Gospel Story Finder

“You’re never going to finish that thing in time,” Mark said to his eleven-year-old sister, Annie, as he passed behind her chair. In his hands he gently held a honey-colored wooden box, smooth and gleaming in the spring sunlight.
Annie stared glumly at the tangled mint-green yarn in her lap. “You got help from Dad with yours,” Annie defended herself. “No one will help me with this hat.”
“That’s because none of us knows how to crochet,” said Bonnie, Annie’s fourteen-year-old sister. “The only one who could help you is Mom.”
Annie jumped up, grabbing the yarn in both hands. “Just you wait,” she hollered back as she raced up the stairs. “Mom’s going to love it!”
But Annie didn’t really believe it. Bonnie’s painting was propped up to dry against a wall in their bedroom. It was a watercolor of the park, all grass and trees and flowers and blue sky. Mother would love it! She would also love the old box that Mark had sanded and refinished. It would be perfect for her scarves. But this hat—if it was a hat—no one, not even Mom, could even pretend to love.
The stitches weren’t really stitches at all, just tight, stubborn knots. Annie had to find a way to fix it. After all, it had been her idea to make gifts to welcome Mom home from the hospital. And now it appeared as if even her ten-year-old brother could do better than she could.
She glanced at the clock and saw that it was already 4:30. Bonnie soon had to leave for ballet class, and Mark was knee-deep in homework. It was up to her to start dinner again if Dad was to have any time at the hospital with Mom. She’d been there for two long weeks! Even the tangle of mistakes in Annie’s hands couldn’t make her feel sad when she remembered that Mom would be home tomorrow.
After the dinner dishes and her own homework were done, Annie got right back to work. She was sitting cross-legged on her bed, her long brown hair brushing her cheeks, when Dad softly knocked. “How’s it going, Annie?”
“Oh, Dad,” Annie admitted reluctantly, lifting her aching neck, “I just go around and around, and the stitches just get smaller and tighter.”
“How about giving it up for a while, honey,” said Dad gently. “We have a big day tomorrow. You look dead tired.”
“I have to finish it before Mom comes home,” Annie said with determination, “even if it takes all night.”
“Annie, I want you in bed by nine thirty at the latest,” he said firmly. “Mom will understand, I promise.”
The next morning Annie watched from the door as Dad walked Mom up the brick path. She leaned heavily on Dad’s arm, looking thin and white. But she was smiling up at Dad and laughing as she always did.
In an instant Annie was in her mother’s arms.
“Gently now, Annie,” laughed Dad as Annie hugged Mom hard.
“It’s all right, John,” Mom said, holding Annie close.
Soon Mark and Bonnie were there, too, and Mom was hugging them and saying how much she had missed them all.
“We have surprises for you,” Mark told her. “Come and see.”
Dad’s bouquet of pink carnations was next to the two wrapped gifts on the living room table.
“Now, what’s all this?” Mom asked, smiling and settling herself on the sofa.
Mom really liked her presents. Annie felt awful that there was nothing there from her. How could she explain about the hat? She couldn’t. Edging out of the living room, she escaped into the kitchen, where she finished making the tuna salad for lunch, stubbornly blinking back her tears. She couldn’t let Mom see them. That would make things worse.
She was putting a pan of soup on the stove, when she felt her mother’s hand on her shoulder. “Look at this nice lunch you’ve made, Annie,” Mom said quietly.
Annie turned to face her mother, and this time she couldn’t blink away the tears. “But I have no present for you, Mom,” she said. “I wanted it to be so perfect—a lacey crocheted hat to look pretty with your hair—but …”
“Shhh,” whispered Mom, putting her arms around Annie. “Don’t you think Dad’s told me about all that you’ve done here while I was in the hospital? With Bonnie’s ballet recital coming up and Mark so behind in his schoolwork, a lot has been on your shoulders. Dad doesn’t know what he would have done without you.”
“But Mark and Bonnie made such nice things for you, and mine turned out just horrible.”
“Do you want to know what I think? I think that you gave me the most perfect gift you could have given.”
“You do?”
“You gave of yourself for two whole weeks without any thought of a reward, and I bet that after lunch and a nap for me, we can figure out that hat and finish it together in no time.”

The embarrassment Devon suffered was her own fault. The boy next door invited her to a dance, and though she wasn’t wild about him, she consented to go. A short while later another boy, who she was wild about, asked her to the same dance, so she told her neighbor the second guy had actually asked first. The embarrassing part came when her dear little brother told her neighbor the actual truth.
Devon learned that if you never tell a lie, there’s no danger of embarrassment when the truth actually comes out.

Shortly thereafter I contacted another friend in Utah, Dennis Hill, with whom I had worked. I told him I was now attending his church. He said he was going to send me a book, even though I tried to convince him that I was attending only because I liked the people.
The book, A Marvelous Work and a Wonder by LeGrand Richards, came after our second visit to the little church. I set it aside to read “sometime later.”
The third Sunday we decided we were too tired to go to church. No one called to ask “Where were you?” and we were disappointed.
But Monday night the telephone rang. It was the missionaries!
“We missed you at church Sunday.”
“Yes, but you know how it is.”
“Yes, we do.” A pause. “We promised you six lessons; we would like to begin them soon.”
“Fine! How about tomorrow night and every Tuesday thereafter?”
That was the beginning of a very fine friendship. The children loved these two young men who exuded faith and happiness.
I cooperated with their attempts to use psychology on me because I felt they needed the practice; however, I had to set the limit when they invited me to offer prayer at the opening and close of these meetings. I was happy to have them or anyone else offer the prayer, but I would have felt hypocritical praying to a God whose existence I wasn’t sure of.
The next Sunday was stake conference in Jacksonville, Florida, and the speaker was to be none other than Elder LeGrand Richards. I grabbed my book and started reading. (If I’m going to listen to a speaker, I want to know as much about him as possible.) When the day came, I managed to sit way up in the balcony where I could hear and see well. This man’s keen mind impressed me; but I was even more moved by his sincerity, conviction, and faith.
The missionary lessons continued, and we began to acquire a better comprehension of what the gospel was all about. About the fourth lesson we began to realize that these missionaries were planning to finish this by inviting us to be baptized.
I won’t do that! I told my wife. “I don’t even trust myself in a thing so simple as prayer. I’m not going to do all of that.” She agreed.
The missionaries finally mentioned it by telling us that a date had been selected for baptism. Would we like to go? “No,” I told them. “I don’t feel the urge.”
“Well,” they continued, “this Friday we are going to baptize two others. Would you like to come and observe?”
“Where?”
“A block from here—in the ocean.”
“The ocean!” gasped my wife. “That’s too cold this time of year.”
“Yes, we know.” Missionaries always seem to be undisturbed.
We went. After the baptismal service, the missionaries asked us, “Doesn’t that make you want to be baptized next time?”
“No!” I answered. And I meant it.
All of this time the elders had been teaching another family, a beautiful young couple by the name of John and Louise Hatch.
We had met the Hatches only briefly at Church, but were impressed by their vibrance and sincerity. At the time of our sixth and final lesson, the elders told us that John and Louise had elected to be baptized the following Friday, which happened to be Good Friday. The thought occurred to me that that would certainly be the ideal time to be baptized, that it would be a kind of “thank you” to Christ to commemorate that particular day with one’s own baptism. Nonetheless, I felt no urge to do so. I was still looking for that burning bush.
But as the elders prepared to leave following our sixth lesson, they asked, as was their custom, if I would like to offer the prayer. To my amazement, I heard myself agree; after my benediction, two somewhat astonished missionaries congratulated me. I was deep in thought when that beautiful evening ended.
The next day before I left for work, I gathered my courage, took a deep breath, and told my wife I had decided to be baptized on Friday and wanted her to join me. She would have been just as surprised if the roof had blown off or if Florida had begun to slip slowly into the sea.
“You can’t do this to me!” she said.
“Why not?”
“The ocean is too cold!”
“I know, but I’ve decided. With or without you, I’m going to do it. Think about it and let me know tonight because I’m going to call the missionaries tomorrow and tell them so they can get me some special clothing.”
I kissed her and left her standing in the doorway. But I couldn’t leave her in suspense all day, so I called her later.
“Have you decided?”
“I’m not going to let you do it without me!”
“Fine. I’ll call the missionaries tonight. Ask the kids if they want to join in, and let me know after work.”
The two older boys elected to join us. (The two younger children were still too young.) We were baptized on Friday; and I have not doubted since coming up from the water that I made the right decision.
Why did I suddenly decide to be baptized? Because I realized the night of the sixth lesson that a burning bush was not the right thing to look for. I realized that by looking for a burning bush I was missing something just as important. Perhaps the answer lay in the simple things that had been happening to me.
I thought back to the week before we had decided to be baptized. We had once again arrived late to Church. To dispel the awkwardness of the situation, a very young man, Eddie Markle, had welcomed us with a simple handshake. At that moment I sensed in him a faith so strong that I was deeply impressed. It was the kind of faith spoken of by Jesus to Thomas: “Thomas, because thou hast seen me, thou hast believed; blessed are they that have not seen, and yet have believed.” (John 20:29.) I decided I wanted that kind of faith.
I realized my previous experiences had impressed me in a similar way, but, because of my desire for a miraculous conversion, I had failed to recognize the promptings of the Spirit. My encounters with members of the Church had not been spectacular, but yet they had been very significant.
Each person had—in his own way—displayed a strong yet simple faith: Dick Reisner had planted the seed; Dennis Hill had sent the book; the missionaries had knocked on my door; President Pressler had waited for us that first Sunday; Elder Richards had delivered an inspiring message; Eddie Markle had eased an awkward moment with a handshake. Each person—through his example—had let the powerful light of his testimony shine forth. And to me, having been in darkness, each example was as “the bright shining of a candle” (Luke 11:36), bringing me to a testimony of the truth.
The Mormons love their families and I love them for that. As a religious group they are, in fact, a family themselves—with all the love and learning that implies. Yet through it all one fact never changes: they have the gospel of Jesus Christ. A burning bush is not the answer. We have free choice—we can choose a darkness devoid of faith or we can light it brilliantly and forever with our belief. The Mormons believe! And so do I.

Kiera (11), Dane (10), and Annie (7) Bennion know the true meaning of family togetherness. While most families see each other only in the morning, after school, or on weekends, the children in the Bennion family see each other all day long, every day. That’s because the Bennions don’t go to a regular public school like most of the children in Beaverton—they and their brothers and sisters have school at home, with their mom as their teacher. Home schooling isn’t for everyone, but the Bennions felt that it was necessary for them.
“We really wanted to focus on family unity and self-worth,” their mother, Sandy, explains. So she and her husband, Gary, looked into the possibility of teaching their children themselves. They found out that their local school district allowed them to do so as long as they registered with the district and made sure that the children passed a state test once a year. After fulfilling these requirements, Sandy was given permission to teach her eight children in their own home.
Recently, as a home school project, they had a preschool in which the five older children—Aaron, Brittany, Kiera, Dane, and Annie—taught the three younger ones—Michelle (6), Ammon (4), and Lehi (2), as well as eleven other paying students. It was a good experience for them all, but not an easy one. “Sometimes it was pretty hard to keep the smaller kids under control,” Kiera admits.
During the school year (they usually get summers off, like regular school), the family starts off each day with a devotional. They wake up early and gather in the living room, where they say a prayer, sing hymns, and read the Bible. “We read our Book of Mormon at night,” Annie adds. The family also uses this time to practice singing. They enjoy singing in parts and sometimes prepare musical numbers to perform for a special event like their ward talent show.
They also do an annual Christmas “open house,” where they go caroling at a number of houses in their ward and neighborhood. Everyone who hears them delights in the Bennions’ performances. The practicing is hard, and sometimes performing is scary, but all their hard work pays off in the joy they bring to other people through their music.
Of course, the family isn’t always practicing for a performance. Most of the time, they just sing hymns or fun songs together. According to Dane, they may not perform for others more than five or six times a year, but they’re always singing on their own.
While the whole Bennion family is special, each of the children stands out with his or her own unique talents and personality. One time when Kiera was three years old, her parents took her to see her cousins perform in a band in which they played violins. That night at home, Kiera walked in with her mother’s high heel shoe tucked under her chin and a screwdriver in her hand, pretending to play the shoe like a violin. Now she takes lessons on a real violin and on a piano, but it’s easy to see that her love for music started long ago.
Dane is considered the family mechanic. He likes to tinker with things and figure out how they work. When he grows up, he wants to be a pilot or an engineer because he likes planes and he likes fixing things. He visits the OMSI (Oregon Museum of Science Industry) to see the neat things that they have there. Dane also has a playful streak. He’s always making funny faces in photographs or teasing his brothers and sisters.
Annie, short for Annelise, likes to wear bright colors like red and yellow. Anyone who knows her enjoys her happy smile and playful, fun-loving nature. She’s very adventurous and wants to be a mountain climber someday, if not a famous singer. She has a great voice for being only seven.
One of the fun things about the Bennion family is that all the boys have Book of Mormon names: Aaron, Dane Nephi, Ammon Jared, and Lehi. Dane says that he would like to be more like Nephi because his middle name is Nephi.
While Annie doesn’t have a Book of Mormon name, she says she wants to be like Nephi, too, because she’s like Dane and Dane is like Nephi. Kiera’s favorite Book of Mormon story is about the Brother of Jared and how he was able to see Jesus Christ because of his great faith. She knows that everyone on earth has the opportunity to earn that same blessing if they are faithful and obedient to the commandments of God.
The Bennions love to do active things together. Almost every member of the family has his or her own bike. One of their favorite vacations is to camp with their ward on the coast, an hour and a half away, and ride their bikes on the roads and trails there. Dad has also promised the family a long biking trip in Utah in the near future.
There are lots of fun things to do at home too. They have a basketball hoop in front of their house, and all the kids spend lots of time practicing. They also like climbing the tree in their backyard, jumping on their trampoline, or picking blackberries for Mom to make into a pie.
Another member has just joined the family. Little Moroni was born in October 1997, bringing great joy to his family. He is showered with affection from his eight brothers and sisters. After all, there always will be plenty of love for one more in this large, talented, fun-loving family.

Amber Martin and Kortney Kline are closer to earning their Young Women Personal Progress Award after organizing all the youth in the Valley Forge Pennsylvania Stake to donate their reading books to an inner-city school in Philadelphia. A stake youth dance was held and the “admission fee” was to bring some books. Amber and Kortney managed to collect over 500 books. These two young women said it was an awesome experience to give youth in their stake an opportunity to donate books to students in need.

On April 14, 2006, my 11-year-old sister, Alexandra, died in a car accident. A few weeks later, my mom was reading to me and she started crying because she missed my sister. I hugged her and told her not to cry, that my sister would want us to be happy because she was in a happy place. Several months later, Mom began to cry again. I put my arms around her. I comforted her and told her not to cry, and that everything would be OK.
When I was baptized, my mom reminded me that I made a covenant with Heavenly Father. In Mosiah 18:8–9 it says we need to be “willing to bear one another’s burdens, that they may be light; Yea, and are willing to mourn with those that mourn; yea, and comfort those that stand in need of comfort.” I’m grateful I was baptized and could be there to comfort and help my mom.

I wish to bear you my witness of Jesus Christ, the Son of God, and the power of His infinite, atoning sacrifice. In doing so, I will call upon an experience from my years in Tennessee. One evening there I received a call at home from a gentleman I did not know. He introduced himself as a recently retired minister of another faith and asked to meet with me privately the following Sunday. When we met, my guest stated frankly he had come out of concern for the welfare of my soul. He pulled out of his portfolio a fairly long list of scripture citations from the New Testament and said he wanted to review these verses with me and see if he could help me be saved. I was a bit surprised at his directness, but I could tell that he was sincere, and I was touched by his genuine interest in me.
We conversed for more than an hour, and he was open to hear me explain something of my faith as well as to read with me some teachings from the Book of Mormon with which he was not familiar. We found there was much we believed in common and some things we did not. We felt a bond of friendship and prayed together before he left. What remains with me is our discussion about being born again. It is spiritual rebirth through Jesus Christ that is the context of my witness of Him.

I have seen such courage many times but the most dramatic was while I served in the Untied States Army. There were six Latter-Day Saints in my training company. One was a school mate of mine, Lee Gillman. Like me, he was just an ordinary teenager. There was nothing really special about him. Neither of us were athletes, or particularly bright, or popular, or school officers just ordinary kids making our way along. Then came the day.

It was a Sunday evening about six weeks into our basic training at Fort Ord, California. We had received our first weekend pass and many enjoyed the time off by going to Tijuana, Mexico. That evening the men began to gather back to the barracks. We Latter-day Saints were together getting ready for inspection the next morning. We were chatting, polishing our boots, and paying little attention to what was going on around us when we were surrounded by a self-appointed committee who announced that they were going to show us Mormons what a real women looked like. This group, while in Tijuana, had picked up some pornographic pictures and decided we needed to see them. In those days, such items were not easily come by.

Lee was the one who spoke up first and told them to bug off, that we were not interested. Due to his objection, he became the target of their growing ire, so they forced him down and held a picture over his face. He closed his eyes. That made them mad and one of the guys tried to pry his eyes opened. That suddenly galvanized the rest of us and we can to the rescue. Before things got really bad, however, some with cool heads shouted the only two words that could stop a brawl, "SERGEANTS COMING!" By the time we realized it was a ploy, those same cool heads intervened and separated us thus giving everyone space to cool down.

I was quite upset by all this and went to the latrine to be alone. I sat in the stall frankly much longer than was necessary, primarily getting my feelings under control. I was not really paying attention to what was going on until I heard the word Mormon. Instantly, I was very alert. Not knowing what had preceded the word, I just sat and listened. Shortly there after I heard one of the guys say, "Yeah, they really are different," to which another responded, "Yeah, their different alright. They are clean." Then after a pause the first guy said, "I just wish I were clean." "Yeah," said the other, "So do I."

Interestingly, we never had any problems after that. Indeed, there were some of the guys who became our self-appointed guardians who really kept the other guys off our back. More importantly, it opened a discussion we these and others that allowed us to share the gospel.

Now there is a lesson in all this. You really don't have to be Johnny Lingo, the best of the best, in order to make a difference. You just have to be you but YOU must stand up for righteousness. My experience illustrates the importance of two key virtues of our day: courage and purity.

There is also a great value that can come to the early riser. Years ago my wife and I were driving with President and Sister Marion G. Romney. Along the way, President Romney shared some of his personal experiences when he was first called to serve as a General Authority in 1941. He felt he needed some advice, so he went to Elder Harold B. Lee, a new member of the Quorum of the Twelve. He asked him how to be a successful General Authority. Elder Lee answered, “Go to bed early and get up early. If you do, your body and mind will become rested, and then, in the quiet of those early morning hours, you will receive more flashes of inspiration and insight than at any other time of the day.”
President Romney said to me, “From that day on, I put that counsel into practice, and I know it works. Whenever I have a serious problem, or some assignment of a creative nature with which I hope to receive the influence of the Spirit, I always receive more assistance in the early morning hours than at any other time of the day.”

Years ago my expectant wife, April, and I eagerly attended an ultrasound appointment to discover whether we were having a boy or a girl. We were overjoyed to learn we were having our third son. We also learned there were severe physical complications afflicting his body. Our son was missing sizable portions of his brain, his skull was not properly shaped, and the doctors were unsure if he would survive until delivery.
During the ensuing weeks, every time we received more information, it was distressing news. I distinctly remember when my wife called to tell me the latest update: our son did not have a right eye.
To pray more specifically for our unborn son, we decided on his name early. We chose to call him Caleb, after the Old Testament Israelite who was known for his fearlessness in the face of overwhelming odds.
Miraculously, Caleb survived his birth, though it was clear he would remain like a newborn throughout his life. He would never walk, talk, or be able to feed himself.
When we asked how long he might live, the doctor candidly replied, “Take him home and love him, but don’t bring him back to the hospital. There’s nothing more we can do for him. He has a few weeks to a few months left—at most a year or possibly two.”
I was anxious as we left the hospital with our little boy to take him home. The amount of medical equipment needed to sustain his life was daunting. I would regularly sit in his room watching the little green light on his heart monitor. I was nervous about leaving, worried the light would stop blinking and Caleb would die alone.
Simply feeding him took extraordinary effort because he needed to eat every three hours. The process to eat through a feeding pump took one hour to complete. This involved waking up throughout the night: start the pump, sleep for an hour, stop the pump, sleep for two hours, start the pump again, sleep for an hour, and so on. We constantly feared losing him and doubted how we could keep ourselves alive, let alone our fragile son.
Thankfully, the Lord blessed us with many miracles in our seemingly hopeless situation. Earthly angels rallied around us. We had a competent and compassionate nurse and a doctor who made house calls. Ward members, family, and friends provided meals and offered fervent prayers in our behalf. We felt heaven’s sustaining hand upon us and that angels walked our hallways and sat in Caleb’s room. Our three-year-old son said he sometimes saw the Savior watching over us.
The Lord blessed us with many miracles as we loved and cared for our son.

One of the most challenging times in my graduate studies was writing my dissertation. Having successfully completed all my coursework, I was told that I was now qualified to pursue independently my original research. To some, such freedom was exhilarating. To an extrovert like myself, it was debilitating. It was a good friend who made all the difference in my ability to persist in the research, analysis, writing and rewriting that allowed me to complete my dissertation.

At one point, I would regularly share a great deal of my research with a longtime colleague who was also finishing his graduate work. The two of us had been through so much together. He knew the substance of my research and he also knew many of the faculty members on my dissertation committee. He seemed a natural ally in my cause. But I actually found that at that particular time and season of my life, that I needed to limit my interactions with him. Why? Because rather than edifying one another to do good work, our conversation almost always devolved into self-pity and critique. We were brilliantly skilled at identifying and cursing the outside forces that seemed to be conspiring against us but pretty inept at taking concrete steps toward success.

What made all the difference for me was when I made a new friend, John. Although we didn't know the substance of one another's arcane research, we shared a common sense of humor, a common outlook on life and a common aspiration for excellence and accomplishment. We would meet a few times each week, usually over cheap ethnic food, or a cup of hot chocolate. We would to listen to each other, commiserate with one another, but mostly we would celebrate our small successes and then challenge one another to keep at the mundane tasks of scholarship—the way jogging buddies egg one another on to pick up the pace. With a ready smile and an easy laugh, John's friendship helped me bear the burden of seeing my dissertation to completion.

When Makoto Ishizaka, 26, of the Senzokuike Ward, Yokohama Japan Stake, turned 18, he received the Melchizedek Priesthood and was ordained an elder by his father. Although Makoto was still a high school student, there was an urgent need for him to serve his family as a Melchizedek Priesthood holder. His 14-year-old brother, Isamu, had a malignant brain tumor.

As Isamu awoke from surgery, his first words were “Can I have a blessing?” For more than a year, Makoto joined his father in giving frequent priesthood blessings to Isamu. “Before giving blessings, I prayed and pondered in the small hospital room,” says Makoto. “When I give blessings, I feel Heavenly Father is using me as an instrument.”

While in the hospital, Isamu studied seminary lessons, did not murmur, and expressed gratitude for his blessings. When his condition suddenly became worse, Makoto prayed in desperation: “Why is this happening?” Then he felt the voice of the Lord. “It pierced my very soul. Through the Spirit, I knew Isamu was needed in heaven. My anger and uneasiness vanished and were changed to peace and hope. Forty-eight hours later, Isamu passed away. He was 16.” Makoto dedicated Isamu’s grave and received temple ordinances in his brother’s behalf. He later served a full-time mission. “The priesthood blesses both those who perform and those who receive ordinances—and it can purify both,” he says.

Divine messengers attended the dedicatory services of the Kirtland Temple on March 27, 1836. After the dedicatory prayer was read, Frederick G. Williams arose “and testified that midway during the prayer an Holy Angel came and seated Himself in the stand.” Heber C. Kimball could see the personage from where he sat, describing him as “very tall . . . [with] black eyes, white hair, and stoop shouldered; his garment was whole, extending to near his ankles; on his feet he had sandals. He was sent as a messenger to accept of the dedication.” After a midday adjournment, the first thing Joseph Smith did was announce to those assembled that “the Personage who had appeared in the morning was the Angel Peter [who] had come to accept the dedication.”

“And now I’d like to end my talk with my testimony,” the speaker in sacrament meeting was saying. Sarah and her younger sister, Beth, were sitting with their family near the back of the chapel. Dad leaned forward on the bench and eyed a clear warning to both of them. They weren’t being bad or noisy, but Dad knew what was coming—the family was sitting right in front of Brother Smith.
The speaker finished, “In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.” Sarah bit her lip and closed her eyes in anticipation. Then she heard it—everyone in the whole city must have heard it—Brother Smith added his “AMEN!”
Sarah tried not to giggle, but when Beth started to, she couldn’t help it. Dad looked disappointed, and Sarah felt bad. She knew that they shouldn’t giggle in church. “It’s Brother Smith’s fault,” she mouthed to her father while she tried to calm Beth down.
Everyone in the ward said “Amen” after a prayer or talk, but everyone else said it quietly, almost to themselves. Brother Smith belted it out as if he were at a football game.
“He is older,” Dad had explained before. “He doesn’t hear very well.” Sarah knew that some people who are hard of hearing often shout. But still, when Brother Smith said “amen,” she was sure even people driving by could hear it.
After church, when the family was riding home, Sarah expected another lecture from her father about reverence. But he didn’t say anything.
Beth broke her silence, “Sorry I laughed again, Daddy.”
Sarah poked Beth’s leg and frowned at her for bringing it up. But Dad just said, “After lunch I have something I want to show you girls.”
When the family had eaten, Dad took the two girls into his study. “This is something that belonged to your great-grandfather,” he said, pulling a fist-size metal object out of a box.
“What is it?” Sarah asked. “It looks like a clamp.”
“It’s a seal.” Dad pulled out a sheet of typing paper from his desk and placed the paper between the seal’s two round plates. Using both hands, he squeezed the handles together, then released them and pulled the paper out. “See the imprint it leaves on the paper?”
The girls looked at the intricate design and fancy writing embossed on the paper. “Cool!” Sarah exclaimed. “May I try it?”
“Sure.” Dad smiled and got out another sheet of paper. “Great-grandfather was a very important man in the town where he lived. He was a leader, and people trusted him. This seal was his very own; there were no others like it.”
Sarah pushed the handles together this time; then both girls ran their fingertips over the texture that was now left on the paper.
“That’s the way Great-Grandpa sent important messages to others,” Dad told them. “He put his seal on the messages, and the people getting them knew without a doubt that the messages were really from him.
You see, if people got married or did things that needed a witness, Great-Grandpa used his seal. People everywhere knew that if his seal was on something, it was true.”
“Wow!” Beth said.
“That’s awesome!” Sarah added.
Dad looked at them. “You mean you wouldn’t laugh at Great-Grandpa’s seal?”
“No way,” Sarah said. “It’s an important thing.”
“Yeah, no way,” Beth agreed.
Dad smiled. “Now, did you know that the word amen is also a seal?”
Sarah had known that something like this was coming. Dad made a lesson out of everything. She waited for him to continue.
“Well, that’s what it is—our own personal seal that we put on ordinances, testimonies, prayers, and talks. It means that we know we have done or said or heard something true. Saying ‘amen’ is our seal that tells everyone that we agree and approve.
“Now,” he said, easing the tension, “who wants to use Great-Grandpa’s seal on some of her things?”
“I do! I do!” both girls squealed happily.
All that week, Sarah put Great-Grandpa’s seal on the first pages of all her books and everything else she could find. She made special note cards for her friends and even put a seal in her journal.
The following Sunday, Sarah’s family got to church a little late. Dad found a half-empty bench near the back of the chapel, and they sat down just as everyone was bowing his head for the prayer.
In the prayer, Sister Carter said, “We thank thee for this beautiful day.” As Sarah listened carefully, she thought of Great-Grandpa’s seal. Would she put her seal on these words? “We are grateful for this chapel to meet in,” Sister Carter was saying now. Could Sarah witness that these words were true? “And please bless the prophet and the missionaries.” Did Sarah approve? Did she agree? Sister Carter ended her prayer, “In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
Picturing herself stamping Great-Grandpa’s seal on Sister Carter’s prayer, Sarah said “amen” right out loud, just as she heard Brother Smith bellow “AMEN!”
Sarah didn’t laugh. Beth didn’t laugh, either. Dad smiled at them approvingly. Sarah moved closer to him and whispered, “‘Amen’ is Brother Smith’s seal, Dad—his BIG seal.”

Opposition sometimes led to physical violence. The most prominent such incident in Ohio took place during the night of March 24, 1832, while Joseph Smith and his family were living at the home of John Johnson in Hiram, Ohio. That night a gang of more than two dozen men pulled the Prophet and Sidney Rigdon from their beds, choked them into submission, and dragged them into nearby fields. They scratched the Prophet fiercely with their fingernails, tried to force acid into his mouth, then smeared his naked body with tar and feathers. Elder Rigdon was left delirious from the force of his head bumping against the ground. When the Prophet left a week later on a second visit to Missouri, his antagonists pursued him. He sought protection on a river steamer and completed his trip in safety. Thereafter, he almost continuously required guards to protect him from threats of mobbings and assassination.

Listening to him, I was taken back in my thoughts a quarter of a century to an experience I had with President Heber J. Grant. We were discussing some criticism that had been directed against an action taken by him in his official capacity. Putting his arm across my back and resting his hand on my left shoulder, he said, “My boy, you always keep your eye on the President of the Church, and if he tells you to do something wrong, and you do it, the Lord will bless you for it.”

And then he added, “You don’t need to worry, however; the Lord will never let his mouthpiece lead his people astray.”

I haven’t forgotten his counsel. I think I have been faithful to that charge ever since.

Years ago, I served as a local Church leader. One of our young men, Danny, was outstanding in every way. He was obedient, kind, good, and had a great heart. However, when he graduated from high school, he started to associate with a rough crowd. He got involved in drugs, specifically methamphetamine, and traveled down the slippery slope of addiction and destruction. Before long, his appearance completely changed. He was hardly recognizable. The most significant change was in his eyes—the light in his eyes had dimmed. Several times I reached out to him, but to no avail. He wasn’t interested.
It was difficult to see this incredible young man suffer and live a life that was not him! He was capable of so much more.
Then one day, his miracle began.
He attended a sacrament meeting where his younger brother shared his testimony prior to departing for a mission. During the meeting, Danny felt something he had not felt for a long time. He felt the love of the Lord. He finally had hope.
Although he had a desire to change, it was difficult for Danny. His addictions and the accompanying guilt were almost more than he could bear.
One particular afternoon, when I was out mowing our lawn, Danny pulled up in his car unannounced. He was struggling terribly. I turned off the mower, and we sat down together in the shade of the front porch. It was then that he shared the feelings of his heart. He truly wanted to come back. However, turning away from his addictions and lifestyle was extremely difficult. Adding to this, he felt so guilty, so ashamed for falling so far. He asked, “Can I really be forgiven? Is there really a way back?”
After he poured out his heart with these concerns, we read Alma chapter 36 together:
“Yea, I did remember all my sins and iniquities. …
“Yea, … the very thought of coming into the presence of my God did rack my soul with inexpressible horror” (verses 13–14).
After those verses, Danny said, “This is exactly how I feel!”
We continued:
“While I was harrowed up by the memory of my many sins, behold, I remembered also to have heard my father prophesy unto the people concerning the coming of one Jesus Christ, a Son of God, to atone for the sins of the world. …
“And oh, what joy, and what marvelous light I did behold” (verses 17, 20).
As we read these passages, tears began to flow. Alma’s joy was the joy he had been searching for!
We discussed that Alma had been exceptionally wicked. However, once he repented, he never looked back. He became a devoted disciple of Jesus Christ. He became a prophet! Danny’s eyes widened. “A prophet?” he said.
I simply responded, “Yes, a prophet. No pressure on you!”
We discussed that while his sins did not rise to the level of Alma’s, the same promise of complete and perfect forgiveness is made to everyone—in and through the infinite Atonement of Jesus Christ.
Danny now understood. He knew what he needed to do: he needed to begin his journey by trusting in the Lord and forgiving himself!
Danny’s mighty change of heart was nothing short of a miracle. Over time, his countenance changed, and the brightness in his eyes returned. He became temple worthy! He was finally back!
After several months, I asked Danny if he would like to submit an application to serve a full-time mission. His response was one of shock and awe.
He said, “I would love to serve a mission, but you know where I have been and the things I have done! I thought I was disqualified.”
I responded, “You may be right. However, there is nothing precluding us from making a request. If you are excused, at least you will know that you expressed a sincere desire to serve the Lord.” His eyes lit up. He was thrilled with this idea. To him this was a long shot, but it was a chance he was willing to take.
A few weeks later, and to his amazement, another miracle occurred. Danny received a call to serve a full-time mission.
A few months after Danny arrived in the mission field, I received a telephone call. His president simply said, “What is it with this young man? He is the most incredible missionary I have ever seen!” You see, this president had received a modern-day Alma the Younger.
Two years later, Danny returned home with honor, having served the Lord with all his heart, might, mind, and strength.
Following his missionary report in sacrament meeting, I returned home, only to hear a knock at the front door. There stood Danny with tears welling in his eyes. He said, “Can we talk for a minute?” We went outside to the same porch step.
He said, “President, do you think I have truly been forgiven?”
Now my tears accompanied his. Before me stood a devoted disciple of Jesus Christ who had given his all to teaching and testifying about the Savior. He was the embodiment of the healing and strengthening power of the Savior’s Atonement.
I said, “Danny! Have you looked in the mirror? Have you seen your eyes? They are filled with light, and you are beaming with the Spirit of the Lord. Of course you have been forgiven! You are amazing! Now what you need to do is move forward with your life. Don’t look back! Look forward with faith to the next ordinance.”
Danny’s miracle continues today. He married in the temple and returned to school, where he received a master’s degree. He continues to serve the Lord with honor and dignity in his callings. More important, he has become an incredible husband and a faithful father. He is a devoted disciple of Jesus Christ.

Just this past month, a mammoth 747 jetliner, while flying over the Pacific, sustained a gigantic tear in its side, ejecting nine passengers to their deaths and threatening the lives of all. When the pilot, Captain David Cronin, was interviewed, having brought the craft back safely to Honolulu, he was asked, “What did you do when the plane ripped open? How did you cope?”

Captain Cronin replied, “I prayed, then went to work.”

3. Serve and Lift Others
Our talents are gifts given to us to bless the lives of others. Don’t hide your talents or play small. Struggling students and overachieving students often receive attention, but what about the ordinary ones in the middle? Are there invisible people around you that you should take notice of? Do we look for others that may be standing outside our circle and pull them in? I remember years ago coming out of Relief Society in time to see my daughter standing alone outside the circle of girls in her Young Women class. The sad look on her face will never be erased from my memory. In our Church, these things should never happen. I challenge you to look out for the ones that need to be loved and pulled into your circle. It is our opportunity to represent the Lord and share His love.

One day, 14-year-old Mosiah Cooper of Tokoroa, New Zealand, was a busy teachers quorum president. The next day, due to a diving accident, he was completely paralyzed—barely able to blink, and breathing only with the help of a machine. It was doubtful that he would live, but with the fasting and prayers of his fellow Scouts, ward, and family, Mosiah survived.
Not only has he survived, but thrived. He can get around on his own in an electric wheelchair. He studies, learns, and designs on a computer he operates by blowing into a special instrument attached to his head. Seminary is held in his house so he can easily attend.
Mosiah will always be grateful to those who have done so much to help him. Members of the community have cooperated to provide him and his family with special equipment for his special needs. He feels that his faith in God, and the faith of others, saved him and made his life as full as it is today.