Gospel Story Finder

The years 1998 and 1999 were a period of somber events in the Congo. I fled my village because of war and spent more than seven months traveling in the wilderness with a group from my village. We had no way to return home.
Every evening our group prayed and sang together, and each person took a turn suggesting a hymn. When it was my turn, I suggested “How Firm a Foundation” (Hymns, no. 85). Even though no one else knew this hymn, I felt that it answered our concerns exactly.
I sang “How Firm a Foundation” many times in those seven months. It comforted me in my moments of isolation and suffering when life was so difficult with sickness and famine in the wilderness. I sang it alone, but the words and music penetrated the ears and hearts of the others: “In ev’ry condition—in sickness, in health, / In poverty’s vale or abounding in wealth, / At home or abroad, on the land or the sea— / As thy days may demand, … so thy succor shall be.” Because of these words, others told me they wanted to learn more about the Church.
One of the men in our group was the leader of a church in our country. After we returned to our village, this brother told me he wanted to find out more about the gospel. I responded to him, following the example set by Alma in Mosiah 18 (see Mosiah 18:8–10). In the end he joined the Church.
The hymn “How Firm a Foundation” touched my soul and brought me great joy and comfort while I was in the wilderness, and it brings me joy today knowing that it helped a good brother to join the Church.
Thierry Alexis Toko, Republic of Congo

I know a young woman who ruefully saw her brother associating with the wrong group of friends. After praying fervently for him one night, she followed an impression to pick him up from the party he was attending. She drove around with him for some time just talking to him about who he was as a member of their family and who he was as a member of Heavenly Father’s family and of his responsibility to honor those identities. He was able to turn things around in his life, partially because of the love of his sister.

When our twin daughters were small, we decided to take them to the public pool and teach them how to swim. I remember starting with Rebekah. As I went down into the water with her, I was thinking, “I’m going to teach Becky how to swim.” But in her mind was the thought, “My dad is going to drown me. I’m going to die!” The water was only three-and-a-half feet deep, but Becky was only three feet tall. She was so frightened that she began to scream and cry and kick and scratch. She was unteachable.

Finally, I threw my arms around her and held her and said, “Becky, I’ve got you. I’m your dad. I love you. I’m not going to let anything bad happen to you. Now relax.” Bless her heart, she trusted me. She relaxed, and then I put my arms under her and said, “Okay, now kick your legs.” And she began to learn how to swim.

The sign above closet door in Sue Keller’s bedroom says, “You Can Make a Difference.” She heard the phrase in a talk, and it has earned a place on her crowded bedroom wall among her group photos of the girls’ varsity volleyball and basketball teams and next to her favorite Mormonad posters.
But Sue has done more than just hang up a sign. She is a living example of how one person can make a big difference. She served her school, Mt. Si High School in North Bend, Washington, as student-body president, seminary president, and captain of her volleyball and basketball teams. And she encouraged her fellow students in some big projects that made their senior year unforgettable, like a talent show and painting the school.
Sue didn’t start out as a leader. She learned by trial and error. Growing up, Sue was just part of the gang until the gang started going a direction she did not care to follow. Her upbringing in the Church gave her a different perspective than her friends.
“In my sophomore year, my friends started doing awful things that would make me cry for them. I just wanted to shake them and ask, ‘What are you doing?’ but you can’t. It was frustrating. I started saying to myself, ‘Hey, Sue, no one is going to stick with you through this. You’re on your own.’”
That’s when she decided to make her own choices and possibly lead her friends in the right direction as well. Her bishop, Allen Dance of the Snoqualmie Valley Ward, noticed her ability to bring people up to a higher level. “Sue has always been a magnet towards the good. She has pulled up the weak in our ward and in the school. She goes out of her way to be friends to people who need a friend. As a result of her example, others have been affected.”
Sometimes making a difference is as easy as saying one sentence. A couple of years ago, before the start of the girls’ basketball season, Sue said, “Let’s say a prayer.” They followed her suggestion before that first game, and it became a habit. “I always said the prayer before every game. Sometimes I would say, ‘Doesn’t someone else want to say it today?’ And a couple of times someone else would say it. Most of the time, the team would all be standing around waiting for me, yelling, ‘Sue, hurry up and pray.’”
During her campaign for student-body president, Sue introduced a theme, “Seek for the highest that is in you.” As high school students will do, some started making fun of the theme. But Sue persevered, using the theme for all the activities throughout the year, and the silliness died down. The principal of Mt. Si, Scott Menard, said, “There are always those who will take something positive and try to undermine it. Sue was able to overcome that just by her good-naturedness and by not taking herself too seriously or getting defensive when people would put the theme down. She kept it through every assembly. She didn’t allow the focus to wander, and it became the accepted motto for the students that year.”
One of the projects that the students at Mt. Si really had to stretch to complete was the painting of the school halls. It was a huge job. Sue and other student-body officers decided to try for it, but it was a scary undertaking. They needed more than 200 students to show up to help with each step of the project. What if they didn’t come?
Elaine Clifford, assistant principal, said, “I walked into the first meeting, and I knew right then that they were going to make it because Sue had a notebook ready to go. In it she had inspirational sayings and a time line about what needed to be accomplished. She had a calendar. She had a list of jobs that needed to be done. And she had invited all the right people. She had invited some students that she saw as leaders. She had invited someone from the maintenance staff. She got me there. She understands organizational skills.”
The big painting project was successful, but not before Sue sweated out some last-minute crises. The first day of the four-day project dawned bright and sunny. In the normal wet weather of northwestern Washington, a sunny spring day is a rarity. “Suddenly I panicked,” said Sue. “Who would want to come paint the school on a day like that? What are we trying to do?”
But people did show up—in time for the second crisis. After the walls were sanded and taped, it was time to apply the deglosser. Just as more than a hundred students were really getting into the swing of things, the custodian rushed up to Sue and showed her the label on one of the cans. The flammable deglosser was supposed to be used only in well ventilated areas. They opened every window and door, turned off the electricity to avoid sparks, and covered all the electrical outlets. In the meantime, Sue had retreated to ask for some additional help. “I whipped into the bathroom, my favorite bathroom for praying, and was down on my knees.” Everything went smoothly. The danger was avoided. And the group had a great time. It was hard work but really a lot of fun too.
After giving the school halls a new coat of pale gray paint with maroon trim, the students under Sue’s leadership took new pride in their school. Now, if anyone even thinks about marring the walls, they are warned by their peers, “Don’t try it. I painted this wall, and nobody is going to write on it.”
Then there was the talent show where, for the first time, the students who could play the piano, sing, dance, or act were highlighted. “The neatest thing,” said Sue, “was that we have these super talented people and they never get recognized like the athletes do. That was our point. People you never hear about came out and were excited to be in the show. We held a school performance and an evening performance.”
And there were other times when a sophomore boy broke up with his first girlfriend or a star athlete got kicked off the softball team for drinking. Principal Menard said Sue was there to help. “I’ve seen her take people of all grade levels, both sexes, with her arm around them when she knows they are down, just walking down the halls with them, talking to them and cheering them up. To have the student-body president come up and do that for you is a very meaningful experience to a lot of kids. I think she works so well with people on an individual basis.”
But what holds Sue together? Where does she get the strength and resolve to keep standing up and making a difference in other people’s lives? “My mom is one of my best friends,” said Sue. “After the hardest days, I can dump out everything. She has the answers. She’ll tell me things to do about school problems or boy problems. I do it, and it works. If I didn’t have her and my dad’s support, I don’t know what I would do.” Sue also gets good advice and support from her older brother and sister and younger brother.
The Church is one of Sue’s greatest sources of guidance and comfort. At youth conference, the bishop challenged all the youth to pray for confirmation that the Church was true even if they already had a testimony.
Sue accepted the challenge although she had some reservations. “I felt I didn’t need to ask because I know the Church is true. But I wanted to tell my friends about my testimony before I graduated. They sometimes tease me about being a Mormon.”
Sue did pray, but the answer didn’t seem to come in a big way. Then she and some friends had to drive to the next town to have their pictures taken for graduation. Suddenly, she was in the middle of an intense conversation about the Church with a receptive friend. The friend asked, “How do you know that it is true, Sue?”
“All of a sudden it dawned on me that Heavenly Father was giving me an opportunity to say that I do know the Church is true. Here I was bearing my testimony, telling her this is the truth. It didn’t hit me until that night that it was the answer to my prayers.
The friend then asked if she could go to church with the Keller family. Soon she was attending seminary with Sue and receiving the discussions from the missionaries. “That’s been the greatest,” Sue said. “I’ve never done that with a friend before.”
Sue Keller is just one girl, but she is one who has made a difference. Her dad, Ward Keller, tried to pin it down. “She’s extra special, and I don’t really know how she got that way.” But he really did know. In describing his daughter, he hit upon the quality that has helped her make a difference. “She’s been an example to her peers. She has held her standards and beliefs high and has lived them.”

Sister Gayle Clegg of the Primary general presidency and her husband lived for a number of years in Brazil. Recently she had a Primary assignment in Japan. As she came into the chapel on Sunday, she noticed among the Japanese Saints a Brazilian family. “They just looked Brazilian,” she said. She only had a minute to greet them and found the mother and children very enthusiastic but noticed that the father was rather quiet. “I’ll have a chance to talk with them after the meeting,” she thought as she was quickly ushered to the stand. She delivered her message in English, which was translated into Japanese, and then she felt impressed to bear her testimony in Portuguese as well. She hesitated as there were no translators for Portuguese, and 98 percent of the people would not understand what she said.

After the meeting the Brazilian father came up to her and said, “Sister, the customs are so different here, and I have been lonely. It is difficult to come to church and not understand anything. Sometimes I wonder if I would be better off just reading my scriptures at home. I told my wife, ‘I’ll give it one more chance,’ and I came today for what I thought would be the last time. When you bore your testimony in Portuguese, the Spirit touched my heart, and I knew that this was where I belonged. God knows I am here, and He will help me.” And he joined the others in putting away the chairs.

Was it a coincidence that the only Portuguese-speaking member of the Primary presidency was sent to Japan instead of to Portugal? Or was it because the Lord knew someone there needed what only she could give—and she had the courage to follow a prompting of the Spirit? One of the great blessings of having a calling in the Church is that the Lord, through His Spirit, will inspire us to help those we are called to serve.

I was sitting in my seminary class only half-listening to my teacher discuss the trials that Joseph Smith and the early Saints endured.
We were studying Church history, and although I had an excellent teacher, I was not interested in being there that day. I was feeling sorry for myself. I had taken my seat without so much as offering a smile to Brother Anderson, who always had a cheerful word for everyone. He didn’t say much, but I could tell he knew something was wrong.
Well, why shouldn’t there be something wrong? I had every right to feel this way, I thought. I was tired of everything in my life. I was tired of school, tired of my teachers, and tired of living in a small town with nothing exciting to do.
In the midst of my depression, something I heard in class seemed to reach out to me. Brother Anderson was telling about a time Joseph Smith and some of his friends were locked up once again for crimes they hadn’t committed. In desperation, Joseph pleaded with the Lord for deliverance, asking him why they were being allowed to suffer when they had been so faithful. Then Brother Anderson read to us Doctrine and Covenants 122:7–8 [D&C 122:7–8], the Lord’s answer to the Prophet Joseph Smith:
“And if thou shouldst be cast into the pit, or into the hands of murderers, and the sentence of death passed upon thee; if thou be cast into the deep; if the billowing surge conspire against thee; if fierce winds become thing enemy; if the heavens gather blackness, and all the elements combine to hedge up the way; and above all, if the very jaws of hell shall gape open the mouth wide after thee, know thou, my son, that all these things shall give thee experience, and shall be for thy good.
“The Son of Man hath descended below them all. Art thou greater than he?”
He emphasized every word in the last sentence, and the room was completely silent as we pondered those words. I felt like I had been hit over the head with a hammer.
“Wow,” I muttered.
Brother Anderson looked at me and smiled. “Yes, wow,” he said. Who was I to complain? What right did I have to tell the Lord that my life wasn’t fair? How could I have been so ungrateful?
I have never forgotten that day or the way I felt. That scripture seems to be constantly in the back of my mind, and as soon as I want to ask, “Why me, Lord?” I hear Brother Anderson’s deep, smooth voice saying quietly and slowly, “The Son of Man hath descended below them all. Art thou greater than he?”
I will always be grateful to the Lord for this experience. How my attitude has changed. My outlook on life was turned around, and I can keep my trials in perspective now. Nephi said, “For I know that the Lord giveth no commandments unto the children of men, save he shall prepare a way for them that they may accomplish the thing which he commandeth them” (1 Ne. 3:7). I, too, know this to be true. I probably have not yet experienced even half of my life’s trials, but I will forever remember that day in seminary when I was so effectively humbled and brought to a full realization of the sacrifice suffered by our Savior, Jesus Christ, so that we might have eternal life.

The background, in a word, is that the Prophet had promised those brethren in the name of the Lord that he would defend them even if it meant giving up his life. Had he been all alone in the Carthage Jail, the story might be different, but he was not.

He was there with two members of the Twelve, John Taylor and Willard Richards – Willard Richards weighing over three hundred pounds, the largest target (and the only one who would not be injured) – and with his brother Hyrum. He did defend them as he had promised. In fact, we now know from the records that the first man up the stairs that day, anxious and eager, was met by a fist and rolled back down. That fist was Joseph Smith’s.

Inside the room they had nothing to defend themselves with except two pistols, plus two walking sticks which they used in an effort to divert the rifles. Some of the balls went off in the ceiling. When Jacob Hablin and James W. Woods visited the room shortly after the martyrdom they counted the pockmarks of the balls that were shot through the door or doorway. There were thirty-six. According to Willard Richards, all that shooting occurred in less than two minutes. Both Hyrum and Joseph received five balls; John Taylor, four.

The previous night, the Prophet had had some private conversations. We know that he had borne to the guards his testimony of the Book of Mormon and the Restoration, and later his last testimony to the brethren present. We know also that earlier he had pleaded three times with Hyrum for Hyrum to leave him and go back. Hyrum could only say, “Joseph, I can’t leave you.” Hyrum, it turns out was the first to be killed.

How did the Prophet make the decision to leave that room, or to try to leave it, through the window? Films depict Joseph falling off balance out through a large glass plate window. This was a jail. Even the upstairs had walls as thick as two feet. The window was small, and Joseph was a large man, and for him to get through it required considerable effort.

Willard Richards used the strangest adverb in his whole account when he said that after emptying the pistol (which misfired a couple of times) the Prophet turned from the door, dropped the pistol, and went to the window.

It is difficult to understand how anybody could have heard the words in such a fracas, but one man, outside the jail, claimed he heard the Prophet cry, “Oh Lord, what shall I do?”

How fast can a man’s mind work in such circumstances? What was going through his? It was certain death at the door, that was clear. It was certain death at the window, because balls were coming through it, and John Taylor had just been blasted under the bed, writhing in pain with four wounds. Yet Joseph decided to get out – hoping, Willard Richards believed, that it might save the lives of his brethren.

Whether that was his intent or not, he was hit from behind – twice, maybe three times – but managed anyway to pull himself up and out, and then – from the window. “He’s leaped the window!” someone shouted, and those on the landing rushed downstairs and outside. “Shoot him, – shoot him!” said Levi Williams, and they shot several times more.

One account says that the Prophet died with a smile. Perhaps he was conscious long enough to know that the promise he had made to Willard Richards had been fulfilled: “Willard . . . you will stand where the balls will fly around you like hail and men will fall dead by your side, and . . . there never shall a ball injure you.” Perhaps he knew that John Taylor would become the third prophet, seer, and revelator.

During one of the most difficult times of my divorce, I was called to serve as an institute teacher. I wondered how I could effectively serve when I was facing such enormous challenges in my personal life. But as I prepared lessons, I was strengthened in my own difficulties and could empathize with my students’ difficulties. I came to know my young single adult institute students over those several years, and the testimonies they shared gave me courage as I tried to move the mountains in my life.5

This story happened in the USA.
Xóchitl lay in her bunk bed, looking up at the bed above her. Her family had just said family prayer, and it was time to sleep. She hadn’t said her own prayer before bed yet.
Why do we need to pray? she wondered. Her family always said the same things, like thanking God and asking Him for good dreams. Were their prayers really answered? Sometimes she still had bad dreams anyway.
What would happen if she stopped praying? Ready to test her new idea, she turned over on her side and fall asleep.
For the next few days, Xóchitl didn’t pray. Then the days turned into weeks. Nothing really changed. She didn’t feel that much different.
She finished the rest of the school year, and soon it was summer. Xóchitl had fun going to swimming lessons and playing with her dogs. She got to see her cousins at a big family gathering.
Every night, she joined her family for prayer. But she still didn’t pray on her own.
Soon summer had to end, and Xóchitl started to get ready for school. But she wasn’t excited at all. A few days before school started, she met her new teacher, found her locker, and got a new backpack. Whenever she thought about going to school, she felt sick. Every day the feeling got worse.
One night she stayed awake in her bed, thinking about school. I don’t want to go. It’s scary, she thought. Then she remembered what her parents taught her about prayer. They said she could pray anywhere and that she could pray for help and comfort.
Xóchitl knelt down next to her bed and took a deep breath. For the first time in months, she said her own prayer. She prayed to Heavenly Father. She thanked Him and asked Him for good dreams just like they did in family prayers. When she finished, she didn’t feel much different inside.
The next night, she tried again. And again. She asked Heavenly Father to bless the prophet and her family. Soon she was telling Him her feelings and what she hoped for at her new school.
“Heavenly Father,” she said one night, “I’m so scared about school. I can’t sleep. Can you help me not feel scared anymore?” She felt a strong feeling of peace wrap around her, almost like a warm blanket. Right away, she knew it was the Holy Ghost.
So this is why we pray, she thought. To feel Heavenly Father’s love. It was an amazing feeling. For all those months she didn’t pray, she had been missing out on this feeling.
Xóchitl smiled. She was still nervous to start school, but she felt much stronger knowing God could comfort her. She really could pray for comfort anytime, anywhere, because God really was listening.

Cynthia E. Larsen of the Heritage Ward, Calgary Alberta Stake, discovered the joy of watch-care with a challenging visiting teaching assignment. She says: “I remember being filled with apprehension the first time I visited Deanna. I thought we were complete opposites. She was single, an executive with an oil company, and a recent convert to the Church. Yet with each visit we found that we had much in common.
“After Deanna developed cancer, she put my anxiety to rest as she calmly answered my questions with honesty and courage. From that day on, she began to teach me by example what dignity and endurance are.
“In the following months, she enthusiastically educated herself and others about cancer. She organized a cancer information night for our Relief Society. She joined a local cancer support group.
“Eventually the medication and chemotherapy treatments sapped Deanna of her strength and energy. On her ‘good days,’ she went for walks and encouraged other cancer patients. On her ‘bad days,’ she worked at maintaining her optimism, conserving her strength, and building her testimony.
“As Deanna’s condition worsened, our visits became daily. We laughed, we cried, we were silly, and we were intensely serious. She anticipated death, hesitantly at first, then confidently. She worked to make each day the best she could.
“For months before her death I watched my dear friend and sister in the gospel find opportunities to serve. Yes, I served Deanna as her visiting teacher, but it was she who taught me about the blessings of living the gospel.”

In 1965, Peter was living in his hometown of Boise, Idaho, and like many of his friends was preparing for a mission. The day of the accident changed all that. He was forced into an experience that would test him to the limit. And it was his triumph over adversity that changed his life.
As I arrived at the hospital, the young doctor who was attending me did what he could. But I had expanded so much, almost twice as big, like a blister, that it was very difficult to tell if I was lying on my back or my stomach. And with all that, he tried to find some life signs and couldn’t. He declared me legally dead. He covered me with a sheet and took me back down to the entrance to the emergency care center. And there I was left on a cot. A nurse walked by. She was beside the cot when my arm flinched under the sheet. She became quite alarmed. They marshaled all their resources and took me back up to intensive care.
Peter was given no chance to live. Teams of nurses and doctors had to spell each other off as he hovered between life and death. Gradually Peter approached the threshold of consciousness.
I could hear them talking. It was like a fantasy, a never-never land, because of all the pain. It was like a cloud around my mind. I heard the doctor say to my mother, “There is no chance that Peter will live.” When I heard him say this, I became so angry I wanted to get up and hit the doctor. I remember trying to get off the bed, but I was tied down. I’ll never forget that feeling when the doctor said, “I don’t know how he has made it this long. There’s no chance that he’ll live.”
I remember thinking as I was slipping into a coma that I felt like I was dying. That happened many, many times, only I couldn’t remember the other times. I could only remember the time I was going through. As I was slipping away, I was so mad at the doctor that I said, “I’ll prove to you I’m not going to die. I’ll hang on.
The pain was so severe that I made a commitment to myself that before I gave up I would count to ten. I would see if I could make it to ten before I died. I’d get to five or six and feel myself slipping, and I’d say, “I’ve got to get to ten.”

I would like to recount a story told by Kenneth J. Brown, who was serving as a U.S. Marine in Japan following the dropping of the bomb. His moving story about a Japanese Christian he met at Christmastime in Nagasaki is as follows.
“I watched him turn from the street and climb the path leading to our shelter. He was groping, hesitating. As he came near he folded his umbrella and stood quietly a long moment. His thin coat soon dampened from the cold rain that was falling from the same sky that had brought death to nearly half his townspeople three short months before. I concluded that it must take some special courage to confront one’s conquerors without invitation. It was little wonder that he hesitated.
“His polite bow to me was no bow of submission. Rather his squared shoulders and lifted head let me feel as if I were looking up at him even … though I towered over him a foot or more. I recall being disturbed that I hadn’t yet become used to the near sightless eyes of those who had looked heavenward that morning when the bomb dropped. …
“… I respectfully asked if I could be of service. [In his clear English] he introduced himself as Professor Iida. …
“‘I am Christian,’ he said. ‘I am told this is the head minister’s office. Are you a Christian? It is good to talk with a follower of Christ; there are so few Christian Japanese.’
“I took him to the inner office of the division chaplain and waited while the two men conversed. Professor Iida stated his request briefly. He was a teacher of music in a Christian girls’ college until it was closed by imperial command. … He had been imprisoned because of his professed Christianity. After being released he had returned to Nagasaki and continued his music instruction in his home even though it was forbidden. He had been able to continue a small chorus and would be pleased if … they [could] sing a concert for the American Marines.
“‘We know something of your American Christmases,’ he said. ‘We should like to do something to make your Christmas in Japan more enjoyable.’
“I felt sure the chaplain would give a negative reply. Our unit was one of hardened fighters, four years away from home, who had fought the enemy from Saipan to Iwo Jima. … Yet there was something about the man that bespoke sincere desire to do a good deed so that … permission was granted. The concert would be Christmas Eve.
“The rains had stopped and a calm settled over the atomic bowl reminiscent of the calm that night long ago. The concert was well attended; there was nothing else to do. The theater … had been cleared of its fallen roof and men were sitting on the jagged walls. The usual momentary hush fell over the audience as the performers filed on stage. …
“The first thing we noticed was that they were singing in English and we became aware that they didn’t understand the words but had memorized them for our benefit. Professor Iida had taught his students well; they sang beautifully. We sat enthralled as if a choir from heaven were singing for us. … It was as if Christ were being born anew that night.
“The closing number was a solo, an aria from ‘The Messiah.’ The girl sang with all the conviction of one who knew that Jesus was indeed the Savior of mankind and it brought tears. After that there was a full minute of silence followed by sustained applause as the small group took bow after bow.
“Later that night I helped Professor Iida take down the trimmings. I could not resist asking some questions that propriety forbade but curiosity demanded. I just had to know.
“‘How did your group manage to survive the bomb?’ I asked.
“‘This is only half my group,’ he said softly, but seemed unoffended at my recalling his grief so that I felt I could ask more.
“‘And what of the families of these?’
“‘They nearly all lost one or more members. Some are orphans.’
“‘What about the soloist? She must have the soul of an angel the way she sang.’
“‘Her mother, two of her brothers were taken. Yes, she did sing well; I am so proud of her. She is my daughter.’ …
“The next day was Christmas, the one I remember best. For that day I knew that Christianity had not failed in spite of people’s unwillingness to live His teachings. I had seen hatred give way to service, pain to rejoicing, sorrow to forgiveness. This was possible because a babe had been born in a manger [and] later taught love of God and fellowmen. We had caused them the greatest grief and yet we were their Christian brothers and as such they were willing to forget their grief and unite with us in singing ‘Peace on earth, goodwill to all men.’
“The words of Miss Iida’s song testimony would not be stilled, ‘Surely he hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows.’ They seemed to echo and re-echo over the half-dead city that day.
“That day also I knew that there was a greater power on earth than the atomic bomb.”

Michelle’s dark eyes had lost their usual sparkle as she plopped down beside Katie and cried, “I just have to find a way to earn some money. I just have to!”
“Still hung up on piano lessons, huh?” asked Katie. “Wasn’t six months of playing scales enough for you?”
“I loved it,” replied Michelle. “Every bit of it, including the scales. I didn’t miss a single day of practicing, and the bishop still lets me use the old piano in the cultural hall to practice on. Sister Jackson said I was really coming along too. But Dad’s hours are being cut again, so any money for piano lessons has to come from what I earn. And nobody wants a ten-year-old baby-sitter when there are so many older girls available.”
“Well, it’s not hopeless.” Katie tried to cheer her friend. “There are other things you can do, aren’t there?”
“Not around here. I’ve tried housework, gardening, mowing lawns, walking dogs, and anything else you can name. People either have someone already or they can’t afford it. I’ve prayed for help, and I know Heavenly Father wants us to work out our problems ourselves, but I just can’t think of anything else to do.”
The girls sat in silence for a while, then Michelle got up. “I can’t just sit here and do nothing! Want to come to the library with me? Check with your mom while I get my card and the books I’ve finished.”
The girls walked slowly, finally coming to the old brick library. Katie got a few books for herself as Michelle listlessly pulled books off the shelves, leaving some on the table and keeping some to take home. Maybe they would help take her mind off her problem.
Later that evening Michelle curled up in her favorite chair with one of the new books. It was about a Navajo Indian girl, and it wasn’t long before she was immersed in her reading. Then suddenly she sat up and cried, “That’s it!”
Dad lowered his paper and asked with a smile, “What’s it, Michelle? Did you solve the mystery?”
“It’s not a mystery, Dad. It’s a story about Little Blossom, an Indian girl, and … and my piano lessons!” Michelle hurried to explain. “You know how much I want lessons and that I can’t find any jobs. Well, I just got an idea from my book. Little Blossom is going to … well, anyway, she trades things! Her family traded necklaces for blankets or other things. They didn’t have to have money!”
As Michelle paused, Dad nodded and waited for her to finish her thought.
“Well, couldn’t I do that too? I wouldn’t have to trade some thing would I? Couldn’t I trade something I do?”
“Well, honey,” Dad answered, “it might work. Sister Jackson is going to have a baby, so why not walk down there tomorrow morning and see if there’s anything that you can do to help her? But don’t be too disappointed if it doesn’t work out.”
Michelle didn’t think she would ever get to sleep, but morning finally came, her chores were finally finished, and she could leave for Sister Jackson’s house. She was a little nervous, and when Sister Jackson invited her in, the words came tumbling out. After explaining in a jumbled fashion about Little Blossom, she finished, “So instead of paying for the lessons in cash, is there anything I can do in trade for them? I’m a good housecleaner—Mom says so, anyway—and I can iron and do other things too.”
Michelle held her breath while Sister Jackson thought it over.
“You may have solved a problem for me,” the piano teacher said after a moment. “I went to the doctor for another checkup a few days ago, and he said I need to be taking it a little easier. I can still teach and do most of the things I usually do, but I’m not supposed to do any heavy cleaning. I was wondering what I was going to do, but you seem to have provided the solution.”
“Oh, I’d love to do whatever you can’t!” Michelle said breathlessly. “What do you want me to do, and do you want me to start now, and—”
“Hold on a minute,” Sister Jackson interrupted gently. “We need to settle details first.”
Two hours of housework for each lesson seemed fair to both of them, and they would start on Thursday.
“Oh, thank you, Sister Jackson! I’ll work hard, I promise. See you Thursday.” Michelle waved as she ran down the steps.
Michelle was practicing at the church that afternoon when Katie came in.
“Congratulations!” Katie said as she sat down on the piano bench next to her friend. “When I asked where you were, your dad told me all about your trading work for lessons, and I’m glad for you.”
“But there’s more,” Michelle said, her eyes sparkling. “Dad’s going to work on our neighbor’s car in trade for some kitchen cabinets. And he got the idea from me!”

Let me help you understand how this pattern of making early commitments can help you by relating the experience of one Church leader. As a young man he decided that he would always keep the Word of Wisdom and never use alcohol or tobacco. He does not remember what prompted him to make that important commitment at the time, but a crucial victory was won in his heart, and on his knees he made a commitment with the Lord to always keep that commandment. Over the years there were invitations to use these substances, but he learned that “No, thank you” was a good answer. There was no personal battle over the Word of Wisdom, because years before he had made a commitment in his heart, and he had sincerely made a commitment to the Lord to obey that law.

Years ago I served on a stake high council with Emery Wight. For 10 years Emery had served as bishop of rural Harper Ward. His wife, Lucille, became our stake Relief Society president.
Lucille told me that one spring morning a neighbor called at her door and asked for Emery. She told him that he was out plowing. The neighbor then spoke with great concern. Earlier that morning he had passed the field and noticed Emery’s team of horses standing in a half-finished furrow with the reins draped over the plow. Emery was nowhere in sight. The neighbor thought nothing of it until much later when he passed the field again, and the team had not moved. He climbed the fence and crossed the field to the horses. Emery was nowhere to be found. He hurried to the house to check with Lucille.
Lucille calmly replied, “Oh, don’t be alarmed. No doubt someone is in trouble and came to get the bishop.”
The image of that team of horses standing for hours in the field symbolizes the dedication of the bishops in the Church and of the counselors who stand by their side. Every bishop and every counselor, figuratively speaking, leaves his team standing in an unfinished furrow when someone needs help.
I have passed that field many times over the years. It is a reminder of the sacrifice and the service of those called to serve in bishoprics of wards and of their wives and families without whose help they could not serve.
Recently, very early on a Sunday morning, I stood in that field. I looked up toward the home where Emery and Lucille reared their children and to the foothills beyond. As a boy, with other Scouts I left that home with Bishop Wight. We hiked into the hills, with Emery teaching us every step of the way.
“A bishop,” Paul wrote to Timothy, “must be blameless, the husband of one wife, vigilant, sober, of good behaviour, given to hospitality, apt to teach.”
Those words apt to teach have special meaning. Apt means “inclined, ready, prepared.”
In all the world there is nothing quite like the office of bishop in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Except for parents, the bishop has the best opportunity to teach and to cause to be taught the things that matter most. And a bishop has the remarkable opportunity to teach parents about their responsibility; then he must allow them time to teach their children.

When I got home from school there was a tornado watch, and I cried because I was scared. I felt that I should pray for the people near the tornadoes, and for the tornadoes to stop coming our way. I still didn’t feel better. Then my mom told me to pray, so I prayed in my mind that I would feel better. A little bit later my tears went away. When my dad came home, we watched the news and there were no tornadoes coming our way.

As I thought about what I might say to you about that, I remembered an experience I had in 1972. It concerns President Harold B. Lee.

When President Lee was called as President of the Church at age 73, we expected to have him as our president for many years. If he lived as long as his predecessor, he would have been our Church president for 22 years. Then, in 1973, just 18 months after he became President of the Church, he died suddenly. Shocked, like so many others, I wondered why the Lord would release a leader so vigorous and well prepared to lead the Church in that critical time.

The comfort that settled upon my soul is precisely the comfort that is available to you as you think about the sudden departure of your well-loved and highly capable President Gilbert. I was comforted with the assurance that the Lord had transferred President Lee to another important assignment on the other side of the veil, and the Lord had another very capable Apostle to take up the reins of leadership--Spencer W. Kimball. Happily, President Gilbert's transfer, which follows that same pattern, is not accomplished in the same way as President Lee's. But the principle is the same. And happily, the Lord has prepared another leader, President Henry J. Eyring, whose gifts and vision and experience at BYU-Idaho are fully equal to the great responsibility of carrying on the vital work of this wonderful university.

Carlos was excited for Christmas. This year there was something different in his home. A large tree made of shiny green paper was attached to the door.
Mom, why is there a tree on the door?
We’re going to do something a little different for Christmas this year.
Carlos wondered what would be different. His sister, Araceli, and his little brother, Diego, wondered too.
I made these paper ornaments for the tree. Each day we will write something about Jesus Christ on an ornament and then put it on the tree. By Christmas Eve, the whole tree will be covered!
Carlos liked that idea. Araceli ran to the ornaments and grabbed a red pencil.
Jesus was baptized.
That’s a good one. Can I write that Jesus did many miracles?
That would be perfect. You both have great ideas!
Every night after dinner, Araceli and Carlos made another ornament and put it on the tree. Diego helped by telling them that he loves Jesus.
When it was hard to think of more ideas, they looked in the scriptures. Carlos didn’t know there were so many verses about Jesus!
On Christmas Eve the whole family sang songs and read the ornaments they had put on the tree. Carlos was happy he knew so much about Jesus. He knew he was ready for Christmas this year.

I grew up in a Latter-day Saint home with loving parents and a sister and brothers whom I adored. I was generally happy, but there were times when I struggled, not knowing who I was and questioning my purpose in life. During my late junior high years I had few friends at school and wondered if anyone really loved me.
One Sunday evening during this time, a youth fireside was held specifically for young women and their fathers. Throughout the meeting I thought about my life. I dreaded the coming week of school and couldn’t find one thing to look forward to. Consumed with my own thoughts, I was only half listening to the fireside speakers. I didn’t even realize the speakers had finished until the congregation began singing the closing song.
The words were familiar, but I had never paid attention to their meaning before. Walk tall, you’re a daughter, a child of God. I straightened up in my seat. I was a daughter of God. Be strong—please remember who you are. Why had I been questioning who I was? The answer was clear in the teachings of the gospel I had learned throughout my life. Try to understand, you’re part of His great plan. I was part of His plan. He had a mission for me if I would but follow His teachings and live righteously. He’s closer than you know—reach up, He’ll take your hand. I had felt alone in the world when all along my Father in Heaven was there beside me, waiting for me to reach up for His hand (see New Era, Jan. 1996, 10–11).
As I sang those words I was comforted by the knowledge that I was important. I was part of Heavenly Father’s plan, and He was by my side, ready and willing to help me every step of the way. I had known this my entire life but had somehow forgotten. The answer I was searching for and the lesson I needed to learn came to me through the words of a song.

A few days ago, I had the pleasurable assignment of visiting some of our Lamanite friends in Supai, at the base of the Grand Canyon, in Arizona. While on the canyon trails, I had the opportunity of visiting with some hippie-type young people who had traveled to that secluded area in their search for escape. Drugs and a basic desire to get away from everyone and everything, according to their own admissions, prodded them on to this area and yet other areas when this one becomes routine. “No one cares about us, and frankly, we don’t care about the establishment” is the message they left with me; however, I assure you these were not the exact words they used. As I told one young man, and I share this same thought with our other young friends who are at present involved in the drug habit, “As surely as you can walk out of this Grand Canyon in three to four hours with all of your worldly possessions strapped to your back, you can walk out on this drug habit. There are a lot of us who care about you and would like to help you back up the trail to the main highway.”

To our young friends and bewildered parents caught in the vicious grip of drug abuse and its heartaches, we declare to you that there is a way back. You can make it. There is hope.