Gospel Story Finder

It was while he was announcing high school basketball games as a college freshman that his wife first met him. June Dixon was still attending high school in nearby Spanish Fork when someone introduced her to him at a game.
They were married on 24 June 1952, while both were attending BYU. It was the height of the Korean War, and he was in the Utah National Guard, expecting his unit to be called to active duty at any time. But while other, closely related units went, his was never activated. At that time, a limited number of young men were being called on missions because of the war, and Dallin was not among them; the quota in his ward was filled.
“I think he’s always wished that he had enjoyed that opportunity. But later he was stake mission president in Chicago. And he was a good one,” his wife comments.

Joseph William Billy Johnson is one of those people. He has been a member of the Church from its beginnings in Ghana.
In 1964 an associate gave him a copy of the Book of Mormon and some Church tracts that had been sent from Europe. When he read a tract containing the testimony of Joseph Smith, he recalls, “I was inspired,” and when he read the Book of Mormon, “I knew it was true.” He began to preach the gospel truths he had learned. He wrote to Church headquarters, and President David O. McKay encouraged him to continue studying the scriptures and to be patient and faithful until missionaries could be sent to Africa.
Billy Johnson persevered for 14 years despite persecution. He built congregations to whom he taught the gospel doctrine he found in Church books. As nearly as he knew how, he tried to direct his congregations according to Church practices, yet he understood that he did not have authority to perform its ordinances.
Often he felt directed by the Spirit; he was sustained at times by visions and dreams. His son was named after Brigham Young because of a dream in which that former President of the Church offered encouragement. Brother Johnson learned about salvation for the dead after deceased relatives appeared to him in dreams and asked him to be sure they would have the opportunity to receive baptism by proxy.
“I drew inspiration from the pioneers,” he says. Reading of their struggles to build a haven in the western United States where they could worship in peace, he longed for the day when it might be possible to enjoy this same blessing in Ghana.
When Latter-day Saint missionaries arrived in 1978, after the revelation extending the priesthood to all worthy male members, hundreds of Ghanaians he had prepared were ready to be taught and baptized.
Despite the hardships he endured, Brother Johnson, now patriarch of the Cape Coast Ghana Stake, rejoices at the opportunity he had during all those years to help prepare others for the gospel. “Whenever I see in conferences the number of people who have been baptized into the Church, I start weeping for joy at the great work the Lord has done.”

The story is told of a man named Jack who had a beloved bird-hunting dog named Cassie. Jack was so proud of Cassie and often bragged about what a skilled dog she was. To prove this, Jack invited some friends to watch Cassie perform. After arriving at the hunting club, Jack let Cassie out to run around while he went inside to check in.
When it was time to begin, Jack was anxious to show off Cassie’s amazing skills. However, Cassie was acting strangely. She wouldn’t obey any of Jack’s commands as she usually did so willingly. All she wanted to do was remain by his side.
Jack was frustrated and embarrassed and angry with Cassie; soon he suggested they leave. Cassie wouldn’t even jump into the back of the truck, so Jack impatiently picked her up and shoved her in the kennel. He fumed as those with him made fun of his dog’s behavior all the way home. Jack couldn’t understand why Cassie was misbehaving. She had been trained well, and her whole desire in the past had been to please and serve him.
After arriving home, Jack began examining Cassie for injuries, burrs, or ticks, as he usually did. As he put his hand on her chest, he felt something wet and found his hand covered with blood. To his shame and horror, he found that Cassie had a long, wide gash right to her chest bone. He found another on her right front leg, also to the bone.
Jack took Cassie into his arms and began to cry. His shame at how he had misjudged and treated her was overwhelming. Cassie had been acting uncharacteristically earlier in the day because she was hurt. Her behavior had been influenced by her pain, her suffering, and her wounds. It had nothing to do with a lack of desire to obey Jack or a lack of love for him.

I wish you didn’t have to go to the Madsens’ ranch without me,” Mother said, “but I can’t leave Baby Jody.”
“That’s all right, Mother,” Hilda said. “It’s only a mile.”
“And we’ll hurry,” added Peter.
But Mother still looked worried. Hilda knew Mother was thinking about the renegade Indians who had been giving the settlers trouble that summer of 1858.
Mother lifted a stoneware crock off a shelf and took out a soft deerskin purse closed with a buckskin thong.
“Let me carry the purse, Mother,” Peter pleaded.
“No!” Hilda said crossly as she grabbed the purse. “You might lose it. Then what would Father do for boots and a coat?”
Peter was ten years old and was miffed at his twelve-year-old sister’s lack of confidence in him. He followed Hilda in silence as they left their cabin and started up the hill. Mother had told them to stay on the hill’s crest and to be watchful. Loose stones and prickly sagebrush made walking between cedar and juniper trees difficult, but the trees made Hilda feel that she and her brother would not be easily seen.
They were almost at the top of the hill when Hilda turned to tell Peter to hurry. Her brother, his round face pale, pointed below them. Hilda’s stomach tightened when she saw what Peter was pointing at.
Three Indians, their backs toward the children, crouched behind a pile of boulders beside the cattle trail. In plain view below them was the Madsen ranch, and between the waiting Indians and the ranch rode the two oldest Madsen boys, herding cows toward the corral.
Hilda realized that as soon as John and Lars got a little closer, the Indians would try to steal the cows. They might even hurt the boys to get their horses.
“What should we do, Peter?” whispered Hilda. They looked at the leather purse she held. Inside were coins that they had worked all summer to earn. Brother Madsen was to take the money to Salt Lake City the next morning so that missionaries leaving for England, where Father was serving his own mission, could deliver the money to him. It was important to warn Lars and John about the waiting Indians, but it was also important to get the money to Brother Madsen.
Tears started down Peter’s round cheeks. “No renegades are going to stop Father from getting that money,” he cried.
Hilda didn’t scold Peter about his tears. She felt like crying herself. Day after day she and her brother had followed herds of sheep around the valley in order to pick wool from the branches and bushes that the sheep brushed against.
Every evening the children had stuffed the wool they had gathered into a sack. Bit by bit the amount grew. Then a couple of days ago they had helped Mother wrestle the heavy sack into their wagon for the drive to the co-op store.
“You must have worked all summer to gather so much wool, Mrs. Hancock,” Brother Cox said when he weighed it.
“I didn’t gather an ounce of that wool,” Mother replied, smiling at her children. “Hilda and Peter picked every bit of it.”
“Their father will be very proud of them.”
“He certainly will,” said Mother. “My husband wrote that he needs a warm coat and sturdy new boots for the cold English winter. The children gathered the wool to help pay for them.”
Brother Cox smiled. “Money for this much wool will buy him boots and a coat, with some left over.”
He handed several coins to Mother, who put them into the leather purse—the one Hilda now clutched with both hands as she and Peter stared at the crouching Indians.
“Father must have boots and a coat,” Peter insisted, “or he will get cold and wet, the way he did last winter.”
Hilda agreed. She remembered the letter Father had written in late spring. It had made Mother cry. He said he had walked so many miles preaching the gospel that his boots were worn through, and cold, wet feet and the flu had forced him to his bed.
Peter added stoutly, “But first we must warn Lars and John about the Indians!”
“How can we get past the Indians, Peter?”
Her brother stuck his chin out. “If we slip down the other side of the ridge, they won’t see us.”
Hilda hoped Peter was right. She didn’t think about her brother being only ten years old now as she struggled to follow him down the steep slope. She had trouble making her way silently through thorny bushes and stiff sagebrush, carrying the deerskin purse in her hand. Finally she stopped to tie the buckskin thong to her wrist, then hurried after Peter, who was running in the soft sand of a dry streambed.
The Madsen boys were directly ahead of them now. Peter shouted, “Lars! John! Renegades!” He pointed up the hill.
Instantly the Madsen boys turned their horses. Lars swung Peter up behind him; John did the same with Hilda. The boys began to shout, turning the cows away from the hill and hazing them down the slope.
The next few moments were filled with noise and excitement. Hilda held her arms tightly around John’s waist. Hoarse, angry cries from the Indians as they watched their prey escape sounded above the clatter of racing hooves.
Then they were safely at the ranch. After he helped them down from the horses, Brother Madsen hugged Hilda and shook Peter’s hand. “You two certainly have made it my privilege to carry your money to Salt Lake City,” he said.
Hilda looked at her arm and gasped. The leather purse was gone! She turned and, with no explanation, began to run back up the hill. Her knees felt weak, and her heart pounded. Oh, what if the money is lost forever! she agonized. She didn’t even think about the renegades. Her only thought was of her father spending his last winter in England with worn-out boots and no coat.
Peter realized what had happened and caught up with Hilda. They searched the ground and the bushes. Up the dry streambed they ran. No purse.
As they started up the slope where the undergrowth was the thickest, Hilda began to cry. They were nearly to the place where she had tied the purse to her wrist, when Peter stopped and said, “Hilda, we need help.”
“Yes,” she sobbed. “Go ask Brother Madsen to—”
“I don’t mean help from him.” Peter looked very grown-up as he said, “Hilda, we’ll ask Heavenly Father.”
Together the children knelt down. Hilda scarcely felt the stiff branches and sharp rocks under her knees as her brother prayed aloud for help to find the leather purse.
They stood up. Silently they continued to climb the slope. Hilda turned her head. Almost hidden beneath a gooseberry bush was the leather purse.
It was Peter who carried the purse back to the Madsen ranch and he who handed the purse to Brother Madsen.
“This money will be on its way to your father first thing tomorrow,” Brother Madsen promised. “John and Lars will take you home, in case those renegades are still up to some mischief. Anything else we can do to help?”
Hilda looked at her brother, then shook her head. “No thank you,” she said. “We’ve already been helped.”

In 1938, during the middle of the Great Depression in the United States, my mother had just turned nineteen years old. She was the oldest of six children, with her youngest sibling having recently turned five. Her father, Leslie, was a sheepherder in the deserts of eastern Utah. The weather was hot and dry. One summer day in June, while Leslie was out tending the sheep, he became dehydrated and suffered from heat stroke. At age 41, he died suddenly, leaving his wife and six children with no husband and father and very little financial means. My mother did not understand why God would take her father when she felt the family needed him so desperately. She prayed and asked God why her father would die at that particular time.
My mother sought to learn from God why her father died when he was young and had a family that needed him so much during a time of great economic difficulty. The answer she received did not come quickly, but it did come. After studying the scriptures and praying for many days, her answer came in a dream. The answer was clear and brought peace and understanding to her soul.
I witness that Jesus Christ lives. He is the all-powerful Son of God. He knows us personally. He can guide and comfort us during times of uncertainty, pain, or fear if we listen to His words and seek to hearken and to heed what He tells us to do. I also witness that Jesus Christ directs His ordained servants and speaks through them. I have personally felt His clear direction in preparing messages for general conference.
As we listen to the messages during general conference—and seek to hearken and heed the words of Jesus Christ—He will speak to our hearts. He can and will help us to deal with temptation, struggles, and weakness. We can experience miracles in our marriages, family relationships, and daily work. Jesus Christ seeks to help us feel increased joy even if turbulence surrounds us. May we turn to Him and hearken and heed His words.

One day, I was not very happy. My throat hurt, I was angry, and I wasn’t making very good choices. At breakfast, I yelled at my mom. She sent me to my bedroom to calm down.
I was sad and angry, but then I had a good idea about what I could do to feel better. I folded my arms, bowed my head, and said a prayer. My angry feelings left, and I started to feel happy inside. When I came out of my bedroom, I told my mom I was sorry and was going to make good choices for the rest of the day.

An example of a child listening happened in a fabric store. The store was crowded with shoppers when it became obvious to everyone that a mother was panicked because she had lost her young son. At first, she was calling his name. “Connor,” she would say as she briskly walked around the store. As time passed, her voice got louder and more frantic. Soon the store security officers were notified, and everyone in the store was involved in looking for the child. Several minutes passed with no success of finding him. Connor’s mother, understandably, was becoming more frantic by the minute and was rapidly yelling his name over and over again.

One patron, after saying a silent prayer, had the thought that Connor may be frightened as he listened to his mother scream his name. She mentioned this to another woman involved in the search, and they quickly made a plan. Together they began to walk between the tables of fabric, quietly repeating the words “Connor, if you can hear my voice, say, ‘Here I am.’” As they walked slowly toward the back of the store repeating that phrase, sure enough, they heard a timid, soft voice say, “Here I am.” Connor was hiding between the bolts of fabric under a table. It was a voice of perfect mildness that encouraged Connor to respond.

In September 1977, I was nineteen years old and studying in Quetzaltenango, Guatemala, to become a school teacher. One afternoon while walking home, I noticed a little stream of rain water running down the street toward my apartment. It was carrying a piece of paper. Just to entertain myself, I decided to keep pace with that piece of paper. When I got to my apartment, I picked it up.
It was a pamphlet. I will never forget its title: The Church as Organized by Jesus Christ. At one time I had been very interested in finding the church that Jesus Christ had set up. I had investigated many churches, but I had joined none. I had finally given up my search. But now as I read the title on the pamphlet, somehow I knew I had found the true church. On the back of the pamphlet was a name—The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I determined to find that church.
School resumed in January, and I went back to Quetzaltenango. Although I had lived in that city for three years, I had never seen a Latter-day Saint church there. One Sunday I decided that if one existed, I was going to find it. I got up early and began asking everyone I met if they knew the location of the church. At first, no one did. Others sent me in the wrong direction. But after three hours, I finally located the meetinghouse and literally ran toward it.
The building was beautiful. I wondered if this was a church just for the rich. Because I am a shy person, I quietly took a seat in the back of the chapel. I knew no one there, and nobody spoke to me, but I loved the meeting. There was a feeling in my heart that I had never felt in any other place on earth.
The next Sunday I returned, thinking that if the preacher asked people to come up front and accept Christ, I would be the first to go. But nobody called us to go up. Three members shared short messages. How different this church is! I thought. But I liked it. Unfortunately, the members still did not notice me, and I decided I would go back only one more week. I couldn’t keep attending if I had no one to talk to. At least I would have a beautiful memory to cherish.
The meetings were equally pleasing on the third Sunday. When they were over, everyone began leaving, talking happily. I sat on a bench in the entryway, almost in tears at the idea of not coming back. Then a well-dressed young man with blond hair sat down next to me. In broken Spanish, he asked how long I had been a member of the Church.
“I’m not a member,” I said, “only visiting.” He instantly took out a little book and asked for my address.
“Why do you need my address?”
“We would like to get to know you and teach you more about the Church,” he explained.
With great pleasure I accepted his invitation, and the missionaries began teaching me the gospel. I asked a great many questions, which they could not always answer, but they always came back with the answers the next day. People at school ridiculed me when they learned what I was doing, and family members who belonged to other churches kept trying to argue with me. But I kept learning, and in time I was baptized.

When André Green of Folcroft, Pennsylvania, became a deacon, the bishop advised him to do good works beyond the usual duties of a deacon. André took the bishop seriously and at school asked his teacher and principal if he could use the New Testament as his next major reading assignment. At first, he was denied permission, but by proving that he was already doing other large reading projects, he was given permission to do an oral and written book report. Besides receiving an A+, the report was displayed before the entire school.

Isaac bounced up and down in his seat. He looked out the car window. They were going to visit Grandma and Grandpa. They were going to see something else special too.
“When will we see the new temple?” Isaac asked Mom.
“Tomorrow,” she said.
Isaac smiled.
Finally Isaac and his family got to Grandma and Grandpa’s house.
The next morning, Isaac got dressed in his Sunday clothes. It felt funny to wear his tie in the middle of the week. Isaac ate breakfast with his family. Then they drove to the temple open house. They were going to see inside the new temple before it was dedicated.
“I see the temple!” Isaac said. He pointed to the white building with the angel Moroni on top.
There was a Church building next to the temple. Isaac and his family went there first. They watched a video. Someone helped put white covers over their shoes.
Finally it was time to go inside the temple! Isaac walked through the temple doors. His heart felt happy.
Isaac saw lots of paintings on the walls. Some paintings showed people praying. Some paintings showed beautiful plants and animals.
Then Isaac saw a painting he liked best of all. It was a painting of Jesus! Jesus was standing with His arms stretched out.
“It looks like Jesus is opening His arms to me,” Isaac whispered to Dad.
“Jesus always has His arms open for you,” Dad whispered back. “He loves each of us.”
Isaac had a good feeling in his heart. He imagined walking next to Jesus in the temple. He imagined Jesus giving him a hug.
Jesus loves Isaac. And Isaac loves Jesus too!

I love to read the New Era. I can’t wait for it to arrive each month. But the April 1987 issue came just at the right time.
On March 17, one of the best friends I’ll ever have died. I received the April issue in March, so I thumbed through it on the day after she passed away. I remember seeing the article “When a Friend Dies.” I was emotionally struggling with her death—very much so in fact—when I picked up the New Era and started to read it.
When I had finished, I was so deeply touched that I knew she was all right and that everything was okay.
I want to thank you so much for that article. I don’t know how I could have overcome this crisis without you.
Brooke WakefieldTaylorsville, Utah

I remember that when we went to Arizona, President Christopher Layton had been the president of the stake. He was ill and soon passed away. My father took the reins and became the president of the stake. I remember we lived in a one-room house. I guess there were about nine of us at that time, and we lived in that one room for some time. Then we moved to a little adobe building a few blocks away, where there were about three rooms. The roof leaked and many times we had to sleep out in tents.
And then we acquired a ten-acre place which was above the canal. It was covered with mesquite bushes and chaparral and other desert plants. How to get rid of them, how to clear the land—that was the question. The first thing we knew, the brethren from Central Ward had come those several miles with their picks and shovels, their axes, and they began to help us clear our ten acres. They came from Layton Ward, and then they came from Pima Ward. They came before we knew it, almost. With the help of my father, who was a very excellent worker, and two sons who were older than I was, we soon had the place ready to plant.
That was welfare work. It wasn’t under the same direction. It wasn’t stimulated in the same way. But it was real welfare work, because each helped the other.

A memory I cherish from growing up in New York City is spending Christmas with my family. My parents, three older brothers, younger sister, and I enjoyed sharing meals and exchanging gifts. Even with how busy both my working parents were, Christmas was our special time to spend together.
Christmas was never the same when my parents divorced. I was 11, and we never got together like that again.
At age 17, I first heard about the gospel of Jesus Christ and wanted to learn more when I heard that families can be together forever. I was amazed to discover that God has a plan of salvation and exaltation (see Moses 1:39).
God’s plan, in the words of President Russell M. Nelson, is “fabulous.” God wants all His children to be guided safely home to live with Him again. He has said, “I am able to do mine own work” (2 Nephi 27:21), but we have the wonderful opportunity to participate in His work with Him. This has brought me a sense of direction, purpose, peace, and hope throughout my life.
In our day the Lord has revealed:
“O ye that embark in the service of God, see that ye serve him with all your heart, might, mind and strength. …
“Therefore, if ye have desires to serve God ye are called to the work” (Doctrine and Covenants 4:2–3).
God desires that we serve Him with all our heart, might, mind, and strength and that we love Him with the same intensity (see Doctrine and Covenants 59:5). Our love for God enables, empowers, and enhances our desires to serve. As we act on those desires, our ability to serve and love Him and our neighbors is strengthened. God’s power then comes, and we can see His hand in our lives.
As I serve God—because I love Him—I can feel of His love and assurance that He loves all His children and wants us to return home to live with Him again. He also does not want us to return alone. He wants us to bring our families and others to the gospel as we serve with love for Him and His children.
We participate in God’s work more effectively when we have His help. As we do our part and seek inspiration, the Holy Ghost can guide us in the work. When the Lord called Enoch to be a prophet, He said, “Behold my Spirit is upon you, wherefore all thy words will I justify; and the mountains shall flee before you, and the rivers shall turn from their course; and thou shalt abide in me, and I in you; therefore walk with me” (Moses 6:34).
Additional help comes to us as we receive temple ordinances and make and keep the covenants. When we go from just attending the temple to worshipping in the house of the Lord, we come to understand that ordinances and covenants connect us to Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ in a powerful and intimate way.
President Nelson has taught that this covenant relationship “makes everything about life easier.” It does not make life easy, but binding ourselves to Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ grants us access to Their strength, which increases our ability to participate in Their work. As we go forth, we can walk side by side with Them and feel Their power and influence in our lives.
God’s work is not always easy. When I have days that I feel discouraged or disappointed, I remind myself of the “why” of doing His work, which is that I know that God lives and that Jesus is the Christ. The Holy Spirit has witnessed and confirmed this to me again and again. I can never deny that. Because I love Heavenly Father and His Son, I seek to please Them by participating with Them in Their great work.
If you ever feel inadequate or that you don’t have the right skill set for this work, join the team! Most of us feel that way from time to time. In those moments we need to be like Nephi and be “led by the Spirit, not knowing beforehand the things which [we] should do” (1 Nephi 4:6). If we go forward with faith and do what we can, the Lord will guide and assist us and multiply our efforts just as He did with the five loaves and two fishes (see Mark 6:41–44). Whatever we bring to the Lord, He will use to further His work of salvation and exaltation.
Another reason why we have been invited to participate in God’s work of salvation and exaltation is that He and His Son, Jesus Christ, want us to become holy, even as They are. As we work alongside Them, we learn more about how we can become like Them.
In this work we invite others to become like Jesus Christ by discovering the joy of repentance. President Nelson has said that repentance is a process “of doing and being a little better each day.” It is a chance to change, to grow spiritually, and “to become more like Jesus Christ!”
We can help others make their homes feel like heaven so that someday heaven will feel like home and they can be prepared for the life to come.
There is joy in this work! President Nelson has taught that “regardless of what is happening—or not happening—in our lives,” we can find joy when we focus on Heavenly Father’s plan and our Savior, Jesus Christ. Heavenly Father’s plan is possible only through His Son. Jesus Christ was willing to do the will of His Father and sacrifice everything for us. If not, we would have been lost forever. He knew that it was the only way for us to return home to live with Heavenly Father and to find joy. President Nelson has taught, “Joy comes from and because of [Jesus Christ]. He is the source of all joy.”
What a wonderful blessing and opportunity it is for us to assist in this important work of salvation and exaltation and help others return safely home, where our Father in Heaven and Jesus Christ long for us to be.

While I was in high school in Oakley, Idaho, the school board was finally able to raise enough money to buy us football uniforms. Our coach was the chemistry teacher. He had seen a game one time, and so he taught us how to tackle and run a few simple plays. The rest of us had never seen an actual team play.
Our first game was against Twin Falls, Idaho, the previous year’s state high school champs. Well, as you can imagine, the game was interesting. We tried a couple of plays and didn’t go anywhere, so we kicked the ball to get rid of it. Each time we got the ball, we kicked, and each time they got the ball, they scored.
Near the end of the game, when we were battered and beaten, Twin Falls started to get a little reckless. Clifford Lee, who was playing halfback with me, had one of their wild passes land right in his arms. He wondered what to do with it. He saw them coming after him, so he started to run for his life. He scored a touchdown.
We didn’t try an extra point because we didn’t have anyone who could kick one. The final score was 106 to 6. Our team lost so badly because we had not mastered the basics of football.
In life when there is something to be done, we have to learn the basics. They are taught in the scriptures. None of them has changed. We have to learn to obey the simple, basic rules of the gospel that are necessary for us to advance.

In 1957, we were sealed in the Swiss Temple with our children. It was a wonderful experience for us—and a very important one. My husband was ill. After two difficult operations, we were told that he could not live.
Yet those last days of his life were, in spite of everything, almost happy. There were times when we felt pure joy at having been able to receive the gift of the gospel, times when we rejoiced with tears of gratitude that his coming death would not separate us forever.

Let’s all learn from my friend Mick. One day he was swimming at a party given by the company for which he was working that summer in Nebraska. He dove into the water and hit a shallow spot very hard. A broken neck was his diagnosis, and his whole body was immediately paralyzed. He even lost the capacity to breathe. The doctor said, “He may not make it through the night.”
He had earned a B.A. degree in political science after serving a mission in Japan. At the time of this tragic accident he had just one year left in law school at BYU. He was married and had two children. This tragic accident changed his whole life, as if from day to night. He wasn’t sure whether he would make it until the next day. It was inconceivable, the emotional and physical pain that he must go through as a quadriplegic.
Even though he was in this condition in the University of Utah Medical Center, he was determined to graduate from law school. It was an almost impossible task, but good friends, true Samaritans, brought him notes and taped lectures from Provo. Oh, God bless these true Christians. He turned pages by a mouthstick, and if his book flipped shut, he waited for a long time until someone came to help him.
Finally, he graduated from law school, passed the Utah bar exam, and became a licensed attorney. While he was studying, exercising, and maintaining doctor’s contact to gain strength, his wife took his two sons and divorced him. This was the most “sorrowful and very heavy” period of his life. (Matt. 26:37.) But he never complained and even blessed the leaving loved ones. In his heart he prayed, “Thy will be done, O Lord!” (Matt. 26:42.) It was his own Garden of Gethsemane, and he took his own cup and drank it as his blessing.
My friend Mick met a most beautiful lady, Cheryl. They married and now the greatest joy has come to their lives. His wife is expecting a baby. It is a miracle. The Lord said, “I will be with thee, thy troubles to bless.” Last Friday, they were sealed in the temple for time and for all eternity. It was my privilege to perform the ceremony for this beautiful couple.
His stake president, President Banks, described him as “a most humble person with strong faith,” and his secretary said of him, “Time has always been important to him. A span of a few brief seconds means the difference. He has no wasted time. He has accomplished more than ever.”

Jim was an old-timer. He had been an ironworker for over 30 years and had worked on about every type of job in the trade, which gave him a rich background of experience. He had walked narrow beams hundreds of feet off the ground and moved or crawled to the end of beams to make the connections thousands of times. Connectors are supreme among ironworkers. They take the greatest risk, and their job requires the greatest courage. Jim was admired by his peers as a man of great courage and stability.

One day he was working with a crew of ironworkers on a job in the rugged mountains of the Colorado Rockies when a storm struck without warning. The rain poured down, the lightning flashed, the thunder roared, and the wind blew with fury. The ironworkers quickly climbed down and gathered in their work shack to wait for the storm to end.

They had been there for about fifteen minutes when someone asked, “Where’s Jim?” He wasn’t in the shack. They went outside and looked up at the steel structure. There he was, standing on a beam with his arms wrapped tightly around a steel column. They called but got no response, so two of the crew went up the framework and found him frozen in panic. His arms were so tightly clenched around the column that they had to pry him loose. Then they fastened him to a cable and lowered him to the ground. He was terrified with fear.

They took him into the shack and warmed him by the fire. An hour later the storm was over, the weather was calm, the sun shone brightly, and the birds sang in the trees. The crew started back to work, but Jim stayed behind. He had lost his nerve and was afraid to get back in the air.

The foreman recognized the problem. It was not something for Jim to be ashamed of. It happens to the best of men. The situation needed wise care and attention. If Jim didn’t get back in the air now, he never would. The fury of the storm combined with the risk of his trade had broken the spirit of an old-timer. He alone could mend the damage. But he needed a helping hand as he had never needed one before.

The wise foreman put his arm around Jim and said that what had happened to him could happen to any one of them. The foreman told Jim to get back to work and assured him of his complete confidence that he could do so. Jim knew that the foreman was right. Every ironworker knows he has to go back. Jim knew he had to do it now. It would be even more difficult tomorrow if he didn’t go back today, and within a week it would be impossible. Finally, he demanded of himself that he get up on the steel structure and go to work. His legs felt weak and his body shaky. As he climbed the steel and cautiously proceeded to carry on, the members of the crew gave him a rousing cheer. That gave him the strength and confidence he needed.

Jim went to work, and as he strove to keep pace with the others in the crew, he gradually regained his self-confidence. Had the foreman not been understanding or had the other members of the crew been critical, he would likely have been unable to return to work. Jim learned that his fellow workers were his true friends, for they had understood and given him support in a time of dire need.

My mother, Margaret, moved from Switzerland to the United States as a young woman. Not long after that, she had an appointment to receive her patriarchal blessing. But when she went to meet with the patriarch, he wasn’t there. For whatever reason, my mother felt like that was confirmation the Lord didn’t have anything to tell her, and she never rescheduled her appointment.
From time to time over the years, I would suggest to my mother that she reconsider receiving her blessing. She was one of the most faithful women I ever knew. However, she was so humble that she replied that she didn’t merit anything special from the Lord. She didn’t need a blessing, she said, because she was just a simple girl. And she was OK with that.
Finally, when she was 90, we convinced her to schedule an appointment with her patriarch. Ironically, there was a miscommunication with this patriarch as well, and when Mother showed up, the patriarch was out of town. “See?” she said. “I told you the Lord has nothing special to tell me.”
Fortunately, she and the patriarch were able to meet the next week. When the blessing was given, it was filled with gifts, promises, and details about her life that were so personal they could have come only from the Lord’s knowledge of her.
“I guess the Lord did have something to say to me, after all,” she said.

When Shawn was 15, he and a friend attended a prestigious national basketball camp with 120 of the best high school players in the United States. A new friend talking with the two Utah players had some pretty wild misconceptions about Mormons.
“He asked me, ‘There are Mormons where you’re from, right? Do you see them? Do you live by them?’
“I answered him,” says Shawn. “Yeah, we go to school with them. We see them all the time. Mormons are like you and me. They are normal people. They look like us. They dress like us. They act like us. They talk like us.
“He didn’t believe me until I said, ‘I can prove to you that Mormons are just normal people.’ He said, ‘How?’ I said, ‘We’re both Mormons.’ It really shook him up. A few days later, that kid started asking more about the Church and our ideals. He couldn’t believe we wouldn’t have sex until after we were married, and that we wouldn’t drink and stuff. It was a heavy-duty discussion for 15-year-olds.
“I ended up bearing my testimony to him. That is the best missionary tool in the world. I just couldn’t find a way of explaining everything I knew. But I knew it was true. It was an excellent feeling to know something is really true.”

When his father was released as mission president, Robert returned to Salt Lake for his senior year of high school. Academically he was fully prepared for college work and simply breezed through his high school courses. But in other ways he suddenly found himself confronted with one of the hardest challenges of his life. “Socially I was really out of it. I had been attending an all-boys’ school. When they put on a play at Rondebosch, they even had boys take girls’ parts because there were no girls available. So I couldn’t dance. I’d never had a date. I didn’t know the social graces that come through associating with girls. I was very shy and bashful around them. I couldn’t drive a car. I was not familiar with American sports. I was tall and skinny. I only weighed 130 pounds soaking wet. And I was absolutely miserable. If I saw a girl coming down the long hall of East High, rather than meet her and blush, I’d turn around and walk clear around the school. I never had a date that senior year in high school. I remember my mother trying to bribe me to get a date, and I wouldn’t do it. I just felt miserable!
“I don’t think I could have felt less confident about myself than I did. It was the hardest year of my life. I made this mistake: I came from South Africa and thought, ‘Well, you’d think these boys would want me as a friend’; so I waited for them to come to me, forgetting that I was coming into a pattern of boys who knew one another, and it was for me to fit into that pattern. Instead, I just sat there and moped and felt sorry for myself. It was a miserable year. It was horrible. I can really relate to a lot of young people who have difficulties at that time in their lives because of the way I felt about myself.”