Gospel Story Finder

One day, my mission president called me to be one of the assistants for the Ghana Accra Mission. This calling gives me a lot of opportunities to speak in large group settings. Because of being in the office, I was able to meet the new missionaries coming from the MTC. A lot of them do not speak English, only French. One day, after my portion of a training, my mission president asked me to give a small training in French and mentioned that I should tell them where I came from. They could not believe that I was from the DR Congo. I was able to encourage and strengthen them, telling them that they should trust in the Lord and believe in the gift of tongues, that it is REAL!

Recently in South America, a lady missionary, who impressed me greatly, told me the story of her conversion to the LDS Church and her missionary call. Before coming on her mission she was a nurse. Her roommate was a Mormon girl. The nurse liked the girl’s habits, was very pleased with her character and personality, and so she decided to study the LDS religion. The Mormon girl got two missionaries to teach the nurse the gospel.

When the nurse’s parents heard that she was favorably inclined toward the Mormon religion, they thoroughly opposed her actions. They forbade her to join the Church, telling her that if she did she would be disinherited.

The Holy Ghost had borne witness to her so strongly that the Church of Jesus Christ was the true church that she asked the missionaries to baptize her even against the wishes of her parents, whom she loved dearly. It grieved her when her father and mother told her not to return home.

After joining the Church, she had a very strong desire to go on a mission and so she decided to work and save the money. It took her three or four years’ time to save approximately $3,000. She was called to labor in South America, where she is doing an outstanding job in taking the gospel of Jesus Christ to the people of that land. When she returns home, she hopes to regain the love and favor of her parents.

"Some years ago, he (Elder Steuer) served as a mission president in Sao Paulo, Brazil. It was his practice with newly arriving missionaries to give them real "missionary experiences" on their very first day as full-time proselyting missionaries. To do this, after their orientation and a dinner at the mission home, they would be sent out that evening with their assigned companions. The seasoned missionary would take the new missionaries out either tracting, street contacting, or giving discussions.

"In one of the groups of new missionaries, there was a Brazilian elder who came from far north of Brazil. It took this missionary about three days travel by bus just to reach the MTC in Sao Paulo for his initial training. On that first evening, after having a good meal, President Steuer announced that the new missionaries would then go out and do missionary work. This new missionary's companion decided they would go tracting, a frightening experience for this shy new elder. The senior companion said he would take the first door and told his companion to watch closely how it was done as the second door would be his.

"The young elder protested, saying he was too frightened, but his companion proceeded to the first door. When this young elder knocked on the second door, the senior companion stepped back and indicated for him to proceed. He shrank back. When the door opened, to the young elder's utter astonishment, the person standing there was his older sister. She had run away from home three or four years earlier. The family had not heard from her since and had no idea where she was, or even if she was still alive. One can imagine the sweetness of that reunion and the tears of joy that were shed that night.

"As he concluded this story, Elder Steuer said two things that deeply impressed me and made the point I'm trying to make. He said, "Not only was his sister one of the first nonmembers he contacted in the mission field, but she became his first convert baptism as well." Then he added,

"As you think about that... , remember, at that time there were between thirteen and fourteen million people in Sao Paulo!"

The crew has arrived at the studio ready for another taping. With an air of knowing exactly what needs to be done, they quickly arrange the furniture on the set. Chris and Allen pull cables out of the way of their cameras. Martin clips the tiny microphones to their guests’ lapels. Mike is seated at the switching board, giving instructions over his headset.
Suddenly someone yells, “Quiet.” Bill counts down with the fingers of one hand. “Five … four … three … two … we’re on the air.”

Katya, a dear sister in Ukraine, has a deep love for the temple. Before the temple in Kyiv was built, she and others in her branch sacrificed to travel 36 hours on a bus to attend the temple once a year in Germany. These devoted Saints prayed, studied scriptures, sang hymns, and discussed the gospel as they traveled. Katya told me, “When we finally arrived at the temple, we were prepared to receive what the Lord had to give us.”

I think of her. I think of my father. I think of all those General Authorities who’ve influenced me, and others, including the widows whom I visited—85 of them—with a chicken for the oven, sometimes a little money for their pocket.
I visited one late one night. It was midnight, and I went to the nursing home, and the receptionist said, “I’m sure she’s asleep, but she told me to be sure to awaken her, for she said, ‘I know he’ll come.’”
I held her hand; she called my name. She was wide awake. She pressed my hand to her lips and said, “I knew you’d come.” How could I not have come?
Beautiful music touches me that way.

I recall a friend of mine going through a time in his life that shook him to the very core of his being and caused him and his family much heartache and soul searching. He had been raised in a strong member family, his parents had held responsible positions within the Church, but for much of his life he had felt that he had been "living a lie", as he described it, trying to be something he really wasn't. While his actions indicated full activity in the gospel—regular church attendance, full time mission, church service and even temple marriage— his thoughts became more and more focused on worldly pleasures. Over a period of several years, he gradually succumbed to these thoughts, convinced that they represented who he really was and began to act upon them.

My friend ended up isolating himself from his family and losing his membership in the Church and along with it, his self worth. Fortunately, he had a very loyal and faithful wife who stood by him and prayed for his well being constantly, even though she had personally suffered greatly from his actions. He soon realized that his worldly pursuits had robbed him of what was most dear, that made him truly happy, not just in a fleeting, superficial way as his current temporal pursuits did, but in a deep meaningful way. He desperately wanted back what he had lost, far more than the temporal pleasures he was indulging in. Thus began his long journey back into the light.

I am pleased to inform you that my friend did hold fast to the process of repentance and has once again achieved full fellowship. His gratitude and respect for his wife has grown immeasurably as she never faltered and never gave up on him. He then shared a very important insight with me from his experience and that is our actions, if we persist in them, can and will shape our thoughts. As he persisted in doing the right things, he found that his thoughts began to fall right into line. It did not happen overnight, but it did happen. His troubles began the day he ceased doing the right things.

Sometime later, I was home one evening with my brothers and sisters. We heard a whining noise coming from outside. We went to the window and peered out into the darkness. Soon, Major, our large German shepherd, passed through the light from the window. We could see something was terribly wrong! Fearfully my older brother and I went outside and were able to get Major back into the light and see why he was trembling in pain. He had had an encounter with a porcupine, and countless quills had been thrust into his nose, mouth, tongue, and chest.
Immediately we called for my father to come home. He had been working late at the college. He came quickly and sadly announced, “We will probably have to put him to sleep.” We understood what that meant, and, through our tears, we said, “If you are going to put Major to sleep, you will have to put us to sleep first.”
Dad had no choice but to pull out the quills one by one. We watched in agony as Major winced and howled in pain as each quill tore away some of his flesh.
It was not long until he had fully recovered and was back on duty, faithfully protecting us and our farm from all intruders. Unfortunately, some months later, he had another encounter with a porcupine and had to suffer all that pain again.

In sacrament meeting one hot afternoon, the speaker was talking about the Holy Ghost. I couldn’t really imagine what the Holy Ghost was like, but I wanted to know that he was real. One night I found out.
My cousin Chasta came over to spend the night. We wanted to sleep outside in our tent trailer, so we got my sister, Korina, and an armful of games and blankets. It was dark, and my dad lit the lantern so we could have light to play games by. He showed us how to turn off the lantern when we were done with it.
We played for hours. Then I got up and turned off the lantern. We tried to go to sleep, but we all agreed that we wanted to play another game.
We stood a couple of flashlights on the table, but it still wasn’t enough light to see the game by. So I suggested that we turn the lantern back on. I had seen my dad do it several times, so I thought I could do it. I felt important, pumping gas into the lantern with the matches in my hands, while Korina and Chasta stood near me watching.
I went to strike a match, but I stopped. Something told me not to. I had never felt anything like this before. I was stunned. I didn’t know what to say. All I did know was that we would be in danger if I lit the match. The thought came to me to move the lantern out of the tent trailer.
I set the lantern down on a chimney support right next to the house and continued the process of pumping gas, getting the lantern ready to light. The feeling came again just as strong.
I remember my dad saying one night during family home evening that the Holy Ghost was the still, small voice that helps you when you need help and warns you about sudden dangers.
Right next to the house was not a good place either, we decided. I placed the lantern on the cement, away from everything. I realized I was talking aloud. The words, “Be prepared to jump and run, just in case,” came out of my mouth. I hadn’t even thought of saying it. When I finally did light the lantern, it blew up and caught fire. But none of us was hurt, and nothing except the lantern was damaged.
Ever since that night, I think about what could have happened if I hadn’t been warned to get the lantern away from the tent trailer and also away from the house. I felt the Holy Ghost had really prompted me. Now I know he is real and I can feel his promptings.

When John Rainer was a young boy in Taos Pueblo, New Mexico, one of his favorite parts of the day was dusk. Like most young Indian children, John would run and play and do chores all day long, with an exuberance typical of those who grow up with space to roam and air to breathe. But at the end of the day, when golden fire filled the horizon, John would pause and listen. He would always hear the song of the flute.
“It was a peaceful, relaxed melody,” John recalls. “The old man would sit near the river half a mile from town and play his tunes. He believed the music would travel with the water. You couldn’t see him, but you could always hear his tunes.” It was a time for rest from the day’s labor, a time of repose and contemplation, a time during which a love for music was born in John’s heart.
John grew up and moved to the city. He lived in a comfortable brick home in a suburb of Orem, Utah, with his wife and children. And every evening, just at dusk, he would take his flute—one he made himself—and play a melody—one he wrote himself—to his family. His neighbors didn’t always see John, but they could usually hear his songs. When they did, the whole world seemed to pause, breathe deeply, then sigh in contentment.
“Playing the flute is my way of sharing something my ancestors shared with me,” John said.

It had been years since I had attended sacrament meeting at the care center. But now, as a member of the stake Relief Society presidency, I had come back to visit a ward conference session there.
During the prelude music, I looked around the room. Some of the patients were suffering the infirmities of old age. Others had been stricken with abnormalities at birth, and their whole lives had been upward struggles. Just to sit or to be strapped to a wheelchair was an accomplishment.
To my left was a familiar wheelchair, a little apart from the semicircle. I had seen this little lady each time I had visited. Thick, straight hair framed her bony face. Her jaw was twisted and loose. Her tongue often hung out. The rest of her body was twisted as though her joints were trying to bend in the wrong direction. But, strapped to her wheelchair, she seemed to await the meeting as eagerly as anyone else.
We sang and prayed, and as the meeting progressed, I watched the sacrament table. One of the priests seemed confident and experienced, while the other looked nervous. Then the deacons caught my attention as they approached the sacrament table, received the trays, and began to pass the sacrament.
One of them stepped up to the woman in the wheelchair. Her arm was twisted through the bar of the arm rail; her palsied shoulder did not respond. As the deacon approached, her twisted, toothless mouth fell open. Without hesitating, he took a piece of bread and placed it on her tongue.
From across the room came a high-pitched voice: “Did you see that sweet boy give bread to Rosie?”
At the amen ending the prayer on the water, I thought, “Shall I get up and help her with that tiny cup? How will she manage?” While I sat in my chair, the same deacon gently poured the water into that helpless mouth, blessing Rosie again with his service.
I sat, ashamed at my failure to act. Then, as that deacon stood before me, I saw the trembling in his hands, the questioning in his eyes, a pleading to know if he had done right. All I had seen was his strength and compassion. I nodded and tried to reassure him with a smile.
Had he been primed or prepared for that moment, or was it spontaneous? Either way, it was a hard thing for a twelve-year-old boy. And I was overcome with appreciation for a young priesthood servant quietly fulfilling his quorum assignment.

I graduated from Liahona High at age 18 ½. About 98% of my classmates were going on missions; both boys and girls. Realizing that I was not 19, I decided that I will focus on coming to school in Hawaii. I returned to Fiji and my classmates immediately started their missions. I was really looking forward to coming to Hawaii. I had never dreamt of the opportunity, so the excitement was high.

Each time I ran into my classmates, as missionaries, they would ask me:"Hiagi, when are you going to join us?" I would then reply: " I am not going on a mission. I am going to Church College of Hawaii."

The need for missionaries was great for the government of Fiji allowed just 6 outside elders. I knew that.

I met the District President, Bro. Blaine Anderson, a retired army colonel from Salt Lake City, Utah. He said, "Hiagi, are you ready for your mission." I replied: 'No, I am not," somewhat in an impatient tone of voice. He then said: "What did the Lord say in Matthew Chapter 6:33?" I then replied:

'But seek ye first the kingdom of God and all its righteousness and all things shall be added upon."

Then he said: "What do you think." I replied: "I am not going on my mission. I am going to school in Hawaii."

It was a week later in a district general priesthood meeting. I was sitting at the back of the chapel. Pres. Anderson was conducting the meeting. I knew he was going to call me to bear my testimony. Just then, he announced: "And now, we will like to invite Bro. Wesley to bear his testimony." I walked to the front, bore my testimony, and with tears streaming down my face, said: "I am ready for my mission. I will go where you want me to go dear Lord.'"

By the end of that week, I had collected the 2-3 white shirts and pants I had and very few other things including any neck ties in the house and went into my mission. It was shortly afterwards when I officially received my signed missionary call from President David O. McKay.

One morning I was rushing through a busy airport on my way to attend a stake conference. Just after I went through the immigration formalities, an announcement was made that my flight was delayed. I stood there watching many people rushing up and down and just as I turned around to continue walking towards my boarding gate, someone tapped me gently on the shoulder and said, “Sir, let me polish your shoes for you”. Before I could protest, he pointed out that my shoes were dirty, and it looked like I was heading out for a very important meeting.
I looked down and realized that he was right, and since I now had some extra time, I walked with him to his chair and sat down. As he polished my shoes, he asked me where I was heading to; I explained to him that I had a church engagement. He commented, “we live in a very busy world… everyone is rushing up and down and people just don’t have time for others and for God.” He told me how he used to make time to pray and to read his Bible. I asked him why he had stopped, and his answer was, “I am busy, we are busy, the world is busy as you can see. Everyone has somewhere to run.”
As I walked away from him, I thought to myself, “are we too busy for each other, for our loved ones and for God?” I have ever since pondered this question. How well am I doing in inviting all to come unto Christ, make and keep sacred covenants and become His lifelong disciples? Our Area vision asks that we extend this invitation to Father in Heaven’s children, who may be at different stages along the covenant path.

A few years ago, Sister Joyce Audrey Evans, a young mother in Belfast, Northern Ireland, was having trouble with a pregnancy. She went to the hospital, where one of the nurses told her she would probably lose the baby. Sister Evans replied: “But I can’t give up. … You have to give me hope.” Sister Evans later recalled: “I couldn’t give up hope until all reason for hope was gone. It was something I owed to my unborn child.”

Three days later she had a miscarriage. She wrote: “For one long moment, I felt nothing. Then a profound feeling of peace flowed through me. With the peace came understanding. I knew now why I couldn’t give up hope in spite of all the circumstances: you either live in hope or you live in despair. Without hope, you cannot endure to the end. I had looked for an answer to prayers and was not disappointed; I was healed in body and rewarded with a spirit of peace. Never before had I felt so close to my Heavenly Father; never before had I felt such peace. …

“The miracle of peace was not the only blessing to come from this experience. Some weeks later, I fell to thinking about the child I had lost. The Spirit brought to my mind the words from Genesis 4:25 [Gen. 4:25]: ‘And she bare a son, and called his name Seth: For God, said she, hath appointed me another seed. …’

“A few months later, I became pregnant again. When my son was born, he was declared to be ‘perfect.’” He was named Evan Seth.

So when the high school football coach asked Jake to be the water boy for the team, Jake jumped at the chance. “I’ve always liked football. There was never any doubt that I would say yes. I was pretty excited,” says Jake.
Jake is happy to be part of the team, and his positive influence also lifts the spirits of those around him.
Riley Davis plays center on the football team and is one of Jake’s longtime friends. He says the players “were all sophomores coming into the school and didn’t have too many friends. But when Jake joined the team, everybody wanted to be his friend, and then we all started being friends together.”
Another player on the team, Sheen Beard, found Jake to be a tremendous help to him. Injured before the season began, Sheen was unable to play on the team and became a water boy alongside Jake. Jake helped him not only with water and equipment but also by easing the ache of being unable to play. Sheen says, “It turned out well; we worked as a team. He made it fun and had a really good attitude the whole time.”
“Jake has never allowed his problems to affect his life too much,” his mother says. “Of course, he couldn’t do it alone. Joining the football team has made it a lot easier for him and for us, as parents.”
Jake and his parents are especially grateful to Coach Mike Miller for giving Jake such a tremendous opportunity. “This new opportunity gave Jake something to look forward to at a time when he really needed it,” his mom says.
“Jake also receives help from his good friend Riley,” she says. “He has always been the one to go out of his way to do things with him.”

When I was a little girl growing up in Perú, I dreamed of traveling through time. But it wasn’t until I was older that I found a way to do so. I don’t have a spectacular machine with flashing lights and strange sounds, and I don’t have to wear a special suit. All I have to do is open a book. But it is not just any book—it is my book of memories, where I keep things that have special meaning to me.
One of my favorite trips through time begins with the cover of a card. On it are beautiful flowers in a vase. Whenever I see this card I am taken back, and it seems like yesterday I held it in my hands for the very first time.
Sister Nancy Pace was one of my Primary teachers; we called her Sister Nancy. We Primary children loved her very much for teaching us new songs and telling us about Jesus Christ. Sister Nancy and the other Primary leaders worked for many months to help prepare the CTR class for their baptisms. Knowing we would be baptized like Jesus Christ was exciting for us, but we still felt nervous.
One day Sister Nancy told us the story of Nicodemus and the Savior, and we read John 3:5: “Except a man be born of water and of the Spirit, he cannot enter into the kingdom of God.” Sister Nancy told us that once we were born of water through baptism, we would be born of the Spirit through receiving the gift of the Holy Ghost by the laying on of hands. She said that baptism was a commandment from the Lord and that by being obedient to this commandment, we could show our love for Him.
As the day of my baptism approached, Sister Nancy told me and the other children who were going to be baptized that she was very sorry but she was not going to be able to attend our baptism. But she said her heart would be with us.
The day before I was baptized, I began feeling very nervous. I repeated again and again to myself, All you have to do is go down a few steps and take Daddy’s hand. But when I thought about going down under all that water, I was afraid I would never come back up. As I worried about this, someone delivered to me a white envelope from Sister Nancy. When I opened it and read the message in the beautiful flowered card, my fears disappeared.
Romy,
I want to send you special greetings. I know that tomorrow you are going to be baptized. It is such a special day, and I wanted to be there, but I am not going to be able to. You are a good girl, and I know that Father in Heaven is very happy with you and that you are going to have a very special day. I am very happy for you and grateful for your strong desire to obey the Lord. I hope everything goes well.
With love,
Sister Nancy
Reading these words strengthened my desire to be obedient to the commandment to be baptized. At that moment I was more sure than ever that the Church is true.
The following day I was nervous, but the words of my teacher echoed in my heart: “I am very happy for you and grateful for your strong desire to obey the Lord.” Again, my fears vanished, and I felt confident as I was baptized.
Remembering my baptism is one of my favorite trips through time—a trip that begins with the cover of a card and ends with a special feeling—the testimony my dear teacher planted in my heart.

In those days I often recalled a childhood memory. When I was a boy, The Ed Sullivan Show was one of the most popular programs on television. As a variety show, it featured performers with widely divergent talents. One performer was a man who appeared regularly. Many poles, perhaps a dozen or more, were set up on stage with stacks of dinner plates beside them. This agile individual would spin a plate on top of one of the poles, then move to the next pole and spin a second plate, and then a third and a fourth. As he proceeded down the line of poles, the rotation of the plates on the first and second poles would begin to slow, and the dishes were in danger of falling off and crashing to the floor. Seeing this, the man would quickly run back to those poles and, with a gentle spin, increase the motion that allowed the plates to keep spinning. The excitement of the act was to witness the ability of the performer to expand the number of rotating plates while not letting any fall. Invariably, a point would be reached at which he was not able to keep up. There was a limit to his ability to increase the number and properly care for the plates already in motion. The sight of dishes sliding from their precarious perches and the cacophony as they hit the hard floor vividly proved the point that even the most skilled performer has his limits.

Summer vacation had always been a wonderful time for spiritual growth. It seemed I could feel the Spirit more when I had more time and didn’t feel the pressures of school.
But this summer was different. A strange emptiness filled me, and I felt confused. I had always heard that Heavenly Father communicates with his children through the scriptures. So I sat on my bed with the Book of Mormon in my hands and began to pray. “Father in Heaven, I thought I was doing everything right. I make good choices so the Holy Ghost will find me worthy of constant companionship, yet this emptiness fills me. Father, let me know what I have done wrong.”
Then I opened my scriptures to Alma 37. The answer to my prayers began in verse 39. Alma was speaking of the Liahona: “And behold, it was prepared to show unto our fathers the course which they should travel in the wilderness. …
“Nevertheless, because those miracles were worked by small means it did show unto them marvelous works. They were slothful, and forgot to exercise their faith and diligence and then those marvelous works ceased, and they did not progress in their journey” (Alma 37:39, 41).
It was as though a voice had spoken to me. Heavenly Father was not angry with me. He knew the desires of my heart were good and pure. But I had become a little slothful in my efforts to maintain my spirituality and to keep my testimony strong and growing. This lack of diligence was slowing my progress “in [my] journey.”
Since my study of the scriptures had not been very focused, I decided to start there. After all, the scriptures are our modern-day Liahona. How grateful I am for a Father in Heaven who cares for us so much that he speaks to us through the scriptures.

You may feel that upward pull. I did one afternoon when I came to understand, as I hadn’t before, how much I need the Atonement, what I could do to make it work in my life, and what evidence I could have that it was working.
It was the hour of a devotional at BYU–Idaho. I wasn’t the speaker; I was sitting there, just behind and to the right of the speaker. I’ve still got the book that I held that day. It still has the words in the margins that I wrote then.
In my memory, the room that afternoon was almost as light as the sunshine and as warm. The speaker was Elder A. Theodore Tuttle. I suppose there was a spotlight on his face. Stages always seem light when you’re on them. But the brightness was in more than what I saw. It was inside me that day. I think it happened because I walked into that room with the yearning President McKay says will come to everyone. And for me that day it was irresistible; I was in the right place with the right preparation.
I will give you the few scriptures that have made the most difference—all the difference for me—in knowing how to reach for that something better you and I sometimes feel drawing us up.
The first is not in the margin but is from the 19th section of the Doctrine and Covenants. On the bottom, in capital letters, is written: REPENTANCE. And then an arrow leads to a notation that reads: “Greek word. To have a new mind.” I heard it that day with new meaning.
“Therefore I command you to repent—repent, lest I smite you by the rod of my mouth, and by my wrath, and by my anger, and your sufferings be sore—how sore you know not, how exquisite you know not, yea, how hard to bear you know not.
“For behold, I, God, have suffered these things for all, that they might not suffer if they would repent;
“But if they would not repent they must suffer even as I” (vv. 15–17).
As he read those words that day, I felt the overwhelming suffering of the Savior. And then two things dawned on me. First, if I could not repent to qualify for His Atonement for my sins, I must suffer to the limit of my power to suffer. And, second, with all the requisite suffering of my own, with all I could bear, it would still not be enough. I would still be forever shut out of the only place where there will be the warmth of family, the family of my Heavenly Father whom I have loved and whom I miss, and that of my family here. Somehow I had gotten the idea that the choice was between repenting or not. And then I realized that whatever pain repentance might bring in this life, it was certainly no more than the pain I would face if I did not repent here, and yet that later pain could not lift me home. It could not bring the mercy I needed.
A determination flowed into me both to stay as far as I could from sin and to gain a confidence that my sins were being remitted. In that moment, the penalty for taking chances with sin or with forgiveness loomed larger than I had ever imagined it could. I wanted with all my heart to know both that the Atonement was curing the effects of sin in me and that I was being strengthened against future sin. I wanted confidence whereas before I had been content with hope.
First, I have never forgotten the voice of Elder Tuttle after he read this description of suffering for sin from section 19 of the Doctrine and Covenants:
“Which suffering caused myself, even God, the greatest of all, to tremble because of pain, and to bleed at every pore, and to suffer both body and spirit—and would that I might not drink the bitter cup, and shrink” (v. 18).
It was about there where I wrote these words: “Teach the people repentance hurts.” I bear you my testimony that you must never believe the lie that there is no pain from sin. You can be forgiven. The Atonement is real. True faith in the Atonement of Jesus Christ, rather than leading you to try a little sin, will lead you to stay as far away from it as you can.

In the spring of 1950, he began to worry more about an annoying hoarseness. Cancer was diagnosed, and he was operated on. Doctors removed all of one and part of the other vocal cord, which would leave him with a raspy voice.
Under total anesthesia after having been operated on, he was being wheeled back to his room. Still drugged, Spencer sensed his table stop by an elevator and heard the orderly, angry at something, profaning the Lord’s name. Half-conscious, he managed to say, “Please don’t say that. I love Him more than anything in this world.” The orderly answered softly, “I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry.”