Gospel Story Finder

My mind has envisioned what it must have been like for my family at the time of my birth. I was born at home in 1933, during the Great Depression, and I was the eighth child of my parents. My parents must have been shocked at my appearance for I was born with a severe cleft palate and a double cleft lip. This quickly presented challenges of finding proper medical help and paying for unplanned medical expenses.

Immediately after my birth I was given a name and a father’s blessing. I was then transported 60 miles away to Salt Lake City for medical evaluation. For the first ten days of life, I was fed with an eye dropper. My first surgery took place on day ten, and by the time I was nine years old, I had endured nine operations.

I was blessed in my childhood with loving and caring parents and siblings. Dad and Mother were always there when I needed them. Like my other siblings, I was expected to fulfill work assignments at home, and we learned to love and support one another.

In spite of my challenges, my childhood was the typical carefree, happy time that many children experience. However, at times life as a child was difficult when other children stared at me or mocked me by imitating my nasal voice.

At the age of eight, I wanted to be baptized, but I was frightened. I never told anyone, but since I had no upper lip and a palate that was still open, I knew that the water would rush into my mouth, and I could drown! Nevertheless, I was baptized a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and I did not drown! My childhood prayers were answered.

As I entered puberty, I wanted to be beautiful and have clear, perfect speech like my friends. I remember kneeling down on many nights and praying so earnestly for a miracle to take place during the night. When morning came, I realized my prayers had not been answered the way I wanted. So, what did I learn from this trial? I learned that God loves me as I am and someday, I will have a perfect body.

Recently I heard a mother recount how she had helped her first three daughters complete their Personal Progress requirements by doing what was expected—staying informed and signing off projects. Then she tenderly explained, tears flowing down her cheek, “Recently I have been working with my fourth daughter by actually doing her projects with her. It has made all the difference in our lives and our relationship. But oh, what sadness I feel when I realize what I lost by not doing this with my other three daughters.” The saddest words of tongue and pen are those that say, “It might have been!”

For several years I was assigned to home teach an older sister in my ward. She did not have an easy life. She had various health problems and experienced a lifetime of pain due to a childhood accident on the playground. Divorced at age 32 with four young children to raise and provide for, she remarried at age 50. Her second husband passed away when she was 66, and this sister lived an additional 26 years as a widow.
Despite her lifelong challenges, she was faithful to her covenants to the end. This sister was an avid genealogist, a temple attender, and a collector and writer of family histories. Though she had many difficult trials, and without question she felt at times sadness and loneliness, she had a cheerful countenance and a gracious and pleasant personality.
Nine months after her passing, one of her sons had a remarkable experience in the temple. He learned by the power of the Holy Ghost that his mother had a message for him. She communicated with him, but not by vision or audible words. The following unmistakable message came into the son’s mind from his mother: “I want you to know that mortality works, and I want you to know that I now understand why everything happened [in my life] the way it did—and it is all OK.”
This message is all the more remarkable when one considers her situation and the difficulties this sister endured and overcame.

Steve was tall, handsome, 17, and a senior. I was a sophomore and thought I was madly in love with Steve. He liked me too, and I thought that was great. We didn’t date because I wasn’t old enough; we didn’t go to the same school either. But he did call me, and I did get to see him at the stake dances twice a month. I envisioned a romance that would last forever.
Steve wasn’t the most active churchgoer around, but I just knew I could help him change. I used to pray to Heavenly Father to inspire me about how to help Steve become active in the Church. But most of all, I prayed for things to work out between us.
I used to imagine him going on a mission while I finished high school. I dreamed we would write faithfully, and everything would be so romantic. I imagined him returning home, surprising me with flowers. We’d be so in love. He’d be ready to go to college and excel. We’d be married in the temple. Life would be bliss. I wanted it so much it made my teeth ache.
Then, after three months of this fantasy romance, Steve showed up at a dance with alcohol on his breath. This didn’t fit my dream. He told me I didn’t understand him at all. The phone calls at night stopped.
All I could do was cry and pray. I did a lot of both. For months I prayed to Heavenly Father to inspire Steve to give me another chance. I will be more tolerant, I thought. I will be more understanding. With me he will change. No one is perfect, I told myself. He just needs more time to grow up. My prayers were pleading and demanding. They didn’t even hint at the idea of listening to the Spirit and obeying the will of my Heavenly Father.
Fortunately, Steve never did show an interest in me again. Later, while I was still in high school, I heard that Steve’s girlfriend was pregnant. They got married, but now they’re divorced. I’m sorry for Steve, but I’m so thankful my prayers at 15 weren’t answered the way I wanted them to be. I’m grateful my life has gone the way it has—without him.
Since then I’ve served a mission, graduated from college, and been married in the temple. I married a returned missionary who is 100 times more wonderful than any man my teenage dreams ever imagined. And unlike Steve or some of the others I dated, my husband never needed to change the way he was living to make me happy. He was just right the way he was.
Today, I thank my Heavenly Father for those unanswered prayers. At 15 I thought I was asking for a good thing—now I know better. I’m so thankful for a loving Heavenly Father who knew better and didn’t answer those prayers, even though I felt hurt at the time. He made my dreams come true in a much grander way than I ever imagined.

As a young stake president, I met many of the General Authorities when they came to speak at our stake conference. What a wonderful experience! President Hugh B. Brown came to one of our stake conferences just a week before he was called and sustained as a member of the Council of the Twelve. We enjoyed his warm spirit and his good humor. As I helped him put his coat on and walked out to his car with him, I said, “Elder Brown, do you have any personal advice for me?”
His answer was, “Yes. Follow the Brethren.” He did not choose to elaborate or explain, but he left that powerful message: Have the simple faith to follow the Brethren.

This picture was taken in São Paulo, Brazil, in 2004. Floripes Luzia Damasio of the Ipatinga Brazil Stake was 114 years old. Speaking of her conversion, Sister Damasio told me that missionaries in her village had given a priesthood blessing to a critically ill baby who miraculously recovered. She wanted to know more. As she prayed about their message, an undeniable witness of the Spirit confirmed to her that Joseph Smith was a prophet of God. At 103, she was baptized, and at 104, she was endowed. Every year after, she made the 14-hour bus ride to spend a week in the temple. Sister Damasio had received a heavenly confirmation, and she knew that God knew that she knew that the witness was true.

One of my favorite places to go to is my grandma’s house. She lives in Colonia Juárez, a little town in northern Mexico. When my family visits Grandma, we get to milk the cow and play in the hay. We can go for walks up the mountain to the irrigation ditch, and we get to water the garden.
When it’s really hot, a man comes around pushing a little cart and shouting “Helados! Helados!” Helado means ice cream in Spanish, and sometimes if we’ve been good, Dad buys us some so we can cool off. There’s another man who drives an old truck with a little freezer in the back that’s full of paletas (Popsicles), and they’re the best I’ve ever tasted.
But the thing I enjoy most at Grandma’s is playing by the river. It’s usually just a little stream, but when there’s a lot of rain in the mountains, the river fills up and goes to the top of its banks and almost runs over the bridge.
When the river’s just little, my two big brothers, Alma and Aaron, take me down to the river to play. We hide in the willows, throw rocks in the water, or look for water skeeters. And sometimes, when we have permission, we walk across the swinging bridge.
Now a swinging bridge isn’t like any other bridge. You can’t drive a car over it, because it’s just for walking on. It’s made with boards on top of steel cables that stretch across the river. When you walk across the bridge, you have to hold on to the side cables because the boards move up and down and sideways. The bridge squeaks a lot, too, when it moves. When you get out in the middle of the bridge, it’s real scary because the bridge is moving and the water is way down below.
My brothers and I like to hold hands as we walk across the swinging bridge. We laugh when it sways back and forth and bounces up and down and tickles our tummies.
The first summer I can remember spending with Grandma, I played so hard that I was glad to go to bed at night. But the first night I couldn’t go to sleep. There was an awful noise coming from the river. It sounded like a whole bunch of people screaming. I didn’t know what to do. I was scared!
I asked Alma what the noise was, and he and Aaron laughed. They said it was just frogs croaking their heads off. Well, I’d heard frogs before, but I didn’t know they could make such an awful noise. I was still scared, and I started to cry. I cried until my dad came in to see what was wrong.
Dad lay down by me and told me that it was just the frogs. He told me not to be afraid, but I was still scared, and I said I didn’t want to stay in Mexico anymore. I wanted to go back home to my own bed where there weren’t any frogs screaming outside my window.
Dad and Mom let me sleep with them that night. Their room is on the other side of the house, and I couldn’t hear the screaming over there. When Dad put me in their bed, he asked me if I’d said my prayers. Well, I hadn’t because I’d been so tired that I’d forgotten all about my prayers. I knelt down by my dad and asked Heavenly Father to help me to not be afraid. After that I went right to sleep.
In the morning I’d forgotten all about the frogs, because they don’t scream in the daytime. The first thing I wanted to do was to go down to the swinging bridge. We went down there and were walking across the bridge when we saw two boys below us, catching things by the river. They had just put something into a can when they heard the paleta truck coming. They dropped their can and ran up the road to meet the truck.
I wanted to know what they’d put in their can, so I ran the rest of the way across the bridge and down to where they’d dropped the can. Lying in the dust, all dirty and dry, was a little frog. It was breathing hard, and it looked like it might die. I picked it up and took it back to the river and washed it off. Then I put it in a can of water with some moss and rocks in the bottom. I decided to call the frog Wilbur.
I took Wilbur back to the house to show my mom and dad and grandma. When I told Dad that I was going to take Wilbur home to Arizona with me, he said that Wilbur would be happier in the river by the swinging bridge because that was his home.
“You know, Janet,” my dad said, “Wilbur is one of the frogs that was singing last night.”
“Singing? That didn’t sound like singing to me.”
“That’s how frogs sing,” Dad said. “They sit down by the river and wait for mosquitoes and fat flies to go by. Then they stick out their long sticky tongues and catch those flies and mosquitoes for their supper. When they’re full, they sing because they’re so happy.”
“Will Wilbur sing for me?”
“If you put him in the river where he’s happy. He isn’t very happy in a little can of water.”
Well, I didn’t want to let Wilbur go, but I wanted him to be happy. So I let him loose by the river, under the swinging bridge, and he hopped away.
That night I could hardly wait to go to bed. I wasn’t tired. I just wanted to listen to the frogs sing. I wanted to listen real hard and see if I could hear Wilbur singing.
Dad came to tuck me in and asked if I was still afraid of the frogs. I shook my head and smiled and said, “Not anymore. I like to hear the frogs sing now. I’m listening to see if I can hear Wilbur.”
He smiled and said, “Heavenly Father answered your prayer.”
“How did He do that?” I asked.
“Well, you asked Him to help you to not be afraid. He helped you find Wilbur, and if you hadn’t found Wilbur and seen what was making all that noise, you might still be afraid.”
I could see that Dad was right. I knelt by my bed and thanked Heavenly Father for Wilbur and for all of the other frogs that were singing by the river. As I was saying my prayers, I thought I heard Wilbur singing best of all.

Lucy Mack Smith, the Prophet’s mother, was born in New Hampshire. When Lucy was still in her teens, her sister Lovina died, which caused Lucy great grief. Her brother Stephen came for a visit and asked their father if Lucy could come to the town of Tunbridge, Vermont, and stay with his family for a while. They thought it would help Lucy recover from the grief over her beloved sister.
While visiting in Tunbridge, Lucy met a young man named Joseph Smith and married him. The marriage took place on 24 January 1796. Lucy was 20 years old and Joseph was 24 at the time. Together they would be the parents of Joseph Smith Jr., the man destined to restore the gospel of Jesus Christ, the very truth Lucy had been searching for most of her life.
The young couple, Lucy and Joseph Sr., had a small farm and ran the country store (illustrated above) in Tunbridge, a store that, although repaired and expanded, is still there today. While the Smiths lived in Tunbridge, the oldest children, Alvin and Hyrum, were born. The young family moved to a farm owned by Lucy’s father, outside Sharon, Vermont. The small cabin they built on that property sat on the boundary line between the towns of Sharon and South Royalton. The day after his son Joseph was born on 23 December 1805, Joseph Sr. walked into town and registered his birth in the town of Sharon. (See Lucy Mack Smith, History of Joseph Smith, ed. Preston Nibley [1958].) (Illustrated by Brian Call.)

Sue Baker, whose home is in La Crescenta, California, is just one of more than 60 BYU students who participate in the Adopt-a-Grandparent program (AAG) sponsored by the Student Community Services office. Coordinating their efforts through a central bureau, the students work with Provo rest homes and private individuals in an effort to battle loneliness in the lives of elderly area residents.

“I felt good about the program when I first heard about it,” said Jan Henrie of Idaho Falls. “One of the greatest things about it is that you bring joy into their lives by visiting with them. But the joy that comes back to you is much more than you would get by doing something for yourself. It helps you see what a great thing service really is, not just for the person you do something for, but for yourself as well.”

The elderly participants are as excited about the once-a-week (minimum) visits as the students are. “For several years, the Y has sent somebody down here who has the time to help me make my deliveries,” said Fred Davis, an “adopted grandfather” who sells shoes. “The other day, Mike (Mike Allred, who’s working with Fred this year) took me over to deliver some in Springville. We sold a couple of pairs, and I got the chance to talk to him. He doesn’t mind helping me. I’m blind in one eye, and I like to have him describe what we’re passing.”

On the days they know visitors are coming, rest home residents sometimes get so eager they line up out in the halls, according to Sheryl Sanders of Boise, Idaho, AAG’s assistant director. “If it hadn’t been for the program,” Helen Strong, one elderly sister, emphasizes, “life would have meant nothing to me. Now, I have a friend. I feel good about having her come.”

Julie Melville, of San Jose, California, directs the Adopt-a-Grandparent service. She explains that students who wish to participate must be willing to donate at least an hour each week for six months to visit their special friend. A screening committee interviews applicants to orient them to the program and explain the commitment necessary to do a good job. Glen Hale, from Murray, Utah, the orientation and training director for the staff, meets with each new volunteer and discusses likes, needs, and tips for getting along with his elderly friend. Then the visits begin, along with a weekly progress report to a supervisor, who can offer help or refer problems to qualified authorities.

“They matched me with Albina Felker,” Jan said. “As I’ve come to visit her every week, I’ve also become acquainted with her roommate, Wanda Roper. Albina is always cheerful, tells me stories about her life, and gives me good advice. She’s 94 but active. She walks outside every day. She tells me about how she’s never smoked or drunk, how she’s done things to keep herself healthy. She also loves to talk about her family.” When Sister Felker isn’t in, Jan will spend a few minutes with Sister Roper. “I’ve worked with young people all my life, and I still enjoy it,” Sister Roper said.

“Some of the people we visit have so much to say, but no one to say it to,” Sue added. “I know it means a lot to my special friend just to be able to talk. I’ve got a great relationship with my grandparents back home, and leaving them was hard. Having someone up here who more or less is ‘family’ means a lot to me. But when I first met my friend I felt I had something to overcome. I talked with her for about 90 minutes, and a couple of days later came back. She couldn’t remember who I was. The next week I went back, and she still didn’t remember me. I finally started calling her every day and talking to her. I wouldn’t tell her who it was; I’d make her guess. Then she started saying, ‘Oh, I’ve been looking forward to your call all day.’

“About three weeks ago she said, ‘Why don’t you give me your phone number so I can call you sometime?’ It was when she actually phoned me that I got excited. She called the other night. My roommate said, ‘I think it’s your grandmother.’ I got on the phone and said, ‘Grandma?’ She said, ‘Yes, it’s me. I’ve got something exciting to share with you,’ and told me that a group of children had just come by with a basket of fruit and a card. That meant a lot to me. I feel like I’ve overcome the problem of her not knowing who I am.” Sue obviously won her heart. She’s the same elderly lady mentioned at the beginning of this story, the one who asked Sue to help her wrap a present and then gave the present to Sue.

Many of the students said they became involved with Adopt-a-Grandparent in about the same way Sharon Pritchett of Atlanta, Georgia, did. “Julie had been praying about finding people who wanted to get involved, and I had been feeling lonely and praying for ways to get to know new people,” Sharon said. The two met on their way to a religion class they had together, and after class Julie invited Sharon to a staff meeting the same day. Soon Sharon was publicity chairman for AAG.

The volunteers also said they felt their leaders had been inspired in matching them with particular elderly participants. “The Lord guides us a lot in what we do,” Julie said. “You wouldn’t believe the backgrounds of these people,” another supervisor added. “One man used to catch broncs by the tail and then train them. Another was born in Czechoslovakia and was a concert pianist. Now he’s paralyzed in one hand, but he still plays. His name is Rudy.” The supervisor also said it’s a goal of the program to place volunteers and participants with similar interests together. One fellow watches football games each Saturday with the gentlemen from a rest home. A young lady is learning how to crochet. Others work on sewing, knitting, and lapidary (making jewelry from rocks) projects with their elderly friends.

Kathleen Koch, of Carbondale, Illinois, often discusses genealogy with Alberta Campbell, her special friend. They spent one day together watching a general conference session, eating lunch, and visiting with Sister Campbell’s friends in other rooms of the convalescent center.

“My friend has been to college. Even more important, she doesn’t want to be treated like a baby,” Karen Critchfield of Los Altos, California, said. “We were both nervous to start with, but now we confide in one another.”

Besides visiting their elderly friends, the students meet on their own at least once a month for a fireside and often have social gatherings. Wendy Ius of Trail, British Columbia, said fireside speakers are usually experts in social work, psychology, or human relations. The meetings help group members feel like a team, sharpen their skill in dealing with others, and provide a time for sharing ideas and experiences. A periodically published newsletter also helps to unite the group.

From time to time special activities are held at the rest home, especially on holidays. “We had a home evening a little while ago,” Karen said, “at which she (Sister Strong) bore her testimony. It was really uplifting. We had my entire home evening group out here, and she spoke about relying on the Lord.”

Linda Barr, of Brunswick, Georgia, said AAG “makes you more concerned because you find out how lonely some people are, what little joy they have, how they feel they’re not worth anything. You want to make them feel better. And it makes you feel better to think you’re important to them.”

“Just because they’re old doesn’t mean they’re not people. They’re up-to-date, not living in the ’20s. The person inside will be the same, now or later on,” Julie said.

And Sharon Wendell, of Bountiful, Utah, added, “They have lots to offer, unless people forget them.” Colette Johnson, of Boise, Idaho, commented, “It’s hard to know if I’ve changed because of the program. It was so great to start out with, how could it get any better?”

Perhaps one of the most poignant stories, however, was related by Peggy Buchanan, of Waynesboro, Virginia, as she described her first visit to the rest home: “I went to visit Edna. She was in bed and kind of sick. I had a picture of a lily mounted on matboard, with a poem on the back. I was going to read the poem and give her the picture. She didn’t respond much, so I decided to talk to her instead. I asked her if she liked flowers. She said yes and started talking a bit. She is a great lady, and she brought out something in me. I told her about my grandmother’s flowers, and she listened while I shared parts of my life with her, which was very rewarding. Then she fell asleep, and I left. Outside the door, a woman in a wheelchair asked me to pick up her blanket and tuck it in. She cuddled up and snuggled back in her chair and was happy. I got to see about five ladies that day and helped them all. As I was leaving, I went down the back hall and asked if I could visit anybody else. I started to go, when someone called out to me and said to please come in. She reached her hand out and said, ‘Please don’t leave. We love you.’”

Peggy said, “I love you, too,” and spent several more minutes chatting with the woman. As she left, Peggy knew “that lady was happy, and that it meant a lot to her to have people visit.” She also knew that despite the pressures of school, dating, and work, she had found friends and would find time to come back often.

I’m aware of a man who was involved in moral transgressions several years ago. For some time, this man felt too ashamed and too worried to approach his wife and his priesthood leaders. He wanted to fully repent but actually expressed that he was willing to give up his own eternal salvation rather than put his spouse and children through the sorrow, shame, or other consequences that might be caused by his confession.

Finally, this dear man confessed to his faithful wife and his Church leaders, expressing deep remorse. Though it was the most difficult thing he had ever done, feelings of relief, peace, gratitude, love for our Savior, and a knowledge that the Lord was lifting his heavy burden and carrying him caused joy beyond expression, regardless of the outcome and his future.

He had been certain that his wife and children would be devastated—and they were; and that there would be disciplinary action and a release from his calling—and there was. He was certain that his wife would be brokenhearted, hurt, and angry—and she was. And he was convinced that she would leave, taking the children with her—but she didn’t.

Sometimes serious transgression leads to divorce, and depending on circumstances, that might be necessary. But to this man’s amazement, his wife embraced him and dedicated herself to helping him in any way that she could. Over time, she was able to fully forgive him. She had felt the healing power of the Savior’s Atonement for her. Years later, this couple and their three children are strong and faithful. The husband and wife serve in the temple and have a wonderful, loving marriage. The depth of this man’s testimony and his love and gratitude for the Savior are so evident in his life.

Young Women in the Park Ridge Ward, Brisbane Australia Stake, are not content to wait for service opportunities to present themselves. They go out and find them. For their service project a couple of years ago, the girls went to a nearby blind hostel and visited the people who were staying there.
“At first, everyone was a bit nervous, not knowing where to go or what to say. Gradually the barriers of age and sight were overcome and the young women were chatting and learning about their new friends’ lives,” says Sariah Wesener, a Laurel.
The girls made the project a monthly activity, and were soon performing concerts for their newfound friends. After travel became too difficult, the girls had to say good-bye to the residents of the blind hostel, but they have decided to find ways to serve others every month.
This year, each girl is donating a can of food per month to those in need.

I stopped attending my singles ward when my pregnancy became obvious. I still wanted to attend, but I was worried about being judged. I already felt older and out of place in my ward, and this seemed like it would just make things worse.
And I didn’t feel this way just in my ward. In most areas of my life, I felt so alone. I was afraid for myself and my child. I felt like my ultimate goal, the temple, was out of reach.
When I found out I was pregnant after a short and unhappy relationship, I assessed my options and decided that placing my son for adoption would be best for him. I found a wonderful couple looking to adopt. Although I was working through a lot of spiritual and emotional difficulties, I felt peaceful about my son’s future.
My peace and my plan both fell to pieces when I found out that my baby’s father wouldn’t agree to the adoption, even though I felt, out of love, that it would actually be best for our baby. After I found out I couldn’t provide a great home for my son through adoption, I was blessed to realize that I could provide a great home for him. Trusting in the Savior’s power and the blessings of His atoning sacrifice helped me feel at peace with that realization.
It was in the aftermath of finding out that adoption wasn’t an option that I knew I needed to turn to Heavenly Father and the Savior. Although I’d never completely edged Them out of my life, I’d become distanced from Them after my mistakes. But I knew I needed Them in my life, especially if I was going to be a single mother. For the sake of my son, I clung to the gospel and the hope that it offered me.
And I learned that “the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us” (Romans 8:18). When I drew closer to Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ, through sincere repentance, I discovered the strength to be a single mom. When I was willing to repent and live life the way They directed, I found blessings greater than I ever could have imagined.
Those blessings included receiving love and support from those around me, such as my therapist and adoption representative, Steve; my bishop and his wife, who always welcomed me with open arms, even when I stopped attending church for a few months; ward members who brought baby gifts; my boss, Trevor, who encouraged me in my parenting efforts; and countless others who helped me in large and small ways. Miraculously, even the couple who was going to adopt my son ended up being a huge strength and support to me.
I came to realize that the Savior’s infinite Atonement is more powerful than our greatest mistakes, and if we humble ourselves before Him, He can “make weak things become strong” (Ether 12:27). Because of Jesus Christ, we can repent of our sins, and He can help us to learn, grow, and change.
I made a mistake that led to my pregnancy. But my loving Savior saw that not as an excuse to condemn me but to warmly invite me to draw closer to Him through the gift of repentance. With His help, I am now preparing to return to the temple. As Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles expressed: “Jesus Christ, the Son of God, died so that our mistakes might not condemn us and forever halt our progress. Because of Him, we can repent, and our mistakes can become stepping-stones to greater glory.”1
These “stepping-stone” moments often come when I meet women who are in situations similar to mine and I get to testify that the temple is never out of reach and the power of the Savior’s Atonement is always available. And when I testify to others, I’m able to see progress in myself. While I used to skip church out of embarrassment, I now never want to miss a week because taking the sacrament has become so sacred to me.
Both choices—placing your child for adoption or parenting your child—are brave and selfless when your focus is on the love you have for your child and placing his or her needs for a loving and stable environment above all other concerns. I believe the most important choice was the choice to “come unto Christ, and be perfected in him” (Moroni 10:32). Because when we love God and do as He asks, all things will work together for our good, no matter how impossible our circumstances may seem (see Romans 8:28; Doctrine and Covenants 90:24).

I had an experience a few years ago of receiving a call from my son, Lee. He told me that my first missionary companion was in his neighborhood, and he wanted to spend a few minutes with me. Lee and I both went over to the home of my first companion’s daughter, whom he was visiting. We had a special experience of being together after many years of not seeing one another. As missionaries we were given the opportunity of opening up a new town in Ohio to missionary work. Because of this assignment, we were allowed to labor together for 10 months. He was my trainer, my first companion. He came from a family that had taught him the value of hard work. It was difficult for me to keep up with him, but as we served together we drew close together as companions.
Our companionship did not end with the 10-month assignment. World War II was raging, and when I returned home I had only a short time to adjust before I was drafted into military service. On my first Sunday in boot camp, I attended an LDS service. I saw the back of a head that was very familiar to me. It was my first missionary companion. We spent most of the next two and a half years together. Although circumstances were very different for us in military service, we tried to continue the practices of missionary service. As often as we could, we prayed together. When circumstances allowed, we had scripture study together. I recall many companion study sessions under the light of a Coleman lantern in a shrapnel-scarred tent. Several times our reading of the scriptures was interrupted by the sound of an air raid siren. We would quickly turn off our lantern, then kneel together and close our study class with a prayer.
We were both set apart as group leaders, and we again had the opportunity to serve and teach together the glorious gospel of our Lord and Savior. We were more successful in the military than we had been as full-time missionaries. Why? Because we were experienced returned missionaries.
My visit with my first missionary companion was the last opportunity I had to be with him. He was suffering from an incurable disease and died only a few months later. It was a wonderful experience to relive our missions together and then tell about our lives following our missionary service. We recounted our service in bishoprics, high councils, and stake presidencies, and, of course, we bragged about our children and our grandchildren. As we sat and thrilled at the opportunity of being together again, I couldn’t help but think of the account in the 17th chapter of the book of Alma:
“And now it came to pass that as Alma was journeying from the land of Gideon southward, away to the land of Manti, behold, to his astonishment, he met with the sons of Mosiah journeying towards the land of Zarahemla.
“Now these sons of Mosiah were with Alma at the time the angel first appeared unto him; therefore Alma did rejoice exceedingly to see his brethren; and what added more to his joy, they were still his brethren in the Lord; yea, and they had waxed strong in the knowledge of the truth; for they were men of a sound understanding and they had searched the scriptures diligently, that they might know the word of God.
“But this is not all; they had given themselves to much prayer, and fasting; therefore they had the spirit of prophecy, and the spirit of revelation, and when they taught, they taught with power and authority of God” (Alma 17:1–3).
I wish all of you could have an experience similar to the one I had with my first missionary companion, that you could pause and reflect on a time of service when you gave diligently of your time and your talents in building our Father in Heaven’s kingdom. If you try to make it happen, I promise you that it will be one of the thrilling experiences of your life. You are a great army of returned missionaries. Go forward with new zeal and determination, and through your example shine the light of the gospel in this troubled world. This is the Lord’s work in which we are engaged. God lives. Jesus is the Christ. We belong to His Church. This is my witness to you in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

The bridge was full of busy sailors rigging phone lines and relieving the at-sea watch. I would be helmsman for the at-sea cargo transfer. The supply ship was making its approach. The deck officer was barking more and more orders. “Helmsman, come right, steady up on course three five zero,” shouted the deck officer.
“Come right steady up on course three five zero—aye, aye, sir,” I acknowledged. As helmsman I had to tune in only on the deck officer’s voice. The helmsman must act on all rudder commands without hesitation and doubt. Only the deck officer was aware of all the possible dangers to the ship. He was kept informed from bow to stern as to the ship’s status. It was his job to dispatch orders for a successful transfer of cargo during this evolution.
Three five zero—I must keep her on course, I thought fervently. Why is it so difficult to steer? It was not this hard to steer when I practiced. The sea conditions are the same as before. I was puzzled. Why was it so difficult to concentrate? Later I realized that the surrounding noise and busyness were causing my difficulty. When I had practiced before, the bridge had been quiet and uncrowded. To steer accurately, I would have to center my thoughts on the compass and cut out all other distractions. The compass and the voice of the officer only will occupy my mind, I silently committed.
Finally the supply ship was alongside. The supply ship’s crewmen made ready to pass the lines to our ship. The supply ship was so close that I could hear orders given by its deck officer. I began to realize the seriousness of my duty. Just a degree off course would be disastrous. Finally the lines and pulleys were all rigged; the cargo transfer had begun.
My concentration was so intense that I did not notice the darkening of the sky. Suddenly the wind shifted and the seas began to boil. The rain beat down in tremendous volume, making it difficult to hear the deck officer’s voice. The ship began to pitch violently, riding up a swell slowly and then rushing down to meet the next wave with a loud clap. It became more difficult to steer. The ship was shifting off course more quickly. Each time the ship slammed through a swell, the hull would shudder from the added strain.
I became fearful. The ship seemed so vulnerable to the power of the sea. Can it take this kind of punishment? Will the rudder continue to meet the demand of the wheel’s turn? I questioned doubtfully. My confidence waning, I thought prayerfully. Surely someone can see my predicament and relieve me! My silent plea went unanswered. I knew that there was no one on board qualified to steer in these conditions. How can I get through this mess? What can I do? I wondered desperately. The pressure to stay on course was smashing me with each crash of the waves.
Suddenly I realized the compass would save me in this dilemma. I had to simply continue to concentrate on the compass and listen for orders. No storm would change the ability of the compass to point the way. Enlightened by this thought, I began to steer with all my might. I realized I could put all my trust in the compass. The compass is not given to mechanical failure. It has no power source to rely on. It points the way without ceasing. The compass would remain true. I could only hope the rudder and propeller would continue to function properly, but in the compass it was safe to put all of my trust. With new hope and confidence, I continued to steer beautifully straight.
The supply ship had finished unloading, and its crewmen were releasing the lines. Many of my shipmates were allowed to go below. I too wanted to relax and go below. Although the tension was over for most of the crew, it was not for me. The supply ship was still dangerously close alongside. My hands were beginning to shake with fatigue. I felt incredibly lonely now because there were only a few remaining crew members on the bridge.
Finally the order came, “Stand easy at the helm!” I thought I would faint. Slowly I stood up straight from my bent position. Looking around, I saw some of my best friends watching me. Their faces went from a deep concern to smiles of relief and joy. They knew it had been tough. Looking out, I saw the supply ship pulling away off the port bow. I noticed that the storm was not the gale I thought it was. The rain had stopped, and the clouds were breaking. The ship had passed through a stiff tropical squall. How could I have panicked so easily when everything I needed was right in front of me? I chastised myself. The captain put his hand on my shoulder and said, “Do you know there was not one time that I looked back at our ship’s wake and found a single bend in it? I had considered terminating the cargo transfer when the squall hit, but your course remained true. This enabled us to complete the transfer. Thanks!” A tremendous feeling of accomplishment filled me. Looking at the compass, I offered a silent thank-you.

I remember my mother saying to me on one occasion, “Mel, I know that I can count on you.” I resolved that she would always be able to count on me. I would not let her down. I loved her too much. Her confidence in me meant everything. Today I still feel that way. I feel that way about the Brethren. I don’t ever want to let President Hinckley or any of the other leaders of the Church down. But, even more important, I never want to let the Savior down, because I love Him more than anything else. I am sure that all of you feel the same way.

Nineteen members were baptized on the above date by Elders Rendell N. Mabey, Edwin Q. Cannon, Jr., and A. Bruce Knudsen. The Aboh Branch was organized, with Anthony Obinna as president, his brothers Francis and Raymond as his counselors, and his wife Fidelia as Relief Society president. When President Obinna expressed concern about the propriety of having his own family in these offices, Elder Mabey assured him that they had been chosen for their worthiness, not for their kinship. The new branch presidency promptly reported the event in a jubilant letter to the First Presidency:
“Dear Brethren,
“All the members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in this part of Nigeria have the pleasure to thank you and the Latter-day Saints throughout the world for opening the door for the Gospel to come to our people in its fullness.
“We are happy for the many hours in the Upper Room of the Temple you spent praying to the Lord to bring us into the fold. We thank our Heavenly Father for hearing your prayers and ours and by revelation. He has confirmed the long promised day, and has granted the holy priesthood to us, with the power to exercise its divine authority and enjoy every blessing of the temple.
“There is no doubt that the Church here will grow and become a mighty center for the Saints and bring progress enough to the people of Nigeria as it is doing all over the world.”

But just under three months and several blood tests later, I miscarried again—this time only a week before Christmas. Another three months passed and my hopes soared after another positive pregnancy test, only to miscarry a week later—yet another stoplight.
“Even if we have strong faith, many mountains will not be moved. … If all opposition were curtailed, if all maladies were removed, then the primary purposes of the Father’s plan would be frustrated.”2 —Elder David A. Bednar
I got pregnant again, and my next due date was going to land right around the following Christmas. I had a good feeling about this pregnancy. We had seen the heartbeat on an early ultrasound and knew that family members were praying for us. While we were sitting in an endowment session in the temple one day, I had a distinct stream of thoughts: “If I were to lose this pregnancy, would my faith hold up? Of course it would. But of course I won’t have another miscarriage because this time I am ready to accept the Lord’s will no matter what.”
Despite my positive attitude, several weeks later I saw the signs, went in for the ultrasounds, and began the painful process that I felt all too familiar with. My faith did not hold up quite like I had expected. The answers that had sustained me through my previous miscarriages no longer seemed adequate. A wave of depression set in. I felt broken, empty, and even slightly betrayed. My husband and I weren’t the only ones waiting on the Lord; our daughter frequently told us how much she wanted a baby brother or sister. Our hearts ached for her as well. As I turned my vulnerable emotions over to the Lord in fervent prayer, I again received a clear witness that Heavenly Father was very aware of my pain and circumstances and that He loved me. Although my circumstances remained the same, this sweet and simple experience miraculously lightened the burden I felt and gave me the ability to cope and even feel happy as I continued through my day-to-day life. Whatever the future held, I would be OK.
When genetic testing came back several months later with no answers, we again felt confused about the purpose of these setbacks in our lives. I tried my best to set my own desires aside and align my will with the Lord’s, but during the difficult moments my heart would cry out, “What am I supposed to learn from this? I’m trying to do something good! Where is the help I need?”
“Hard is the constant! We all have challenges. The variable is our reaction to the hard.”3 —Elder Stanley G. Ellis
Eight months after my fourth miscarriage and just several weeks after my stressful drive to meet the sister missionaries, I was peacefully waiting at a stoplight on my way home when my answers came. As I watched the cars stopped next to me and the cars making their way down the road ahead of me, I caught an eternal perspective of my life. I suddenly realized that all that mattered in my journey was that I stay on the path that would take me back to my heavenly home. How many “stoplights” I waited at would have no effect on my destination. How I responded to them would.
I began to cherish every stoplight in my life, both metaphorical and literal. Instead of wasted time, each became an opportunity to acquire patience and to gain perspective that comes only through waiting. Just as every red traffic light is paired with a green light in a different direction, I found that every stoplight in my life opened an avenue for growth, just not necessarily in the way I had been planning to grow right then. Instead of dwelling on the disappointments, I began to delight in the opportunity for progress that every unexpected turn of events provided.
“A critical question to ponder is ‘Where do we place our faith?’ Is our faith focused on simply wanting to be relieved of pain and suffering, or is it firmly centered on God the Father and His holy plan and in Jesus the Christ and His Atonement?”4 —Elder Donald L. Hallstrom
Two long years after my first miscarriage, I gave birth to a beautiful, healthy baby boy. In the time leading up to that joyful day for our family, I came to realize that Jesus Christ did not suffer for me in order to remove all suffering from my life. Rather, He suffered so that I could be strengthened through and grow from the challenges I face. Although the heartbreaking moments of loss and the long months of waiting are still painful to remember, they have become a treasure in my life. In those sacred moments, I came to understand how individually the Savior knows my suffering. He succored me in a way that only one who knows my personal sorrows could succor. While the opposition in our lives often seems to thwart our plans for progress, as we turn to the Lord, that opposition can function as the friction that propels us to a higher end: knowing and abiding in the Savior’s perfect love.

Hi, my name is Kennedy Lee McKinnon. I am eight years old and in third grade. I attend church at the Whitecourt Branch in Whitecourt, Alberta, Canada. One day I was making a gelatin salad. When I threw the package away, I saw two $20 bills in the garbage. I put them in my pocket and thought, “Wow! Forty dollars!” Afterward, I felt guilty and gave them to my mommy. I felt better. I know I listened to the Holy Ghost and made the right choice. My mommy was glad, too, because my sister, who is one and a half, had taken the money from Mommy’s wallet and put it in the garbage.
Kennedy McKinnon, age 8Whitecourt, Alberta, Canada

Perhaps you will indulge me another personal story. I had the dream of becoming a law professor even before I went to law school. In an abundance of caution, I applied to 10 schools and found myself in a fortunate situation, like you have, with a number of good choices.

I knew where I wanted to attend, but I decided to ask Heavenly Father. I prayed and pondered without receiving an answer. As the days turned to weeks, I’m sorry to say I grew impatient, annoyed, and perhaps even angry. “If I’m willing to do your will,” I complained, “you could at least have the common courtesy to tell me what your will is.”

After weeks had passed, I decided to make a more serious attempt. I climbed on my bicycle and rode to a quiet place beside a small river a few miles out of town. I spent the day on my knees with my scriptures and a notebook. Finally, as the shadows grew long, I gave up in frustration. I was pounding the pedals on my bicycle as I rode home. Gradually I calmed, and my cadence slowed. A thought entered my mind, at first faint, and then increasingly distinct: “Honor your priesthood and remember your covenants.” I repeated this in my mind with the revolution of the bicycle pedals: “Honor your priesthood, remember your covenants. Honor your priesthood, remember your covenants.”

I stopped my bike, looked up to heaven, and exclaimed, perhaps audibly, “You don’t care where I go to law school! You want me to honor my priesthood and keep my covenants.” As I spoke these words, I was flooded with the classic confirmation of the Holy Spirit, a combination of a shiver down my spine and a burning in my chest that was so strong I could hardly stand it.

So I went to the law school of my choice. During my years there, when I was tempted to think too much of myself or to be too caught up in the cares and preoccupations with which I was surrounded, I thought often, “Brett, honor your priesthood and remember your covenants.” It was precisely the message I needed to keep me on track during those three years of law school. My prayers had been answered in a deeply meaningful—but entirely unexpected—way.

“There’s the steeple!” Natalie called out. She loved going to church. Sunday was her favorite day of the week, except for one thing—she was sad that her brother, Michael, chose not to go to church with the rest of the family.
As Natalie sat quietly during sacrament meeting, she thought about Michael. When he used to come to church, Natalie liked to sit next to him while she looked at her picture books about Jesus. After sacrament meeting, Michael would take her hand and walk her to Primary. “See you later, Sis,” he would always say. But Michael hadn’t been to church in a long time.
Natalie wished she could tie him up with her jump rope and pull him to church in her little red wagon, but she knew he wouldn’t like that. What else could she do?
In Primary, Sister Chang greeted her class cheerfully. “I am so glad you are all here today,” she said. “It makes me happy to see your smiling faces. But who is missing?”
Natalie looked around the room. She raised her hand. “Jed,” she called out. “Jed isn’t here today.”
“You are right,” Sister Chang said. “Jed wasn’t here last week either.”
“Maybe he’s sick,” Lisa suggested.
“Maybe he’s on a trip,” Boyd said.
“Maybe he just didn’t want to come,” Natalie said quietly.
“We need to let him know we love him and miss him when he’s gone,” Sister Chang said.
“How can we do that?” Natalie asked.
“We’ll tell him,” Sister Chang said. “Little things can often make a big difference. I made a card for you to sign, and you can each draw a special picture for Jed.”
Natalie decided to draw a picture of a mountain and trees because she knew that Jed liked the outdoors. And then Natalie asked her teacher if she could draw another picture to take home.
When Natalie got home from church, she found Michael in his room listening to music. “Hi, Sis,” he greeted her. “What’s up?”
Natalie handed him a folded piece of paper. “I made you a card.”
“For me?” Michael smiled. “Why? It’s not my birthday or anything.”
“Sister Chang helped me write the inside. It says, ‘I miss you when you don’t come to church with us. I love you.’ And I signed my name.”
“Thanks,” Michael said softly. “It’s a nice card. You did a good job.”
“You’re welcome.” Natalie gave her brother a hug and hurried off to help Mom fix dinner. She felt happy inside. She loved her brother so much, and now he knew it too.
The following Sunday, Natalie was so excited when Michael decided to go to church. She held his hand as they entered the chapel. She sat quietly next to him during the service. Natalie saw Jed sitting two rows up and gave him a little wave.
Natalie loved going to church, especially when all her friends and family were there. She decided that from now on, if she missed someone, she would say so, because sometimes little things can make a big difference.