Gospel Story Finder

A couple of weeks ago, I met astake Young Women president in California who told me that her 81-year-old mother had recently been called to be a Mia Maid adviser. I was so intrigued I gave her mother a call. When Sister Val Baker’s bishop asked to meet with her, she was looking forward to being called as a librarian or ward historian. When he asked her to serve as a Mia Maid adviser to the Young Women, her reaction was, “Are you sure?”
Her bishop solemnly replied, “Sister Baker, make no mistake; this call is from the Lord.”
She said she had no other answer to that except, “Of course.”
I love the inspiration this bishop felt that the four Mia Maids in his ward have much to learn from the wisdom, experience, and lifelong example of this mature sister. And guess whom Sister Baker will go to when she needs help setting up her Facebook page?

Several years later, after I was married, I gazed into the eyes of my firstborn child and knew I had to take the next step toward participating fully in the gospel that had taught me parents can be with their children forever. My husband, not yet an active member, understood and supported my decision to return to the Church. I finally committed myself to full activity, and with that has come a deepened relationship with our Heavenly Father and an appreciation for the Book of Mormon.

I was really scared to get baptized because I don’t like going under water. My mom showed me a picture of a girl getting baptized who looked really happy, and we read articles from the Friend about baptism. My mom gave me a jar of gumballs and told me that every day she would talk about baptism and then I would get a gumball. I felt a little better about my baptism after that.
Arianna S., age 7, Alaska, USA

When a guy I was dating opened up to me about his addiction to pornography, the first thing I said was, “How can I help?”
He replied, “Come with me to the addiction-recovery meetings. There is a support group for family and friends that you can attend.”
I knew about the 12-step addiction recovery program, but I had no idea there were support groups. I was a little hesitant at first, but I reminded myself that I had asked him how I could help, and this was what he asked of me.
During the first meeting, I took a deep breath and walked to the room where the support group was meeting. When I entered the room, I felt ready to learn how I could save my boyfriend from his addiction.
But I was surprised at what I discovered.
They handed me a book, Support Guide: Help for Spouses and Family of Those in Recovery, and we read aloud from the book during each class.
Not once did I learn how I could save my boyfriend.
Instead, the support guide’s 12 lessons showed me that before I could support anyone else, I first needed to lay down my burdens at the Lord’s feet and allow Him to heal me (see 3 Nephi 9:13)—to heal me from my own faults and struggles and to bear my pain of supporting a loved one recovering from addiction.
I realized that I needed to rely on and turn to the Savior to find peace, hope, and strength. And because of that, I feel much better equipped in being able to support others who face addictive or compulsive behaviors.
“Our priority must be to personally draw closer to the Lord,” the support guide says. “… This will place us in a better position to support our loved ones. No matter what they may choose to do, the peace and hope of the Savior can be with us” (Support Guide: Help for Spouses and Family of Those in Recovery [2017], iii).
As I continued to attend the course, I learned how much the Savior loves me and how He truly knows my situation. I also learned how no addiction will ever alter how much He loves any one of Heavenly Father’s children.
But I think the most important lesson I learned while attending the support group is I can’t save my boyfriend (or anyone else). Only Jesus Christ can. Through His atoning sacrifice, He has the power to save.
I’m extremely grateful that He is our Savior, for He knows how to perfectly succor us (see Alma 7:11–12). As we trust in His grace, I know that we will receive what is necessary for our personal healing. We will be buoyed up by Him and will be more able to support our loved ones who face addictions.
Because of the support group and ARP classes, my boyfriend felt comfortable telling me when he felt triggered because he knew I wasn’t there to judge but to love and support him in his efforts. His journey of struggle is not over yet, but I saw the improvement and change that the principles from these classes made in both of our lives. And I felt the hand of the Lord continually.

A few months after we got married, Norma and I went to live in Asunción, Paraguay. As young people full of energy and dreams, we moved forward starting from precarious conditions. We started living in a small room, until we got the resources to rent a small house for us and our first child. That little house had a large space in the back and a garden in front. We felt like we owned the world.
We began to embellish the place by planting trees and making a family garden. We planted mango trees in the front of the house, we painted the sidewalk curb white, as well as the walls that surrounded it. We painted the trunks of the trees to avoid pests and we put stones around them also painted white. There was no money to hire a painter to paint the house, so we both painted the house and took care of it even though it was not ours. The house was always clean and well organized. It was a refuge. A place of peace where our children spent the first years of their lives.
After we started painting the house and embellishing it, the neighbors began to do the same; soon, the whole block had sidewalk curb painted white and the houses painted. The block had been transformed.
The Fiddler on the Roof tells the story of Anatevka, an imaginary village in Ukraine in which Jews and Russians lived in harmony. In that small town lives Tevye, the milkman, with his wife, Golde, and their daughters. Because society and traditions are changing, Tevye gathers his daughters and explains why they have traditions and tells them:
“In our little village of Anatevka, you might say every one of us is a fiddler on the roof, trying to scratch out a pleasant, simple tune without breaking his neck. It isn’t easy. You may ask, why do we stay up here if it’s so dangerous? We stay because Anatevka is our home. And how do we keep our balance? That I can tell you in one word?—tradition!
“Because of our traditions, we’ve kept our balance for many, many years. . . . Because of our traditions, everyone knows who he is and what God expects him to do.”1
As members of the Church we are different from the rest of the world because of our knowledge of what God expects of us.
That knowledge should inspire us to press forward.
The husband must provide for the home, he must be a worker since in Zion “he that is idle shall not eat the bread nor wear the garments of the laborer” (D&C 42:42).
We see that sometimes, according to the culture of the world, women work, and men rest or benefit from their work; that the man commands and the woman obeys and serves him. That is not the culture of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
“And it came to pass that I, Nephi, did cause my people to be industrious, and to labor with their hands” (2 Nephi 5:17).
The document “The Family: A Proclamation to the World”2 is like a refreshing breeze on a summer afternoon. Husband and wife work together to build a family for God.
Elder Tom L. Perry said:
“The practice of having traditions to keep us close to the great heritage which is ours to enjoy should be something every family should try to keep alive. . . .
“If we will build righteous traditions in our families, the light of the gospel can grow ever brighter in the lives of our children from generation to generation. We can look forward to that glorious day when we will all be united together as eternal family units to reap the everlasting joy promised by our Eternal Father for His righteous children.
Our family activities and traditions can be a beacon to the rest of the world as an example of how we should live to merit His choice blessings and live in peace and harmony until the day that He returns to rule and reign over us.”3
Traditions, as members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, help us focus on what is of value and to discard other traditions that are foreign to the principles of the gospel.
Some of these traditions are:
Kneeling daily to do family prayer
Studying the scriptures together
Keeping the Sabbath, behaving correctly and having appropriate activities for the Lord’s Day
Attending sacrament meetings and partaking of the sacraments
Having family home evenings
Fasting monthly and paying our tithes and offerings to the Lord
Attending the temple and doing family history
Other traditions that will also help us stay away from the world and to strengthen our family and enrich our lives are:
Having a family garden
Keeping my house neat and clean, which has no nothing to do with purchasing power, but with work habits
Receiving blessings from the father and from one’s patriarchal blessing
Missionary preparation
Participating in seminary and institute courses
Seeking excellence through the improvement of education
In establishing these traditions each family must include a family council, composed of all its members to teach the children basic responsibilities in family organization, since they can thusly learn how to make decisions and act accordingly.
Marriages without children or those who live alone are not exempt from this task. The individual is a “family” and these traditions will help them stay focused on what is important and essential.
We must work for that to which we aspire. President Joseph F. Smith, who learned to do the work of an adult from an early age and passed on his work ethic to his children.
He would tell them: “People die in bed. And so does ambition.”4 With that principle in mind, he and his wife tried to get the children up early in the morning and do their part to keep the house clean and tidy.
President Smith also helped with household chores. When he and his wife, Louie, were newlyweds, he worked in the construction of his first house and learned to do most of the domestic repairs. He would also help to cook, and to harvest ripe fruits and preserve them in jars.
May our faith in the Lord Jesus Christ be adorned by the practice of these traditions that are part of his gospel which will embellish our lives and provide the light that will illuminate our path to Him and thus not only at the end of the journey, but even as we walk along our path we can express: “And it came to pass that we lived after the manner of happiness” (2 Nephi 5:27).

Within a month of Melissa’s (all names have been changed) baptism in the Midwestern United States, she offered the opening prayer in sacrament meeting. She was nervous about praying publicly but “felt every confidence in my ability to speak to my Heavenly Father,” she recalls. “After all, I had been praying for years, especially while investigating the Church, and could feel the Holy Ghost helping me.”

So it was with surprise that she received an email from a ward member who described “in great detail” all of the ways her prayer was wrong. Shame, embarrassment, and an onslaught of doubt raced through Melissa until she felt prompted to call the returned missionary who had taught her. “He quickly assured me that it was totally inappropriate for this member to criticize me in such a way,” she says. “He also told me the bishopric would never ask another member, as I had assumed, to give me this kind of feedback.”

Reassured, Melissa remained active in the ward, accepted callings, and went on to flourish in her faith. But it took several months to get over the pain and lost confidence from receiving that discouraging email.

Melissa needed genuine friends, especially in her ward, she could approach when she needed advice or help. Her husband and daughter hadn’t joined the Church with her.

“Coming to church and seeing all the families made me feel deeply alone,” she says. Everyone was friendly, but even their happiness made her feel as though “I would never attain that Mormon glow because I was the only one with problems.”

In addition to the returned missionary who had taught her, Melissa was blessed with Cindy, an online friend who had first introduced her to the Church. “It was hard to watch Melissa struggling in her local area as I looked on helplessly,” Cindy explains. “So I created a private Facebook group with a few incredibly grounded, loving, diverse members who helped and befriended her in ways I could never do alone.”

The group not only offered a sense of inclusion for Melissa while she found her place in her ward but also responded to questions about lifestyle and cultural concerns. “I was raised in tank tops and short shorts,” Melissa says. She appreciated online friends who responded with photos of outfits she could check out in local stores. This encouraged her to ask sisters in her ward for movie recommendations after she no longer felt comfortable with some selections in her collection.

An important aspect of friendshipping, Melissa points out, is that she sought the advice. Unsolicited advice feels like intrusion rather than inclusion, an invasion of privacy that can be hurtful to those who aren’t prepared for it.

Eventually, Melissa was called to teach in Relief Society. Her calling provided opportunities to interact with others in the ward. Melissa shared with the sisters her difficulties not only in adjusting as a new member but also in dealing with an autistic child, some personal health issues, and “Oh, and my dog is dying.” The experience of having other sisters listen and respond with their own difficulties in class and in private conversations proved deeply healing. These connections helped Melissa feel that she finally had true friends in the faith.

Wilford Woodruff, too, could see humor winking at him through the hardships of his mission. He writes of his experience in January of 1830 when he was twenty-seven years old. He and his companion walked sixty miles in two days, without food. On the first day they were confronted by a bear, lost their way, were followed by wolves, and finally, late at night, reached a cabin where they were given nothing to eat, though they were allowed to sleep on the floor. That, writes Elder Woodruff, was “the hardest day’s work of my life.” The next morning they walked twelve miles in the rain to the house of a man who, they discovered, had been in the mob that drove the Saints from their homes in Jackson County, Missouri, a year earlier. As they reached the cabin, the man’s family were sitting down to breakfast. To read from Elder Woodruff’s account:
“In those days it was the custom of the Missourians to ask you to eat even though they were hostile to you, so he asked us to take breakfast. … He knew we were Mormons; and as soon as we began to eat, he began to swear about the Mormons. He had a large platter of bacon and eggs, and plenty of bread on the table, and his swearing did not hinder our eating, for the harder he swore the harder we ate, until we got our stomachs full; then we arose from the table, took our hats, and thanked him for our breakfast. The last we heard of him he was still swearing. I trust the Lord will reward him for our breakfast.”7

Church ball was my chance to make up for being cut. Our ward team was the best church team I’d ever played on. Brother Sid Rogers was our priests adviser and coach.
During the season we went undefeated. The only team that came close to us—and we still beat them by seven points—was Jeremy James’s ward. They had a couple of decent players, but Jeremy was really the team.
In the stake tournament the championship game was between us and Jeremy’s ward. During warm-ups I watched Jeremy. He was a quiet, reserved kind of guy. And even though he was the best player on the team, he didn’t make a big deal of it. He passed the ball around and shouted encouragement to his teammates. And he was good. Oh, was he good!
The game was close throughout. We took the early lead when Joel Preston made a three-pointer. But Jeremy’s ward kept it close. Jeremy couldn’t miss, it seemed. When we double-teamed him, he managed to get the ball to a teammate who would score. It was frustrating. Things looked bleak when we went down six with two minutes to play.
Then we started battling back, finally taking a one-point lead with ten seconds to go. And we had the ball. But then I bobbled a pass and Jeremy stole it. He began driving toward the basket and drew up for a quick jumper from ten feet as I lunged to block the shot. He grimaced even before I hit him. It was as though he knew I was going to bat away his shot. As I reached my hand to swat the ball away, I slapped his forearm. The whistle blew, and the ref pointed at me.
Then something happened. Jeremy, still grimacing and shaking his head, intervened. “I traveled before I went up for the shot,” he explained, the disappointment and anguish heavy on his face.
Jeremy’s coach fired off the bench, a look of shock pinching his features. “Let the refs make the calls,” he hollered, turning to the officials. “I didn’t see the traveling. You didn’t see it, right?”
“If he said he traveled,” the ref said apologetically, nodding at Jeremy, “I can’t just ignore that. He called traveling on himself.”
Every eye was on Jeremy. Everybody was wondering what he was going to do. But more than anyone I knew what Jeremy would do. I had seen him sacrifice more than the last two points in a church ball game. I wanted him to stand by his call, but not so we could win. I suppose I wanted reaffirmed to me that someone could actually guard his integrity more intensely than he guarded his team’s chance to win.
Jeremy shrugged and shook his head. “I traveled.” Turning to his coach and teammates, he muttered a quiet, “I’m sorry.”
Jeremy’s coach, obviously frustrated, put his arm around Jeremy. Ever since my experience with Coach Angelo I had packed an annoying pocket of guilt in the pit of my stomach. Many times since I had reflected on the decisions I had made to earn a varsity spot. I had come to know that to experience the comfort of clear conscience sometimes demands the sting of public disapproval. As my team celebrated, I felt a deep-down empty sickness born of disappointment. For a moment I wondered what it would be like to lose on principle instead of winning in spite of it.
“We ought to play it over,” I blurted out. “That would be the fair thing to do. Jeremy would be hitting free throws right now if …” I stopped and glanced at Jeremy. I detected surprise in his look. “If we’re going to win,” I continued, “we ought to win without a questionable call at the end.”
“C’mon, Dave, we’ve got it won if the ref calls traveling on James,” Joel said.
It was now my turn to feel the pressure of the crowd. Then I remembered that Sunday afternoon when Coach Angelo “complimented” me by saying I went with the flow without making waves. He hadn’t meant to, but he had labeled me a coward.
“We can replay the last ten seconds of the game,” I explained. “This is a church game. We ought to do that. They get the ball where Jeremy stole it and we play from there.”
There were protests and arguments, each team struggling for the advantage. But the referees went along with my suggestion. We were ahead 68–67 with ten seconds on the clock.
Joel and I double-teamed Jeremy as he brought the ball up court. Jeremy made a move, and Joel slipped and fell. It was Jeremy and me, one on one. I knew I couldn’t foul him. My only chance was to block the shot. I expected the crucial moment to come under the basket as Jeremy drove the lane. But as soon as Jeremy reached the three-point line, he pulled up for a jump shot. The ball hit the bottom of the net as the buzzer blared.
Jeremy’s team went crazy, slapping high fives, hugging, laughing, and shouting. We stared in disbelief, and then my teammates turned away, some of them grumbling, all of them shunning me.
I made my way to the dressing room, more to be by myself than to shower or dress. Dropping down on the bench, I held my head in my hands. I had wanted to win. Yet there was a quiet, tranquil peace inside me. I had no regrets.
“Hey, Bluth.” I looked up to see Jeremy standing there. We stared at each other a moment before he spoke. “It was a good game. I just wanted to say thanks. I wasn’t sure … I just wanted you to know that …”
He smiled and shrugged, words escaping him. He swallowed and tried again. “Thanks for playing tough and hanging in there.”
Neither of us knew what to say after that. We both stood there silently. And then Jeremy held out his hand and I took it, feeling a lump squeeze into my throat. We shook hands firmly and looked into each other’s eyes, and I knew that between the two of us there was nothing more that needed to be said.

Years later I met with Elder Jairo Mazzagardi of the Seventy when he came to reorganize our stake. He asked me about my mission.
Elder Mazzagardi said, “Brother Murilo, I see that you were baptized when you were 16, but you did not serve a mission.”
“I did not serve a mission,” I said, starting to cry.
“But I do everything possible so the Lord will forgive me. I have served as a branch president for seven months, and I try to be a missionary and give my best. I work hard to help others. I want the Lord to forgive me. I do not want this blemish at the last day.”
“Brother Murilo,” he said, “do not look back; look forward. Whoever looks back walks backwards, and whoever looks forward walks forward. You are clean.”
I was happy to hear this! I felt light, happy, and peaceful.
It felt like a six-ton backpack was lifted off my back.
He told me to return with my wife and called me to serve as stake president.
Elder Mazzagardi then said, “Your experiences will help you be stake president. You will be able to help young people who have difficulties or who do not have the support of their parents. You did not have the opportunity to serve a mission, but this is your mission now. You will help send young people on missions.”
As stake president one of my main goals is to help young men and young women prepare to serve missions. The Lord has given me the right words at the right time to talk to these young people. I am grateful the Lord has given me the opportunity to help others choose to serve missions.

Amidst the terrible hostilities in Missouri that would put the Prophet in Liberty Jail and see thousands of Latter-day Saints driven from their homes, Sister Drusilla Hendricks and her invalid husband, James, … arrived with their children at a hastily shaped dugout in Quincy, Illinois, to live out the spring of that … year [of great suffering].
Within two weeks the Hendrickses were on the verge of starvation, having only one spoonful of sugar and a saucerful of cornmeal remaining in their possession. In the great tradition of LDS women, Drusilla made mush out of it for James and the children, thus stretching its contents as far as she could make it go. When that small offering was [eaten by them], she washed everything, cleaned their little dugout as thoroughly as she could, and quietly waited to die.
Not long thereafter the sound of a wagon brought Drusilla to her feet. It was their neighbor Reuben Allred. He said he had a feeling they were out of food, so on his way into town he’d had a sack of grain ground into meal for them.
Shortly thereafter Alexander Williams arrived with two bushels of meal on his shoulder. He told Drusilla that he’d been extremely busy but the Spirit had whispered to him that “Brother Hendricks’ family is suffering, so I dropped everything and came [running].”

As a young girl, my grandmother Chasty Olsen Harris had a similar experience. She was tending some children who were playing in a dry riverbed near their home in Castle Dale, Utah. Suddenly she heard a voice that called her by name and directed her to get the children out of the riverbed and up on the bank. It was a clear day and there was no sign of rain. She saw no reason to heed the voice and continued to play. The voice spoke to her again, urgently. This time she heeded the warning. Quickly gathering the children, she made a run for the bank. Just as they reached it, an enormous wall of water, originating with a cloudburst in the mountains many miles away, swept down the canyon and roared across where the children had played. Except for this impelling revelation, she and the children would have been lost.

“Ah, summertime!” Jim said to himself, stretching his lanky arms high above his head as he yawned his best thank-goodness-school’s-out-now-I-can-take-it-easy-I-love-summer-but-I’m-getting-bored-already yawn. He had been on vacation for two days. Most of his friends had left town with their families on vacations or already had summer jobs, and Jim wanted to work, too. But he was worried. He was 17, and that can be a tough age to find employment.
Across town, Tom was knocking on doors, again. He’d been at it not just since 8 A.M., but since March. “How is a 15-year-old supposed to get a job?” he asked himself. “Everyone I talk to tells me they have to give the work to the older kids. What am I supposed to do?”
Tom and Jim walked down the same sidewalk, saw the same “help wanted” sign, walked into the same office, and waited for the same man. When he came, he gave them both the same answer—the position had been filled an hour ago by a college student home for the summer.
The two frustrated job hunters sat next to each other on the curb outside.
“There’s got to be a way to get around this,” Tom exclaimed. “Too bad we can’t go into business for ourselves.”
“That’s it!” Jim jumped up. “We’ll dig up our own jobs. There’s got to be something other people don’t want to do, if we think about it hard enough … something like emptying garbage cans.”
“Oh, come on!” Tom said.
“No, really. Look, if we both worked together, we could get all the neighbors around your house, and all the neighbors around my house. We’d carry their trash cans out for them the night before the garbage man comes. Then we could come around the next day and wash all the cans out. If we kept everything clean and if we were really dependable, people would hire us to do it.”
“Maybe you’re right. My cousin used to make sack lunches for her dad. He rode to work in a car pool, and the other men liked his lunches—she always put a little extra treat inside or wrote him a note. Pretty soon she was making lunches for everyone in the car pool, and they each paid her. Maybe we could do something like that,” Tom said. He was starting to catch Jim’s excitement, but Jim issued a friendly word of caution.
“We might have to get a license if we start a restaurant business,” he grinned.
“Even for a lemonade stand?” Tom shot back. They both laughed.

To those who doubt.

Justin and Kenna Valdez moved away from family so it would be easier for them to walk away from their faith. But the hero of this story was their eight-year-old son, who still wanted to be baptized. Sensing an opening door, a wise stake president scheduled a ministering visit for us to go to their home. I still remember Kenna’s squinty look as she stared at me as I walked into the room. But she eventually confided she still had faith in the Savior and even a testimony of the Book of Mormon. But she faced a few triggering issues that kept her from coming back to church. We promised them that as they anchored in the things they did believe, the Lord would help with the things they didn’t. Overcoming their concerns was not an issue of resolving every faith question but of helping them recognize the Holy Ghost. As President Oaks recently taught, “You live in a season in which the adversary has become so effective at disguising truth that if you don’t have the Holy Ghost, you will be deceived.” Justin and Kenna began to make the changes necessary to come back. Six months after our visit, Kenna texted me, “Hi Elder Gilbert! We are ready to be sealed as a family.” This is a photo from the day that they were sealed in the Pocatello Idaho Temple.

Young men and women, you can be a great influence for good in your homes as you help to achieve worthy family objectives. I shall never forget the family home evening years ago in which the name of each member of our family was placed in a hat. The name you picked from the hat would be your “secret friend” for the week. You can imagine the love that filled my heart when I came home that Tuesday after work to sweep out the garage, as I had earlier promised, and found it cleanly swept. There was a note attached to the garage door which read, “Hope you had a good day—your secret friend.” And on Friday night, as I turned down my bed, I uncovered an Almond Joy, my favorite candy bar, wrapped carefully in scotch tape and plain white paper, with a note: “Dad, I love you a lot! Thanks, your secret friend.” Then to top it off, after returning home from a late meeting Sunday evening, I found the dining room table beautifully set, and written on the napkin by my place were the words “SUPER DAD” in big bold letters and in parentheses, “Your secret friend.” Hold your family home evenings, for this is where the gospel is taught, a testimony is gained, and the family is fortified.

Ever since my baptism, I have been able to serve in the Church. My first opportunity was as a visiting teacher. I loved being a visiting teacher and loved serving with Myrlande Jolibois. As my companion, she taught me how to care for the sisters and how to bring joy to those we were invited to teach. We walked everywhere and happily visited all our sisters. Her service prepared me to receive my first calling three months after my baptism. I was called to be the Relief Society president and continued to serve the sisters in my ward.

As our hearts and minds turn at Eastertime to thoughts of our Savior’s suffering at Gethsemane, his crucifixion, and his resurrection, I recall an experience at an open house in the Arizona Temple following a complete renovation of the building. Nearly a quarter of a million people saw the temple’s beautiful interior. On the first day of the open house, clergymen of other religions were invited as special guests, and hundreds responded. It was my privilege to speak to them and to answer their questions at the conclusion of their tours. I told them that we would be pleased to answer any queries they might have. Many were asked. Among these was one which came from a Protestant minister.
Said he: “I’ve been all through this building, this temple which carries on its face the name of Jesus Christ, but nowhere have I seen any representation of the cross, the symbol of Christianity. I have noted your buildings elsewhere and likewise find an absence of the cross. Why is this when you say you believe in Jesus Christ?”
I responded: “I do not wish to give offense to any of my Christian brethren who use the cross on the steeples of their cathedrals and at the altars of their chapels, who wear it on their vestments and imprint it on their books and other literature. But for us, the cross is the symbol of the dying Jesus, while our message is a declaration of the living Christ.”
He then asked: “If you do not use the cross, what is the symbol of your religion?”
I replied that the lives of our people must become the only meaningful expression of our faith. I hope he did not feel that I was smug or self-righteous in my response. He was correct in his observation that we do not use the cross, except as our military chaplains use it on their uniforms for identification.

Many things have been said about missionaries and missionary work. That has been the first love of my life, and I have been reminded of several things that happened sixty-eight years ago when I went to England. One I should like to relate.
I had gone to a certain house several times and had been rejected and warned not to come back again, but I was prompted to go again and again. And then as I was attempting to walk past that house, I was prompted to go in and try again to make contact. I used the big brass knocker on the English door without any response. I could see a lady in the front room knitting, and I made considerable noise with that knocker. She did not come out, and I went around to the back door. There was no knocker on that door so I used my walking stick, and I knocked with considerable vigor; in fact, it echoed through all the house.
Very soon the lady came out, and her coming out reminded me of my early days on the farm when I teased a setting hen off the nest. (I see some of you have had farm experience.) You know that a setting hen when she is teased off the nest comes off with her feathers going in the wrong direction, with her beak in perpetual motion, and this woman reminded me of that.
I apologized and said, “I am sorry to have interrupted you and have insisted upon an interview, but, my dear sister, I have come over six thousand miles to bring you a message which the Lord wants you to have. He sent me here to give you that message. I am going back to Canada in a few days, and I must tell you what the Lord wants you to know.”
She said, “You mean the Lord sent a message to me!”
I said, “That is right; he did.”
I told her of the restoration of the gospel, the organization of the Church, and the message of the restoration. She was quite impressed by what I told her. And I said when I left, “I am sorry to have disturbed you, but I could not refuse to carry out the message and the mission that was given to me when I came here. When we meet again, and we will meet again, you are going to say, ‘Thank you for coming to my back door. Thank you for loving me enough to carry the message of the Lord to me. When you left I could hardly contain myself. I was worried, disturbed, and wondered what it was all about. I finally went to the mission home, got some literature, studied, and became a member of the Church with my family.’”
Ten years later I was in England again, this time as a soldier, and at the end of the meeting a lady came up with two grown daughters. She said, “I do thank God and thank you that you came to my door with that message many years ago. I and my daughters joined the Church and we are going to Utah in a short time, and we thank God that you had the courage, the fortitude, and the faith to come to me with that divine message and to leave it with me in the name of the Lord.”

If you suffer from worry, from grief or shame or jealousy or disappointment or envy, from self-recrimination or self-justification, consider this lesson taught to me many years ago by a patriarch. He was as saintly a man as I have ever known. He was steady and serene, with a deep spiritual strength that many drew upon.
He knew just how to minister to others who were suffering. On a number of occasions I was present when he gave blessings to those who were sick or who were otherwise afflicted. His was a life of service, both to the Church and to his community.
He had presided over one of the missions of the Church and always looked forward to the missionary reunions. When he was older, he was not able to drive at night, and I offered to take him to the reunions. That modest gesture was repaid a thousandfold.
On one occasion, when the Spirit was right, he gave me a lesson for my life from an experience in his own. Although I thought I had known him, he told me things about his life I would not have supposed.
He grew up in a little community with a desire to make something of himself. He struggled to get an education.
He married his sweetheart, and presently everything was just right. He was well employed, with a bright future. They were deeply in love, and she was expecting their first child.
The night the baby was to be born, there were complications. The only doctor was somewhere in the countryside tending to the sick.
After many hours of labor, the condition of the mother-to-be became desperate.
Finally the doctor was located. In the emergency, he acted quickly and soon had things in order. The baby was born and the crisis, it appeared, was over.
Some days later, the young mother died from the very infection that the doctor had been treating at another home that night.
John’s world was shattered. Everything was not right now; everything was all wrong. He had lost his wife. He had no way to tend both the baby and his work.
As the weeks wore on, his grief festered. “That doctor should not be allowed to practice,” he would say. “He brought that infection to my wife. If he had been careful, she would be alive today.”
He thought of little else, and in his bitterness, he became threatening. Today, no doubt, he would have been pressed by many others to file a malpractice suit. And there are lawyers who would see in his pitiable condition only one ingredient—money!
But that was another day, and one night a knock came at his door. A little girl said simply, “Daddy wants you to come over. He wants to talk to you.”
“Daddy” was the stake president. A grieving, heartbroken young man went to see his spiritual leader.
This spiritual shepherd had been watching his flock and had something to say to him.
The counsel from that wise servant was simply, “John, leave it alone. Nothing you do about it will bring her back. Anything you do will make it worse. John, leave it alone.”
My friend told me then that this had been his trial—his Gethsemane. How could he leave it alone? Right was right! A terrible wrong had been committed and somebody must pay for it. It was a clear case.
But he struggled in agony to get hold of himself. And finally, he determined that whatever else the issues were, he should be obedient.
Obedience is powerful spiritual medicine. It comes close to being a cure-all.
He determined to follow the counsel of that wise spiritual leader. He would leave it alone.
Then he told me, “I was an old man before I understood! It was not until I was an old man that I could finally see a poor country doctor—overworked, underpaid, run ragged from patient to patient, with little medicine, no hospital, few instruments, struggling to save lives, and succeeding for the most part.
“He had come in a moment of crisis, when two lives hung in the balance, and had acted without delay.
“I was an old man,” he repeated, “before I finally understood! I would have ruined my life,” he said, “and the lives of others.”
Many times he had thanked the Lord on his knees for a wise spiritual leader who counseled simply, “John, leave it alone.”

I know exactly what it’s like to carry the burden of having a guilty conscience. I had something I needed to confess to my bishop, but it was of such a personal nature that I was horrified of telling him about it. To make matters worse, my bishop was also my neighbor. Every day I would see him and I would feel so uncomfortable when he’d smile at me and ask me how things were going. I knew deep in my heart that I needed to talk to him, but I needed strength and courage. I decided one day to fast and pray and search the scriptures for an answer and strength. I came across several scriptures that seemed to help me: Doctrine and Covenants 64:7; 82:1; 95:1; 98:47 [D&C 64:7; D&C 82:1; D&C 95:1; D&C 98:47]; Mosiah 26:29–30.

It is never easy for one to confess something one has done wrong, but if you will ask Heavenly Father for strength, he will bless you for it. He loves you as he loves all his children. I testify to you that by confessing and sharing your problems with your bishop, you will feel so much better. It will help take the weight off your shoulders and you can start on the road to forgiveness.

Name withheld

When Wilford was 17 years old, his father arranged for him to continue going to school.
Wilford: But Father, I can’t afford to attend school in West Hartford!
Father: If you do chores for my friend, he will pay your room and board.
Wilford went to school but became terribly homesick.
Wilford: I miss my family, and I want to return home!
In order to avoid feeling homesick, Wilford decided that he needed to stay busy by focusing more on his studies. He grew to love history and started reading every history book he could get his hands on.
One day Wilford picked up the Bible and started to read it. Although he began reading it to learn about Christian history, he gained a testimony that the Bible was the word of God.
Wilford: I resolve to diligently seek the Lord, follow the Holy Spirit, and do the will of God as far as I can learn it!