation as they came in, and, according to the best calculation we could make, we received between nine and ten hundred, which were as many as could be comfortably seated. We then informed the doorkeepers that we could receive no more, and a multitude were deprived of the bene?ts of the meeting on account of the house not being sufficiently capacious to receive them; and I felt to regret that any of my brethren and sisters should be deprived of the meeting, and I recommended them to repair to the schoolhouse and hold a meeting, which they did, and filled that house also, and yet many were left out... At nine o’clock a.m. President Sidney Rigdon commenced the services of the day by reading the 96th and 24th Psalms. [37]
For those without a seat in the temple or at the nearby schoolhouse, the windows of the temple were opened so that as many as possible could listen and a repeat of the dedicatory services was scheduled for the following Thursday. [38] Hymns were sung, sermons given, scriptures read, prayers offered, the sacrament passed, Church officers sustained, and then the dedication. [39]
Joseph had received the dedicatory prayer by way of revelation. [40] After reading it, those in the temple sang The Spirit of God by W. W. Phelps. [41]
In the days that followed, additional fast meetings were held. On March 31, a second dedicatory session was conducted. [43] On April 3, 1836, Christ appeared to Joseph and Oliver Cowdery and accepted the temple, saying, “I have accepted this house, and my name shall be here; and I will manifest myself to my people in mercy in this house.” [44] Appearances by Moses, Elias, and Elijah followed and the “keys of this dispensation” were committed. [45]
It is, I believe, important to remember that the outpouring of the Spirit at this time in Kirtland was universal and enjoyed by all those who came spiritually prepared to the dedication.
As Eliza Snow described it, “The ceremonies of that dedication may be rehearsed, but no mortal language can describe the heavenly manifestations of that memorable day. Angels appeared to some, while a sense of divine presence was realized by all present, and each heart was filled with ‘joy inexpressible and full of glory.’” [46]
The Savior appeared on five occasions, including a vision of both the Father and the Son. [47] Members of the congregation recorded the appearance of heavenly beings or angels at nine different meetings. [48] The letters and journals of the more than 1,000 who participated in the dedicatory meetings offer firsthand accounts that are remarkable, faith-filled, and transformative. [49]

The next day we visited St. Catwg’s church and we were met by Father Powell and his lay reader Carolynn Corbin, who showed us around this very impressive 2,000-year-old building. While chatting, my brother Richard discovered miracle number nine that Carolynn was a Parry and quite likely a very close cousin of ours. We exchanged emails and discovered that we did indeed have a common ancestor. This led to a wonderful afternoon tea and the uniting of another branch of Welsh and American lines. After just a few minutes with this family we knew we had met before.

De Witt J. Paul, who is now serving as a mission president in California and who was an executive of one of the nation’s largest financial institutions, states:
“… Adhering to gospel standards has never stood in my way. Quite to the contrary, doing so has been an asset rather than a liability. Moreover, it has not been difficult or embarrassing.
“In a world of rather wishy-washy convictions, one who believes in something and lives in accordance with his beliefs is usually admired and respected. I never appreciated this so much as when the chairman of the board of directors of my company one day said to the board members: ‘I am retiring, and I propose Mr. Paul as my successor. As you know, Mr. Paul is a Mormon. Mormons have rather high standards to live by, and among other things they do not smoke or drink. I have kept an eye on this fellow for many years now, and never once have I seen him make a slip. I recommend him to you as a man of integrity. …’
“It is my experience that there are a lot of very fine people in the world. Just because they do not have my outlook on life has never given me reason to alienate them through prudish self-righteousness. Perhaps herein lies the secret of ‘living in the world without being a part of the world.’” (“Living in the World without Being a Part of the World,” De Witt J. Paul, Improvement Era, September 1965, p. 838.)

A young woman working at Morton Thiokol, just west of Brigham City, found her eternal mate in an interesting way. A nonmember had moved there from Ohio, met her at work, and had asked her out. She accepted and they went on a date. When she would not cooperate with his sexual advances, he became upset and took her home. The following Monday at work he was joking with other men in his department about how she would not cooperate with him, and how straight she had been. A recently returned missionary who worked there listened to the ribald conversation. Later he went back to the man and asked for the name of the uncooperative date. He told him. She was exactly what he had been looking for. Apparently things went quite well. Four and a half months later they knelt across the altar and were married forever.

There are many single adults in the Church well beyond their early adult years. While finding their present life different than they had anticipated, they keep the law of chastity.11 It can be a trial of their faith. I express my deep respect and admiration for these disciples of Christ.
“God has commanded that the sacred powers of procreation are to be employed only between man and woman, lawfully wedded as husband and wife.”12 In the New Testament the Savior lifted the moral standard for His followers when He declared, “Whosoever looketh on a woman to lust after her hath committed adultery with her already in his heart.”13 He taught us not to condemn others, but He was unafraid to speak directly: “Go,” He said, “and sin no more.”14
Our family has a friend. You probably know someone like her, or perhaps you are like her. Always faithful, serves nobly in the Church, admired professionally, adored by her family, and while she anticipated marriage and children, she is single. “I made the decision,” she said, “to put my … trust in Jesus Christ. Going to the temple frequently helps me keep a more eternal focus. It reminds me I am never alone. I have faith … that no … blessing will be withheld … as I … remain faithful to my covenants, including the law of chastity.”15
Another friend served an outstanding mission, followed by rigorous academic training. He hoped to have a family. His trial of faith: feelings of same-sex attraction. He wrote me recently: “I am promised in my patriarchal blessing that I will have my own family someday. Whether that will occur in this life or the next, I do not know. But what I do know is that I don’t want to do anything that will jeopardize the blessings God has promised both me and my future posterity. … Living [the law of chastity] is a challenge, but did we not come to earth to confront challenges and to show God our love and respect for Him by keeping His commandments? I am blessed with good health, the gospel, a loving family, and loyal friends. I am grateful for my many blessings.”16
The world protests, how can you ask so much? The Lord responds:
“My thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways. …
“For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts.”17
These two followers of Christ and tens of thousands like them have felt the Savior’s promise: “Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.”18

Some stories from our lives may still feel too painful to revisit, but I encourage you to choose one to study anew. For me, that story is my mother’s. Her father struggled with alcoholism and was largely absent, leaving his family without the support they needed. Given that history, you might expect my mother to view family life as fragile or untrustworthy. Instead she became the mother of thirteen children. I heard her say more than once that she would take as many children as God would give her.

How did that happen?

Over the years I watched her grapple with grief and try to define a relationship with a father who had caused so much hurt. But she didn’t shy away from sharing the hard truths of her experience. She kept returning to her story again and again—but now each time with the Savior at her side. Slowly, fear and anger gave way to compassion, understanding, and even love for someone who, by most standards, didn’t deserve it.

My mother’s story is a powerful example of what it means to rewrite pain into purpose. Through my mother, generations have felt the strength of a redefined legacy—one centered on eternal covenants, healing, and joy in our Father’s plan.

The other day I pored over images of my childhood home. I grew up the eighth of thirteen children on a farm in the dry desert of southern Arizona. I stumbled across the words my mother wrote to accompany these photographs:

Dear Ones,
Home is where one starts from. There will be memories stirred a bit by these pictures—mostly pleasant, we hope. The time will come when the house, the trees, the sheds, and the fences will be no more. We’ll all find ourselves a cemetery residence. But lasting through all the ages to come will be our covenants that can make us an eternal family in an eternal home.

Decades later I found myself at my mother’s bedside, caring for her in the final stages of her life and her earthly story. One of the most sacred experiences I will ever have in this life was watching this mother say goodbye, one by one, to each of her thirteen children whom she so carefully raised and loved. This was a woman, a mother, a wife, a sister, and a daughter who understood deeply the author and finisher of her faith and story.

The following news story, which was widely circulated in 1982, provides vivid evidence that, when faced with the unexpected, our actions are dependent on the principles we believe in.

Moments after Air Florida’s Flight 90 left the runway at Washington’s National Airport, it was clear that the Boeing 737 was not going to fly. As it shuddered and stalled, the co-pilot said, “We’re going down,” and the pilot answered grimly, “I know it.” With a deafening crash it slammed into the Fourteenth Street Bridge and plunged into the icy waters of the Potomac. Witnesses watched in horror as the fuselage, which had broken free of the tail section, rolled gently and sank beneath the surface, its rows of passengers still strapped into their seats. Only the tail remained afloat—with six people clinging to it.

One of them was Arland D. Williams, Jr., a balding, graying, middle-aged bank examiner and father of two, who was on his way to an investigation in Florida. Although divorced two years previously, he was soon to be remarried and was probably the one with the best chance, for while the others had broken limbs and collapsed lungs, he was relatively free of injury. All he had to do was hang on until help arrived.

At 4:20, nineteen minutes after the crash, the rotors of the U.S. Park Police helicopter were heard thwacking through the cold winter air. Bert Hamilton, who was treading water about ten feet from the floating tail, took the single lifeline dangling beneath the chopper and passed it under his arms. The others watched while the helicopter carried him a hundred yards to the Virginia shore and returned. This time Arland Williams caught the line. Instead of wrapping it around himself, however, he passed it to flight attendant Kelly Duncan. Soon she too was safe.

On its third trip back to the wreckage, the helicopter trailed two lifelines, for its crew knew that survival in the river was now only a matter of minutes. One of the lines was aimed at Williams. He caught it again and again passed it on, this time to Joe Stiley, the most severely injured survivor. Stiley slipped the line around his waist and grabbed Priscilla Tirado, who, having lost her husband and baby, was in complete hysteria. Patricia Felch took the second line, and the helicopter pulled away. Before it reached the shore, however, Priscilla Tirado lost her grip and fell back into the water, so the helicopter, on its next trip, had to return for her.

Arland Williams’ turn came at last. The chopper crew was eager to meet him and salute his selfless heroism. But, as they approached the wreckage, they saw that he was gone. It was 4:30. He had been in the paralyzing cold for twenty-nine minutes—a minute or so too long.

Rescue Officer Gene Windsor wept as he related the incident to his wife. “He could have gone on the first trip,” said the pilot, Donald Usher, “but he put everyone else ahead of himself. Everyone.” [News story quoted in Robert F. Bennett, Gaining Control (Salt Lake City: Franklin Quest Company, 1987), pp. 35–36]

A few months before my baptism, I went to the baptism of two of my friends. Both of them sang a song during their baptism service. When we got home, my mom suggested I write down my feelings about being baptized, since I write a lot of songs. I went into my room and wrote down a few thoughts. My mom said what I had written was very special, and that we should have my grandma put my words to music. So we did. A few months later, at my own baptism I sang the song I had written. I was really nervous, but I felt the Spirit help me. I’m really glad to have my very own baptism song!

John and Tess found they enjoyed the extra effort they put into visiting their neighbors so much, they decided to expand the assignment into a week.
“As soon as we received the assignment from the bishop we came home and began talking about it. We planned. We prayed. And then we planned and prayed some more,” John reflected.
“From Sunday until Thursday I just kept thinking the day was coming closer and closer. I knew that I had enough time to prepare, and on Thursday I’d better live the best I could. I couldn’t really offer any excuses,” says Tess.
They decided to fill their day visiting their neighbors, taking some fruit or a gift to those who were ill, expressing their thanks to people who had helped them. “So many people are lonely and just want to talk,” says John who serves on the fellowshipping committee in the ward. “We wanted to just go and let them know we cared. And it was wonderful to see how they opened up to us. One sister asked us if the high priests could come and administer the sacrament in her home once in a while since she couldn’t go to the meetings. So I talked with the bishop about it, and the next week a couple of us administered the sacrament to her.”
Was their day a success? “Oh, yes! Most days we think about what we should do, but we just don’t make the effort to do it. And when you finally do it, you have such a good feeling,” Tess said.

Mom, why do we have to pull these old weeds, anyway?” Vanessa whined, pushing back the hair from her sweaty forehead. “Weeds, weeds, weeds! It’s such a waste of time. They’ll just grow again next week, and I’ll have to pull them up all over again.” She stabbed the trowel into the dark brown soil for emphasis.
Her mother smiled at eleven-year-old Vanessa’s impatience.
“I wish that the garden plants would grow but not the weeds,” Vanessa said. “Wouldn’t that be easy?”
“It would be easy,” Mom agreed, “but where’s the challenge? What could we learn from that?”
“What do we learn now, except how to get bug bites, sunburn, and blisters?”
“Actually you’ve learned a great deal. For example, you know that things must happen in proper order. We must plant seeds when and where they’ll be able to do their best,” Mom explained.
“I wonder if Heavenly Father ‘plants’ our spirits in certain bodies, at certain times, in certain places, so that we can do our best?” Vanessa wondered aloud.
“That’s an interesting thought. I’ve pondered things like that, too,” Mom said as she planted peas neatly in a row.
“Maybe I had to be born to this particular family, in this place, at the exact time that I was born, in order for me to develop and reach my full potential,” Vanessa said thoughtfully. “OK, we do learn things from gardening,” she admitted. When she saw the triumphant look on her mother’s face, she added, “But I still don’t understand why we have to go to all this trouble to have homegrown vegetables. Store-bought ones are just as good if you ask me.”
“A half hour a day isn’t much time to spend when you consider all the rewards,” Mom said. “By the end of the summer you’ll see what I mean.”
Each day after school, Mom and Vanessa got on their gardening clothes and worked side by side in the garden. One afternoon in late spring they transplanted tomato seedlings. After working in silence for some time, Vanessa said, “Plants need sun, air, water, and nutrients from the soil. We need sun, air, water, and nutrients from food. Mom, would we die without the sun?” They talked for twenty minutes about the similarities and differences between plant needs and human needs.
During other gardening sessions, Vanessa told her mother about school, her friends, her hopes and plans for the future, her worries and fears. She began to look forward to these talks.
Sometimes while they gardened, Mom told Vanessa stories about what it was like to grow up on a farm. One day she said, “My mother used to tell me: ‘You reap what you sow. If you plant cucumber seeds, you get cucumber vines and cucumber blossoms, and, eventually, cucumbers. You’ll never get cauliflower from cucumber seeds. If we sow acts of kindness, we reap friendship and happiness.’”
“But if we sow evil and unkindness, then we reap the consequences—unhappiness and sadness,” Vanessa added. They were silent for a few minutes before Vanessa asked, “It can take a long time to see the results of what you’ve sown, can’t it, Mom?” She was thinking of a girl who had started at their school before Christmas and was extremely shy. Vanessa had been nice to her, but it had taken until February to get the girl to respond. But Vanessa’s persistence paid off; the girls were now good friends.
One day in June, after three days of rain, the weeds suddenly shot up tall. “We have to pluck out the bad plants so that the good ones won’t be robbed of the nutrients, moisture, and root space. Does that remind you of a scripture story?” Mom asked.
“You mean when Christ will take all the wicked and burn them as stubble, and the good people won’t be bothered anymore by their evil influence?”
“Good! You’ve been reading,” Mom said, nodding approvingly.
“It also reminds me of the parable about the seed falling on the rocky soil, getting choked by weeds, or growing in good soil,” Vanessa continued. “We have to try to get sin out of our lives so that the seed of faith can grow in good soil within us.”
“I think she’s got it!” said Mom, laughing along with her daughter.
Once when Vanessa complained about all the work, Mom said, “It’s not much different from having neighbors or friends.”
“I don’t see the connection,” said Vanessa.
“If someone has a need, we serve them. Later, they—or someone else—may help us. Right now it’s our turn to help the vegetable plants. But in a few months, they’ll be serving us—on our dinner table!”
In July there were two weeks with no rain. Vanessa’s arms became stronger and stronger from carrying buckets of water. She prayed for rain and hurried out early each morning to check the plants. When it finally did rain, she danced barefoot in the backyard.
Late in the summer, Mom said, “Vanessa, have you noticed what a trim figure and lovely, healthy glow you have? It couldn’t possibly be from working in the garden, could it?” Her eyes twinkled merrily.
Vanessa realized that her mother was right. She felt prettier, healthier, and stronger than she’d ever felt before. Mom’s right, she thought. You do get a lot from gardening—more than just vegetables.
By the end of August the whole family was involved in canning and freezing the garden’s harvest. Still, there were more vegetables than they could possibly use. “Dad, wouldn’t someone at your work or one of our neighbors love a basket of fresh zucchini or tomatoes?” Vanessa suggested.
They canned spaghetti sauce, and Vanessa could hardly wait to invite the new neighbors for dinner. When they arrived, Vanessa sat down with them and told them all the wonderful benefits of gardening.
Mom winked at Dad as Vanessa enthusiastically added, “Tonight we’re having spaghetti with sauce made from our own vegetables. And salad and zucchini, all from our garden. Mmmm! You’ll love them. They’re lots better than store-bought vegetables!”

I remember a time at a youth conference when an exchange student from Germany, who wasn’t a member of our church, stood and shared how meaningful her experience had been being around us and living our standards. She didn’t know how she could go back home and live the same way. I knew I was probably the only person in that room who could empathize, having grown up in Niagara Falls, where members of our Church were very sparse. The Spirit then whispered, “You should talk to her.” But I grumpily resisted the prompting, because the boy I liked had shown interest in her—and she was honestly the last person I wanted to talk to.
After the meeting, the prompting came again: “Go talk to her.” I resisted. “No. I don’t want to.” Then, as she walked past me, I literally felt propelled out of my chair as the Spirit practically yelled, “I said, Go talk to her!” “Fine!” I grumbled back in my mind. “I’ll go talk to her!” We sat down outside, and I was able to share some of my past experiences with her. I testified that if she had the courage to find our missionaries, she would discover other members of our Church in Germany and find the love and support she was seeking. I never found out what happened to her, but I do know the Spirit testified of the truth of what I said.
I share this experience because learning to recognize and obey the voice of the Lord is a skill. As Joseph Smith taught, we can “grow into the principle of revelation” as we learn to recognize the Spirit. [9] For me it started less like a still small voice and more like an exasperated command! But over time, as I’ve learned to listen, it has become quieter, and I’ve learned to respond more quickly and willingly.

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.

We all have life events that, when we recall them years later, acquire new and important meaning. When I was in junior high, I was honored by the school administration when I was asked to become a member of the student hall patrol. On the days we were assigned to be on hall patrol, we were instructed to bring our lunch to school and eat it together. It was always a special treat, and there was always a lot of competition to see whose mother had prepared the most desirable lunch. Often we traded lunch items among ourselves.
One day when I was assigned to be on hall patrol, I forgot to tell Mother that I needed a lunch until I was almost ready to leave for school. An expression of concern came over Mother’s face when I requested a lunch. She told me that she had just used up her last loaf of bread for breakfast and would not be baking until that afternoon. All she had in the house to make a lunch was a large sweet roll left over from the previous night’s supper. Mother made delicious sweet rolls. She always arranged them in a pan so there was one large one across the top of the pan and then rows of smaller ones down the length of the pan. Only the large one remained. It was about the size of a loaf of bread in length but, of course, not in thickness. I was embarrassed to take just a sweet roll for lunch when I imagined what the other patrol members would have, but I decided it was better to go with the sweet roll than go without lunch.
When it came time to eat lunch, I went to a far-off corner so I wouldn’t be noticed. When the trading of lunches started, my friends wanted to know what I had. I explained what had happened that morning, and to my dismay, everyone wanted to see the sweet roll. But my friends surprised me—instead of making fun of me, they all wanted to have a piece of the sweet roll! It turned out to be my best lunch trading day of the entire year! The sweet roll that I thought would be an embarrassment to me turned out to be the hit of our lunch hour.

Rebecca Renfroe, from Idaho, USA, used to blog and read others’ blogs almost daily. Her mind was always in “compose” mode—mentally writing a blog about what she did with her children instead of just doing things with them. She realized there had to be a balance.
She says, “The Spirit helped me to recognize that having a blog was not the problem—devoting too much of my time and energy to it was. I had literally been giving portions of my life away: trading away quality time with my children and my husband, trading away time for serious, in-depth study of the scriptures, and even trading away hours of sleep that affected my ability to serve others, to be sensitive to the Spirit, and to maintain a healthy lifestyle.”
Sister Renfroe learned not to let good things get in the way of better things, as Elder Dallin H. Oaks of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles counseled: “Just because something is good is not a sufficient reason for doing it. … Of course it is good to view wholesome entertainment or to obtain interesting information. But not everything of that sort is worth the portion of our life we give to obtain it. Some things are better, and others are best.”1

On June 7, 1844, a group of dissenters, including several prominent Church members who had apostatized, published the first issue of the Nauvoo Expositor. This newspaper denounced Joseph Smith as a “fallen prophet,” a political demagogue, an immoral scoundrel, and a financial schemer. It accused Mormonism of promoting such activities and it maligned other individuals. Those attacked by the paper included several members of the Nauvoo City Council as well as the new mayor, Joseph Smith. After lengthy discussion, the council decided the libelous newspaper violated public nuisance laws. They voted to stop the paper before it aroused anti-Mormon mobs. Therefore, the city marshal destroyed the press, scattered the type, and burned available papers.
Owners of the paper then charged the city council with fomenting a riot (even though the destruction of the paper had been accomplished in orderly fashion). Council members were arrested and went through court proceedings which eventually legally acquitted them. But before this procedure could take place, anti-Mormon newspapers stirred up such a commotion that Joseph Smith mobilized the Nauvoo Legion and placed the city under martial law. Illinois Governor Thomas Ford was informed of the controversial actions and personally investigated. He obtained pledges that both sides would observe strict legality and nonviolence. Ford traveled to Carthage, Illinois, the county seat, to conduct negotiations between the opposing parties, and decided a trial would be the best solution.
The fifteen men named in the riot charge presented themselves at Carthage on June 25, where a justice of the peace freed them on bonds pending trial. Later that evening Joseph and Hyrum Smith were served an improperly issued writ charging them with “treason” for declaring martial law in Nauvoo. It was enforced without a hearing and the two were held in Carthage Jail. John Taylor, Willard Richards, and others accompanied them to jail.
On June 26 Governor Ford visited the Prophet in jail and was satisfied that the city council’s action and mobilization of the Legion had been taken for legal procedures. Ford left two companies of the anti-Mormon Carthage Greys (the local militia) to guard the jail. Although he promised to take the prisoners with him if he visited Nauvoo, the governor ignored this promise and left for the city of the Saints on the morning of June 27.
At Carthage, June 27, 1844, a body of men daubed their faces with mud and gunpowder, rushed the jail, and quickly overpowered the cooperative guards, who had agreed in advance to load their guns without balls. The mob rushed upstairs to the jailer’s sleeping room where the four Latter-day Saint leaders waited. Shots punctured the thin bedroom door. Hyrum Smith was the first to fall mortally wounded. John Taylor was struck from the doorway and from shots fired through the window. Seriously injured, he rolled under a bed to safety. Joseph Smith ran to the window. He was struck by two balls from the open door, another from outside the window. He was struck by a fourth ball as he plunged through the window. The attackers rushed outside to assure themselves that the Prophet was dead, leaving Willard Richards, still behind the door, uninjured. Someone shouted that a posse of Mormons was coming. The rumor was untrue, but the mobs fled.
They had killed the Prophet, believing that his death would mean the end of Mormonism. But members of the church recognized Joseph Smith and his brother Hyrum, the Patriarch to the Church, as martyrs to the Lord’s cause. Faithful members reaffirmed their belief in the ultimate triumph of the latter-day work restored through the Prophet. Joseph Smith had risen from obscurity to national renown, and the Saints believed that his name would be “had for good and evil among all nations,” (JS—H 1:33) as promised by Moroni. They thus set about the task of carrying forward a sacred mission that had only just begun.

It was Josef’s first time at Filip’s house. They had a great time building a cardboard spaceship. They even colored awesome flames on it. When Filip’s mom called them for dinner, Josef followed Filip into the kitchen.
“I’ll say grace,” said Filip’s dad.
What does that mean? Josef wondered. He watched Filip and his family as they each touched their forehead, then the middle of their chest, then the left side, then the right. Josef had never seen anyone do that before.
Filip held his hand out. Josef looked around and saw that the rest of Filip’s family were holding hands and bowing their heads. Are they about to pray? Is that what it means to “say grace”? Josef wondered.
Josef didn’t want to hurt Filip’s feelings, so he took Filip’s hand. Filip’s dad took Josef’s other hand and then started to pray.
“Bless us, O Lord …”
Before they sat down, Filip and his family touched their foreheads and chests as they had before.
When Josef got home, Mom asked about his day.
“Did you have a good time?” Mom asked.
“Yes,” Josef said quietly. He did have a good time. The spaceship was awesome, and the hamburgers were yummy. But something was bothering him.
Mom looked at him more closely. “You don’t sound OK. Is something wrong?”
“Well …”
Josef had so many questions! He kept thinking about that prayer. Why was it different from how he and his family prayed?
“Mom,” he asked, “how did you pray before you joined the Church?” Josef told her about Filip’s family’s prayer.
“It sounds like they’re Catholic, like I used to be,” Mom said. “They were making the sign of the cross with their hands. See how it looks like a cross? It’s a reminder that Jesus died for us.”
Josef smiled. “So Filip believes in Jesus too?”
“That’s right,” Mom said. “Do you remember what Filip’s dad said in the prayer?”
Josef had to think about it. “He thanked God for the gifts He gives us … and he talked about Christ!”
“See?” Mom said with a smile. “We’re not so different. I’m glad you could pray with Filip’s family.”
A few days later, Filip came over to play. They were playing outside when Dad called them in for dinner. Josef’s stomach rumbled as they ran to the kitchen.
“I’m starving!” said Josef.
“Me too,” said Filip.
Everyone took their places around the table. Filip sat next to Josef. Filip made the sign of the cross and reached for Josef’s hand.
“This is how we pray at our house,” said Josef. “We fold our arms, close our eyes, bow our heads, and pray.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“Easy,” said Filip.
Josef closed his eyes and smiled. He was glad he could pray with his friend.

An example would be these next words that were spoken recently by the husband of just a little over one year of Jennifer Cracroft Lewis. Her funeral was held here in Provo several months ago. Though grieving over his wife of such a short season, Brother Lewis spoke at the funeral with composure as well as courage:
I have a testimony of this gospel. I know that the ordinances in the temple that I have partaken of with Jennifer are eternal. This gospel is so great that I will be with her again and I will hold her flesh again as she is resurrected. I have a testimony of this Church, and Jennifer has a testimony of this Church which she bore with me, that Jesus is the Christ. . . . He was resurrected as we will be.
He continued, saying,
One of our favorite songs, which we will now sing as a congregation, was “Called to Serve.” I believe, as the scriptures have pointed out, that Jennifer, one of the best missionaries I ever had a chance to witness, is called to further service. She has been called home to preach the gospel to those who have not yet received it. I ask that this song be sung with meaning.
Then, as invited, we all sang “Called to Serve.” Weeping and singing were several of Jennifer’s missionary companions and her mission president and his wife. I always love to hear that song sung, but I’ve never heard it sung like that before! Not far from here, on a new headstone, are these words: “Jennifer Cracroft Lewis, September 13, 1968–January 26, 1994, Called to Serve.”
This is emblematic of the strength I see and feel in so many of you. God’s work here does proceed—here and on the other side of the veil, where those like Jennifer continue to “build up” the kingdom.