Gospel Story Finder

There are lots of ways the Thordersons learned this truth, but one of the most important ways they learned to serve was through Grandma Julie. Grandma Julie was really Eva Julie VanGard. Sister Thorderson was her visiting teacher for ten years. For the last six years of her life (she was 102 when she died in the spring of 1989), Grandma Julie lived with the Thordersons.
“Having Grandma Julie move in with us was the greatest thing that ever happened,” says Sister Thorderson. “A lot of kids do not know how to relate to older people, and these kids are so good with older people; it’s wonderful.”
They all remember Grandma Julie fondly and love to tell funny stories about her. Kurt, who is the second oldest, remembers Grandma Julie as a natural part of their lives. “She would be here when we would have friends from church and school over. The room would be packed with people, and she’d be right in the middle of everything.”
Jim, the third oldest, said Grandma Julie loved to tell them stories about her life—usually more than once. But that didn’t matter to the Thordersons, because they loved this little, fragile lady as if she were their own grandmother. They learned to give unselfish service in their family because of the care she needed and the love she gave. Grandma Julie prompted them all to be more considerate and loving toward each other, which is a big part of being friends with your brothers and sisters.

One day a few years ago, I was feeling incredibly exhausted on the train home from work. My mind was filled with anxious and scary thoughts. This wasn’t the first time such thoughts had entered my mind, but they had been showing up more frequently, and this time, I was scared.
Suddenly, I felt so much pain in my chest, and I started finding it difficult to breathe. I began to panic. My heart was racing. When I arrived at the train station near my home, I sat down on a bench, unable to take another step.
I was soon in an ambulance on my way to the hospital, certain I was going to die.
A few months before this incident, I’d become overwhelmed by a number of events in my life, and my mental health began to suffer. I had been feeling depressed and a lot of self-loathing. I had been meeting with a counselor, but I knew that I needed more help. Even so, I hadn’t been able to bring myself to see a doctor. I just didn’t want to be judged or to be seen as weak, and I felt ashamed of what I was experiencing.
I felt this way because in Japan, people don’t often talk about mental and emotional issues, and if they do, the issues aren’t discussed outside of one’s own family.
At the hospital, the doctors concluded that I wasn’t dying—I had simply experienced a panic attack. So I was sent on my way once I was feeling stable.
But the next day, my heart palpitations were still happening. I knew it must be connected to my dwindling mental health, so I finally summoned the courage to make an appointment with a psychiatrist.
I was diagnosed with generalized anxiety disorder, and the doctor prescribed anxiety medication for me.
To be honest, it was hard to accept this diagnosis at first. But at the same time, I was relieved when the doctor explained that this wasn’t a weakness—it was a condition that needed to be treated.
I thought I would get better quickly, but that wasn’t the case. The cycle of repeatedly feeling better and then falling back into a state of depression was frustrating.
On a particularly difficult day, I decided to turn to the Lord. And as I did, I began to see my healing process as an opportunity to humble myself, to open my mind to the reality of mental health struggles, to practice acceptance and patience, and to rely more on Heavenly Father and the Savior.
Believing that They could heal me, I started praying diligently for strength and for guidance to resources that could help me. I also felt inspired to ask my ministering brothers for priesthood blessings on really difficult days. Even though I wasn’t fully healed right away, every time I would receive a priesthood blessing, I was able to feel peace in my heart, direction, and hope.
I truly did feel that “immediate goodness of God” that Elder Kyle S. McKay of the Seventy once spoke of. “Even while we are patiently waiting upon the Lord,” he said, “there are certain blessings that come to us immediately.”1
I had never imagined that I would struggle with mental health challenges. However, through this experience, I’ve learned anew that the Lord is aware of each of us.
I witnessed this when I decided to take a break from work to help my mind heal. In speaking with my boss, I was surprised by how much compassion and understanding he showed me. He also told me that he was certified in mental health counseling.
I felt that it wasn’t a coincidence that I worked for this man, especially given the fact that mental health isn’t openly discussed in Japan. I became so much more aware of Heavenly Father’s mercy and influence in the details of our lives.
Mental health problems can easily happen to anyone, and they are nothing to be ashamed of. They need to be treated, just as with other medical conditions or illnesses.2 Now that they are a part of my life, I feel a sense of compassion and love for others who experience similar struggles.
I’ve realized that even if many people around me don’t understand mental health challenges, the Savior does. And He has ultimately prepared a way for me to overcome this challenge. With Him, even the most difficult seasons of life can be for our good and for our spiritual growth (see Romans 8:28).
I’m still healing, but I’ve discovered that my trials can help me recognize the love that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ have for each of us. I know that as we rely on our Father in Heaven and Savior, They will always support us in our struggles and continue to help us find hope and healing.

But on Sunday, 11 September 1983, at about three o’clock in the morning, I had a dream. I dreamed that I saw a native American woman with long braids streaked with gray. She was stirring something in a cooking pot. In my dream, I was in her home. Stretched animal skins formed the walls and roof, and poles of clean natural wood supported the walls, which were lashed together with leather strips. The home was small in circumference, but the roof was high enough for me to stand comfortably.
The woman spoke with me, and we talked for some time. I felt comfortable being with her and felt her warm hospitality. I don’t remember what was said, but she told me her name over and over again—Nanah-ku-chi. Another woman was with her, holding a child about two or three years old, with black shoulder-length hair. Their clothing, simple in design, appeared to be made from animal skins, cleaned and softened.
Three times the Spirit prompted me to get up and write, until I finally climbed out of bed and found paper and a pencil. I then sat at the dining-room table and wrote the words that came into my mind.
The Spirit made known to me that, if I were faithful, I would be led to find my ancestors’ names, and that Nanah-ku-chi, one of the women I had seen in the dream, was my ancestor. I seemed to hear in my mind, “Now is the time to labor for thy dead.”
I felt prompted to go to Philadelphia, Mississippi, where I would be given the names of those whose temple work needed to be done. “Be faithful, and it shall come unto thee line upon line,” the Spirit seemed to say. I have always believed in personal revelation, but this experience carried with it a force far beyond what I had expected.

Elder Asay’s father always hoped that his sons would become athletes. The boys were taught how to shoot baskets, throw balls, jump, and pole-vault in the training facilities their father had built for them in the orchard. “I was a pole-vaulter in high school,” Elder Asay remembered, “and won the state championship one year. I’d go home and work out in my father’s orchard because the facilities we had built were better than those at the high school.”
In the summertime, Elder Asay and his brothers spent some time with their father on the mountain range. He was a forest guard with the U.S. Forest Service each summer, and the boys loved to go with him. This was another ideal time for teaching and training. “We spent a lot of time in the canyons and the parks, repairing, painting, clearing trails, and doing other things for the Forest Service. It was great to be together out in nature,” Elder Asay recalled.
One such learning opportunity took place one day in a park where they were all working together, repairing some tables and benches at one of the camp picnic facilities. “My brother, who was about twelve at the time, found a full pack of cigarettes. And Dad must have seen him stealthily put it into his pocket. He called us together and asked him what he had picked up. My brother pulled the cigarettes out of his pocket. Dad said, ‘Open the pack.’
“Dad instructed each one of us to take one, saying, ‘Put it in your mouth and see how it tastes.’ Very quickly he had four spitting boys on his hands. Dad asked if any of us had liked the taste. We all said no. Then he told us to remember this experience, and added, ‘Tobacco doesn’t taste good, it isn’t good for you, and it isn’t in accord with God’s law.’
“We made a pact then and there that we would never touch cigarettes again.”
Elder Asay has many fond memories of farm work during his childhood. One summer he had a job tromping hay. The hay was stacked loosely on a wagon, and he would climb on the stack, settle the hay, and put it in place so the stack could be high and yet would balance. On the last load, at the end of the day, they would keep it on the wagon and ride with it into town.
One particular day the last load was stacked really high as Carlos and the others rode into town. “Moving up the lane,” Elder Asay related, “we hit some pretty deep ruts, and the load shifted. There was a slope, and as we made a turn from the lane up onto the highway, one of the Jensen brothers, who was driving the team, said he didn’t know if the load would stay on the wagon. Brother Jensen asked me to move to the rear of the load so that if it shifted and tipped over, I would be able to slip off the back. But when I got midway onto the load, the wagon tipped and I was thrown some distance onto a rock pile. I remember landing on my shins and then all the hay came down on top of me. My legs were bruised and bleeding.
“Hay is heavy and I thought I was going to suffocate, but somehow I remembered there was a fence close-by. So I started to crawl toward it, knowing that if I could reach it, I would be able to climb up out of the hay. My progress was slow, but as I came up to the top of the fence, I saw the Jensen brothers frantically looking for me. It was a miracle my life was spared.”
Elder Asay never aspired to be a General Authority. It was the furthest thing from his mind when he was called to serve in that capacity. But he does recall that one time when he was a small boy in Primary, he was asked to memorize the names of all the General Authorities in the Church, starting with Heber J. Grant, J. Reuben Clark, David O. McKay, and so on. He remembers asking himself the question, What if you were one of them? What if you were ever to be in those circles? He recalls that the feeling was quickly gone and he shrugged it off. Years later, when he was called to be a General Authority, he reflected back to that time in Primary.
“Avoid the slippery paths of youth and prepare yourselves in all things for whatever opportunities come along,” is Elder Asay’s counsel to boys and girls everywhere.

President Packer was present when President Henry D. Moyle (1889–1963) of the First Presidency extended a call to a man to preside over one of the missions of the Church. President Moyle said to the man, “We don’t want to rush you into this decision. Would you call me in a day or two, as soon as you are able to make a determination as to your feelings concerning this call?”

President Packer relates what happened:
“The man looked at his wife and she looked at him, and without saying a word there was that silent conversation between husband and wife, and that gentle almost imperceptible nod. He turned back to President Moyle and said, ‘Well, President, what is there to say. What could we tell you in a few days that we couldn’t tell you now? We have been called. What answer is there? Of course we will respond to the call.’
“Then President Moyle said rather gently, ‘Well, if you feel that way about it, actually there is some urgency about this matter. I wonder if you could be prepared to leave … on the 13th of March.’
“The man gulped, for that was just eleven days away. He glanced at his wife. There was another silent conversation, and he said, ‘Yes, President, we can meet that appointment.’
” ‘What about your business?’ said the President. ‘What about your grain elevator? What about your livestock? What about your other holdings?’
” ‘I don’t know,’ said the man, ‘but we will make arrangements somehow. All of those things will be all right.’”

Usually this kind of urgency is not necessary. Those who are called to positions like these are typically afforded adequate time to put their affairs in order. In this case there was urgency, and the couple responded with faith, devotion, and absolute commitment. What a beautiful example of how each of us should respond to a call.

When I was 12, some of the girls in my new school invited me to a birthday party. It was the first party with these school friends I had been invited to. When I asked my parents if I could go, they said no because the party started too late.
A short time later, I got another invitation. I again asked my parents, but they again said no, and I got mad. Couldn’t I have any fun?
Then one of my closest friends planned a party. I was one of the first people she invited. The party started earlier than the others. It would be private and held near my home. I asked my parents for permission to go, and they said yes! I was excited.
The day arrived. As my parents drove me there, they said that they would pick me up at 10:00 p.m. When I got to the party, I found my girlfriends. Twenty minutes later, I still hadn’t seen the birthday girl.
A few minutes later, a young man came up to us and asked, “Have you brought money for the pisto?” He made a sign that let me know that “pisto” was beer. My girlfriends gave in at the request for money. I didn’t have any money with me, so I decided to go off with some other girls while these ones did their business.
Finally, the birthday girl arrived—an hour late. I congratulated her, and while we were talking, a big truck arrived. Five men got out and unloaded two crates of beer. Everyone crowded around and started handing out the beer. My girlfriends went off, and I was alone, watching those young people fighting to drink beer.
My girlfriends came over and offered me some. “No, thanks,” I told them. They again insisted. I again said no. My heart started beating fast, and I felt strange, like in a suspense movie where I was the main character and I was trapped in the middle of nowhere. Then I heard a car horn—it was my parents! I made my exit with a single good-bye and ran to the car.
I got in, breathing hard. I started thinking how heavy the environment felt where I had been. My mom asked if I was all right. “Yes,” I replied, “but something surprised me.”
“What surprised you?” asked my father.
“All my friends were drinking, and there I was, startled, waiting for something good to happen. How I wished for you both to get here, and now I’m here.” I looked at the car clock; it wasn’t yet 10:00.
My mom said, “That’s how parties are in the world. That was why we didn’t allow you to go to previous parties.”
That night when I prayed, I thanked my Heavenly Father that my parents had arrived early.
We members of the Church are in the world, but we are not like the world. I have learned that if I would have continued attending those parties, I might have fallen into breaking the Word of Wisdom and even the law of chastity. Many of my acquaintances have fallen into this, most of them outside of the Church, but even members of the Church themselves can reach the point of falling if they do not remain firm.
I feel happy with that decision I made to not drink. I thought that I would be made fun of afterwards, but my friends ended up with more respect for me because they know my standards. After that, I have not been afraid to say no to what I know will harm me.

Kristin bounced gently on her toes, bending forward, eyes narrowed. She jerked a little as Shannon, the tall, dark-haired girl on the other side of the net, tossed the tennis ball high and hit it with all her might. The ball went into the net, and Kristin relaxed, but only for an instant. She had to be ready for the second serve.
Kristin was moving as soon as Shannon’s racket hit the ball. This serve was good. It bounced just inside the outside corner of the service line. Stretching as she ran, Kristin managed to reach it with her backhand and return it low across the net.
Shannon, not expecting Kristin to return the serve, had relaxed. The ball passed her and landed on the baseline. Kristin smiled with satisfaction.
“Out,” Shannon called.
There was a murmur from the spectators lounging on the grassy slope under the shade of a cottonwood tree.
Kristin stared at her. “What?” she questioned, her satisfaction turning to disbelief. It was an important point because if Kristin lost it, Shannon would win the second set.
“It was out,” Shannon repeated. “My game and set.”
The girls went to benches on opposite sides of the court for a short break before the third set.
Kristin reached for her water jug and took several cool swallows before sloshing some water onto a towel. She pushed back her damp brown curls and wiped her face and neck, then glanced toward the small group of spectators. Her mom and dad waved.
“Hang in there!” Dad called.
She waved back and smiled, closed her eyes, and tried to relax. But her thoughts weren’t restful. She and Shannon were playing the final match in the Pineview Junior Championship for twelve year olds. The winner would receive a new tennis racket, and Shannon had told all her friends that her mom had promised her a new tennis outfit, too, if she won.
Kristin’s dad had just smiled and shaken his head when she’d suggested that he might do the same for her. “No, Kris,” he had said seriously. “We wouldn’t want to make the stakes so high that you lose sight of the game. You just do the best that you can, as you always do, and have a good time, as you always do.”
“But, Dad—”
He had interrupted her protest with a hug. “If you don’t enjoy the game, don’t play it. I’m not going to bribe you.”
“Oh, Dad!” She had been annoyed and a little angry. Why can’t my parents be more like Shannon’s? she wondered.
Kristin loved playing tennis, and she enjoyed playing against someone good, like Shannon, because she knew that it brought out the best in her own game. But she wanted it to be a fair contest. Earlier in the match, she’d thought that Shannon had made a bad call, but it was hard to tell from across the court, so she had shrugged it off. This last point, though, she knew was good, and the spectators knew it too! Still, it’s a player’s responsibility to make the calls unless there are linesmen at courtside. But that had really been an important point—especially for Shannon. Since Kristin had won the first set, if she had won the second, the match would have been over. This way, Shannon still had a chance.
Instead of relaxing, Kristin was getting angrier just thinking about that last point.
“Ready?” Shannon called.
Kristin nodded, and they returned to the court.
As with the first two sets, the third one was close. The girls fought for every point, and neither could get a comfortable lead. With the game score at 3–3, Kristin hit a hard drive toward the baseline that looked good to her. Shannon called it out. The anger that had been building up since the rest break made Kristin so careless that she muffed the next two points, giving Shannon a comfortable lead on that game.
As she bounced the ball and prepared to serve for the next point, Kristin looked at Shannon. Shannon was looking nervous but pleased.
Kristin thought about Shannon’s expression as she bounced the ball one last time before serving. It was another hard-fought point. But the game ended when Shannon skimmed one over the net at a difficult-to-retrieve angle. Kristin scrambled for the ball but couldn’t get to it. The ball landed right on the line at a place where it was difficult for Shannon to see. Kristin, still angry, had raised her hand to signal it out, when suddenly she understood what her dad had meant about losing sight of the game. She also understood that look on Shannon’s face.
Tennis rules state that if a ball touches a line, the shot is good. If there’s a question about the shot, the players’ code of sportsmanlike behavior says to let the questioning opponent have the point.
“Your point,” Kristin called. The point made it Shannon’s game for a score of 4–3.
Surprisingly relaxed now, as though some important crisis were over, Kristin enjoyed the rest of the match, even though Shannon made another questionable call.
It was close all the way, but after three long sets, Shannon drove home the match point with a beautiful passing shot. She had won the championship. And the new racket. And the new tennis outfit.
The girls met at the net to shake hands.
“Good match,” Shannon said automatically.
“Yes. I always learn a lot when I play against you,” Kristin told her. “I hope you enjoy your new stuff. See you later.”
“Thanks.” Shannon looked a little embarrassed.
Kristin turned away to see her parents waiting at the edge of the court.
“You played very well,” her mother said.
“Tough loss, Kris,” said her dad, “but you played like a champ.”
They walked away arm in arm. Kristin looked back at Shannon, who was walking to the tournament desk to report her win.
“You know, I feel like a champ,” Kristin said. “Thanks, Dad.”

Later in my youth, my brother and I slept in an unheated bedroom in the winter. People thought that was good for you. Before falling into a warm bed, we knelt to say our prayers. There were expressions of simple gratitude. They concluded in the name of Jesus.
I recall jumping into my bed after I had said amen, pulling the covers up around my neck, and thinking of what I had just done in speaking to my Father in Heaven in the name of His Son. I did not have great knowledge of the gospel.
But there was some kind of lingering peace and security in communing with the heavens in and through the Lord Jesus.

A few years ago my back started hurting. I was kind of worried, so I went to see our family chiropractor. He took some X-rays, saw something weird going on, and recommended me to a specialist.
I was right. There was something wrong. The specialist told me I have a condition called ankylosing spondylitis. It’s a form of arthritis where your spinal joints get inflamed and your spine tries to fuse itself together.
My prescription was to exercise and stretch four or five days a week for about 20 to 30 minutes. If I don’t, my back starts to hurt again. Ankylosing spondylitis can also lead to other serious health problems.
Someday I may have to treat my condition with drugs, but for now, I stretch every day. I also go to the gym several times a week. Recently, I went for a checkup. The doctor told me that because I was diligent with stretching, my spine is in a lot better shape than many people my age.
I’m thankful for my body despite its limitations. I try not to focus on my health problems and just use my body the best I can. A few months ago, I found out that the lead singer of one of my favorite rock bands also has ankylosing spondylitis. Rather than complain, he said a lot of the great things in his life have come from struggling.
I try to remember the fact that Jesus Christ suffered every pain for us. He knows the mental and physical pain of any condition, including ankylosing spondylitis. He is the most equipped to help us, and He has helped me be grateful for my body and its abilities.
Samuel M., 21, Utah, USA

One woman felt she had little or no light in her life. Her husband spent three days of each week traveling out of town because of his work. This left her home alone to manage their house and two small children. She was just nineteen when they were married. She had almost no experience in caring for young children, and certainly felt no confidence in handling her own. She often found their demands and the pressing household duties overwhelming. In her frustration, she grew increasingly harsh with them until her abusive behavior became frightening, even to herself. Feeling alone, ashamed, and inadequate, she was often in the depths of despair. What light did the gospel offer to her?
She and her husband considered themselves good members of the Church. But what difference did that make when the children were crying, the laundry piled higher and higher, the letter from her mother remained unanswered, and the dress she was to make this week for her husband’s company party lay unfinished on the sewing machine? All these frustrations spoke so loudly the discouragement of the present. They made the blessings of the gospel seem very far away.
Fortunately, there were those who helped her learn to apply the principles of the gospel in solving many of her problems. Her visiting teachers, responding to her anxiety over her children, brought a special toy for each child. They had carefully selected playthings that an adult could use with a child in a delightful but problem-solving way. They took time to show the mother how to relate to her children through activity. She was surprised to find how happy and responsive the children were. They began to look forward to a playtime association with their mother. She realized that she was providing for their needs through play, and that they were becoming more relaxed with her.
Because of the relationship they were establishing through their activities together, the children were more willing to do as their mother asked—to pick up their clothes, put their toys away, and take their naps. This, in turn, helped her have more time to organize her other responsibilities. She learned to be considerate of her children and sensitive to their concerns. She has continued giving the children this special attention each day. Love in this home is now more than a concept; it is the way they respond to each other’s needs.

In 2017, I became pregnant with our first child. My husband, Lucas, and I were excited but scared for the arrival of little Juan Lionel.
Late one night at the beginning of February 2018, I began having contractions. I was only eight months along, but it looked like our baby would come earlier than expected. We grabbed a few things and quickly left for the clinic. I didn’t feel ready to go into labor, but I prayed, asking God that His will be done despite our fears.
When we arrived at the clinic, my gynecologist was notified but said he would not arrive until later. My husband called and texted messages to our parents and siblings, but none of them were awake. He continued calling and texting throughout the night, but no one responded. That made me feel very lonely.
As the pain from my contractions increased, I felt more and more alone. Suddenly, however, something wonderful happened. I began to think of my ancestors—especially my maternal grandmother, Rosa Mercado, and her mother, Javiera Balmaceda.
As I remembered them, I felt in my heart and mind that they were both with me at that moment. I felt their presence in such a strong and sweet way that I cannot fully express in words what I experienced. I did not see them, but I felt them nearby, giving me courage, support, and love as my mothers and as part of my family. I felt that they were angels ministering to me in my time of need.
Years before in the temple, my mother, father, siblings, husband, and I did their vicarious work and the vicarious work of other ancestors. I feel that the courage I received and the feeling I had that my ancestors were near was a gift through the power and authority of God.
Since then, I have felt the spirit of my ancestors on other occasions, helping me and guiding me as a mother and a wife and in other important aspects of my life.
I testify that God will never leave us alone on the path of our lives. If we do His work, we will be given help from the other side of the veil. We will receive love, knowledge, strength, and the peace “which passeth all understanding” (Philippians 4:7).

Lindsey Walch and Carson Evers, two 17-year-olds from the Santa Cruz California Stake, had to decide what the Sabbath meant to them. When challenges came, they made their decision and found greater understanding and peace.
Lindsey has played competitive soccer since she was nine years old. She enjoyed playing at a high level of competition, but at one point she felt she needed a break, so she entered a lower-level league. Eventually, however, she began craving a challenge again, so she tried out for a team at a higher level that played on Sunday.
“While I was trying out, my dad told me, ‘You really have to think about this right now,’” she says. “So I was thinking about it.” She recognized how the decision to play on Sunday could affect her spirituality. “I knew that I wanted the Church to come first. So I decided that it was really the best thing for me to not play on Sundays.”
The decision was difficult because she loves her sport, and like most good athletes, she loves to play with the best in order to stretch herself. In addition, the higher the level you play at, the more likely you are to play in college.
“I was talking to the coach,” she says, “and he said that I would have to play on Sundays. I told him that I couldn’t play on the team, and it was really hard for me because I wanted to play at that higher level. And I just felt really bad.”
A few weeks later one of Lindsey’s friends told her about a high-level team she played on whose coach was more flexible. “I went and talked to him about it,” she says, “and he said that I could just play on Saturdays.”
Lindsey says that keeping the Sabbath day holy makes a huge difference in her life. “This is a day that Heavenly Father wants us to keep separate, to keep for Him,” she says. “I think it calms you down. If I have one day just to rest, it really helps me out.”
And there are other blessings. “It’s nice just to think,” she says, “because sometimes you don’t have time to really think about what’s going on in your life and what all the stress is and everything. You don’t really have time to think about Jesus Christ because you’re so worried about other things that are going on right now. I think Sunday really helps me with that.”
When she was 15, she used her time on Sunday to work on goals for her Personal Progress. “Every Sunday I would do two or three of the goals,” she says. “I was able to get done with it a lot faster, and it actually worked out really well.” In this way, she met her goal of receiving her Young Womanhood Recognition medallion.
Now that she has earned her award, she continues to use her Sabbath day to draw closer to Heavenly Father by attending church, reading scriptures, being with her family, and resting from school, soccer, and stress.

I remember vividly an experience I had as a passenger in a small two-propeller airplane. One of its engines suddenly burst open and caught on fire. The propeller of the flaming engine was starkly stilled. As we plummeted in a steep spiral dive toward the earth, I expected to die. Some of the passengers screamed in hysterical panic. Miraculously, the precipitous dive extinguished the flames. Then, by starting up the other engine, the pilot was able to stabilize the plane and bring us down safely.

Throughout that ordeal, though I “knew” death was coming, my paramount feeling was that I was not afraid to die. I remember a sense of returning home to meet ancestors for whom I had done temple work. I remember my deep sense of gratitude that my sweetheart and I had been sealed eternally to each other and to our children, born and reared in the covenant. I realized that our marriage in the temple was my most important accomplishment. Honors bestowed upon me by men could not approach the inner peace provided by sealings performed in the house of the Lord.

That harrowing experience consumed but a few minutes, yet my entire life flashed before my mind. Having had such rapid recall when facing death, I do not doubt the scriptural promise of “perfect remembrance” when facing judgment (Alma 5:18; see also Alma 11:43).

Every quorum activity should have a designated purpose, and that purpose should be gospel oriented. For example, may I relate a story of an Aaronic Priesthood youth in Korea who happened to come from a rather affluent family. One day one of his father’s business associates called the father and inquired if he were having financial difficulties, offering help if it were needed.
The father responded that things were going well.
The man asked, “Are you sure?”
The father replied, “Things are fine. Why do you ask?”
The friend then indicated he had seen the young man on a street corner selling newspapers. The father couldn’t believe it. He told his friend that his son received an adequate allowance and asked if there might have been a mistake of identity. The friend responded there was no mistake; he had personally visited with the boy.
That evening when his son came home from school, the father asked him if he had been selling newspapers on the street corner. The reply was yes. The father asked, “Why? Isn’t your allowance sufficient?”
His son responded that it was adequate, but he had a friend at school who was very poor and who was going to have to drop out of school if he didn’t get some financial assistance. As it turned out, this young Aaronic Priesthood holder was using his allowance money to buy newspapers. Then he and some of his classmates were selling the newspapers to raise money to help keep his friend in school.
A short time before this, he had asked his mother to pack larger lunches for him. She did so, thinking that as a growing teenager he was just extra hungry. He confessed to his father he had been sharing his lunch with this same friend, who otherwise would have gone hungry.
The father was obviously touched by his son’s thoughtfulness but asked the reason for such action. The boy replied, “We studied the lesson of the Good Samaritan a few weeks ago. I wanted to know the real meaning of this lesson by being a good Samaritan, not just learning about one.” (See “Profiting for Others,” New Era, June 1979, p. 50.)

Once I went with my dad to Sigatoka, Fiji—a great place to swim in the ocean. My parents were divorced, so my mum wasn’t going with us. Before we left, she bought me purple goggles. Sure, they’re just goggles, but she expected me to take care of them and bring them back.
At the end of the second day in Sigatoka, I realized I didn’t have my goggles. I worried that I’d lost them in the ocean. The first thing I did was pray that I would be able to find my goggles. I felt peace and knew everything would be OK.
The only person I told was my brother. He doesn’t believe in God and often criticized my beliefs because I am the only member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in my family. He said, “Yeah, you’re not going to get them back.” I told him, “I prayed about it, and I know my prayers will be answered.”
The next day I scanned the water while we swam. When it was time to go, I still hadn’t found my goggles. I accepted I probably wouldn’t find them and thanked Heavenly Father for His comfort and peace.
Then my brother suddenly shouted. He was holding up the purple goggles!
My brother still doesn’t believe in the gospel, but I am grateful for the comfort, strength, and assurance that come when I put my faith in Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ.
Shreya S., Suva, Fiji

May I underscore this call to action by discussing a concept I was reminded of recently while watching a basketball game.

In that game, the first half was a seesaw battle, back and forth. Then, during the last five seconds of the first half, a guard on one team made a beautiful three-point shot. With only one second left, his teammate stole the inbound pass and made another basket at the buzzer! So that team went into the locker room four points ahead with a palpable surge of momentum. They were able to carry that momentum into the second half and win the game.

“Amy,” Steve said breaking the awkward silence, “today when I was climbing, I couldn’t think about anything except those four sets of missionaries I went through during my conversion. Elder Snow gave up a baseball scholarship. Elder Decker postponed his education. Another missionary’s father had to work two jobs to support him. And then all I thought about was a postage stamp.”
Amy shook her head, pulling a weed from the soil and picking it apart. “You climbed Storm Mountain, fasting and everything, and all you could think about was a postage stamp?”
Steve’s voice was barely audible. Amy knew right away he was going to talk about his mother. “Once when I was six or seven years old and my dad was out of town, my mom needed a postage stamp to mail Uncle Robert’s birthday card. We lived in the country. The mailman would pick up the mail but couldn’t sell us stamps. Mom couldn’t wait until Dad got back home with the car or the card wouldn’t arrive at the right time.
“Mom sent me to Mrs. Harold’s down the lane. She was an old lady who kind of looked after Mom and me when Dad was on the road. Of course Mrs. Harold loaned me the stamp, and we mailed the card on time. But the next day Mom told me we were going to pack a picnic lunch and walk the two miles to the post office to buy a stamp to replace the one we borrowed from Mrs. Harold.”
Steve picked up a little rock and tossed it down the hillside. “I remember saying to her, ‘Why don’t we just bake her some cookies or just give her ten cents to cover the cost of the postage stamp?’
“And then I said, ‘We could wait until Dad gets home in a few days and drive to the post office. Why today? What’s a couple more days?’
“Mom put her arms around me. Then she said, ‘Because today is the day we owe for the postage stamp, not tomorrow or the next day.’”
Steve tightened his arm around Amy. “Uncle Robert got his card when he needed it, and the debt was paid when it was owed.”

After young Gordon had been ordained a deacon, his father took him—somewhat unwillingly, he recalls—to a stake priesthood meeting. While his father as stake president took his place on the stand, Gordon sat on the back row. During the singing of the opening hymn, “Praise to the Man,” his attitude changed. “As I heard them sing that hymn with power and conviction, there came into my heart a witness of the divine calling of the boy Joseph, and I am grateful that the Lord has sustained that witness through more than seventy years since then” (Ensign, Nov. 1993, p. 51).

José Humberto González Garza, 69, a member of the Campestre Ward, serves as patriarch in the Monterrey México Roma Stake and has seen patriarchal blessings change lives. He remembers an older woman who was promised she would be able to serve in the temple. She thought it could not happen because of her age and the distance to a temple. But a temple was later built nearby, and she found joy in serving.

“I feel so satisfied doing my duty,” Brother González says. Because he is partially blind, he uses a cane to help him get around. He also uses a hearing aid. And at times he feels he can’t do as much as he used to. But, he says, “when my children ask me, ‘Are you giving blessings, Dad?’ I tell them, ‘No, I’m receiving blessings.’”

When the Manti Utah Temple was under construction some 120 years ago, George Paxman worked as a finish carpenter. He and his young wife, Martha, had one child and were expecting another.
While hanging one of the heavy east doors of the temple, George suffered a strangulated hernia. He was in terrible pain. Martha laid him in a wagon and took him to the town of Nephi, where she put him on the train and took him to Provo. There he died. Spurning marriage, she remained a widow for 62 years, supporting herself with needlework.
Now permit me to diverge from this narrative to say that when I was engaged to marry my wife, I gave her a ring. When we were married, I gave her a wedding band. She wore them for years. Then one day I noticed that she had taken them off and was wearing this little gold wedding band. It had belonged to her grandmother. The ring had been given her by her husband, George. The ring was the only thing he left in this life. One day in the spring, Martha was housecleaning. She brought all of the furnishings out to give the house a thorough cleaning. Upon shaking the straw from the mattress, she looked down, and the ring was gone. She looked everywhere most carefully. It was the only physical remembrance of her beloved husband. She raked through the straw with her fingers but could not find the ring. Tears fell from her eyes. She went to her knees and prayed that the Lord would help her to find the ring. When she opened her eyes, she looked down and there it was.
Now I hold it in my hand. It is too small for all of you to see. It is 18-karat gold, old and scarred and bent. But it represents faith, the faith of a widow who pleaded with the Lord in her extremity. Such faith is the wellspring of activity. It is the root of hope and trust. It is this simple faith that all of us so much need.