Gospel Story Finder

First is a story about my son, Michael, who did something wrong when he was six or seven years old. He’s my only son. I want him to be better than his dad was even as a boy, and so I expect a great deal of him. So I sent him to his bedroom with the instructions, “Don’t come out until I come and get you.”

And then I forgot. Some hours later, as I was watching television, I heard his door open and tentative footsteps come down the hall. I said, “Oh, no,” and ran to the hall to see him standing there with swollen eyes and tears on his cheeks. He looked up at me—he wasn’t quite sure he should have come out—and said, “Dad, can’t we ever be friends again?” Of course, I hugged him and expressed my love for him. He’s my boy, and I love him, despite anything he may have done.

A good example of this is found in a story I heard before. A young boy was playing baseball with his friends when his mother’s voice came loud and clear, calling, “Charlie, Charlie!” He instantly threw down his bat, picked up his jacket and cap, and started for home. “Don’t go yet; finish the game!” cried the other players. “I must go right this minute. I told my mother I would come when she called” was Charlie’s response. “Pretend you didn’t hear,” said the boys. “But I did hear,” said Charlie. “She won’t know you did.” “But I know it, and I’ve got to go.” One of the boys finally said, “Oh, let him go. You can’t change his mind. He’s tied to his mother’s apron string. He’s such a baby. He runs the minute she calls.” As he ran off, Charlie called back, “I don’t call it babyish to keep one’s word to his mother. I call it manly, and the boy who doesn’t keep his word to his mother will never keep it to anyone else.” Years later, Charlie became a successful businessman and president of a large corporation. His associates always said his word was his bond, and during a press interview on one occasion, Charlie was asked how he acquired such a reputation. His response: “I never broke my words. I did exactly as I was told.”

It takes a special kind of courage to try something new, to listen to the missionaries and accept the things they teach. Bambie, 13, wasn’t sure she wanted to join the Church. The missionaries encouraged her to pray, and she did. “I felt something inside that made me want to learn. I kept praying, and I was given the courage to join the Church.” When she talks about choosing to attend church instead of going with her friends, Bambie says, “I don’t mind what people say. I know by the Holy Ghost that the Church is true.”

Finally the time arrived for the time-honored tradition of opening birthday gifts. This is always a frustration for my family. What do you give a dad, at my age, when he already has a drawer full of new, unused socks, white shirts still in plastic wrap, and four racks full of ties? My son came forward and said, “At last I’ve found just the right gift for you,” and he handed me a baseball bat with a white stocking over the end. My first reaction was, “A baseball bat at seventy years of age?”
I pulled off the white stocking, and then I understood why it was a perfect gift. On the end of the bat was imprinted “Adirondack, Willie Mays’ Personal Model” with the actual signature of Willie Mays. This bat was a symbol of many great memories. My mind was flooded with memories of a special birthday that had occurred thirty years earlier. We had just moved from California to New York. We had left our favorite baseball team, the San Francisco Giants, and Willie Mays, who was, of course, their star.
On this special birthday, Willie and the Giants were in New York playing the Mets. My son had saved his money and purchased two tickets as his birthday present to me that year. I came home from work early that day so we’d have time to make the long traffic-filled drive to the Mets’ ballpark for the start of the game. We bought hot dogs, 7UP, and popcorn and settled in our seats to watch Willie Mays beat the Mets. The game was tied at 4 to 4 at the end of nine innings. Willie’s record was four at-bats and zero hits. I said to my son, “We have a long drive home, and I have to get up early to catch the train in to the city for a meeting.” His response was, “Willie won’t be up until next inning. Let’s watch him bat once more.” The same response came after the eleventh, the twelfth, the thirteenth, and the fourteenth innings—and on up to the twenty-third inning. Now it was well after midnight, and the drive home was well over an hour. Each time I suggested leaving, his response was, “Let’s watch Willie bat one more time.”
Then, in the first of the twenty-third inning, Willie came to bat and drove the ball over the center-field fence. Of course we finished watching the last of the twenty-third inning to be certain the Giants would win 5 to 4. We arrived home at 2:30 a.m. I wasn’t at my best in the meetings the following day, but I had a lasting memory to cherish. Now a piece of wood, a baseball bat, stands in the corner of my office to remind me of a special father-son relationship filled with so many great memories.

We also met a faithful sister who came to New York from Haiti to be treated for cancer. During her stays, the ward council did everything it could to help her and make sure she had what she needed, including transportation to and from her treatments. We were blessed to serve and visit her during this time. We hoped for a better ending, but she passed away.
Those two experiences represent what the ward did for people—help them and lift them. We are grateful for these and other remarkable experiences.

“Life’s a disaster,” Travis mumbled, slouching into the bench at the back of the chapel. It was Sister Stott’s last Sunday in the ward, and he hadn’t felt this bad since he fell off his skateboard into a muddy ravine.
He scanned the chapel, looking for Sister Stott, his Valiant teacher. She had just finished teaching his Primary class and now was sitting in her favorite spot, the center of the second row. Her shiny brown hair hung over the back of the bench as she hugged her one-year-old daughter, Tiffany.
I don’t care if I ever go to Primary again, Travis decided, looking away.
Now she was leaving. Travis’s stomach knotted up as the bishop read her name to be released. Staring at the podium, he raised his hand in a vote of thanks.
As Bishop Olson read names to be sustained to new callings, Travis gripped the bench in front of him. Who will be my new teacher? He wondered. It could be Brother Coty, probably the strongest man in the ward. Or maybe Sister Campbell. Every year she won a blue ribbon for her homemade pie at the state fair.
Travis sighed. It didn’t matter who his new teacher was—class would never be the same.
Bishop Olson shuffled through his papers at the podium. “We have called Brother Rolf Meyer as Valiant teacher in the Primary.”
Travis stared at the bishop. Brother Meyer! Travis was sure Bishop Olson had made a mistake. Brother Meyer had to be a hundred years old, and he walked with a cane. Because of his German accent, he was also a little hard to understand. Even so, Travis raised his hand to sustain his new teacher.
After sacrament meeting, Travis stopped to look out the large glass door in the foyer.
“Hello, Travis.”
Travis jerked around.
Smiling, Sister Stott moved Tiffany from one hip to the other. “I just wanted to tell you how much I’ve enjoyed being your teacher.”
Travis dug his shoe into the carpet as he looked away.
“Travis,” she said softly, “you’re going to learn a lot from Brother Meyer. You know that, don’t you?”
Shrugging, Travis slowly lifted his eyes to meet Sister Stott’s.
She placed her hand on Travis’s slumped shoulder. “Can I teach you one more thing before I leave?”
“Sure,” Travis muttered, wishing she hadn’t reminded him of her move.
Sister Stott bent slightly to be at eye level with Travis. “There are lots of ways to teach. If you give Brother Meyer a chance, just like you gave me, you’ll learn more than you’ve ever imagined.” Smiling, she stood up.
“That’s it?”
“That’s it,” Sister Stott said, nodding. “Remember it.”
“I will.” He pushed open the heavy door and ran across the parking lot to his family’s station wagon.
As he scanned the parking lot, the only other person outside was Jennifer Mizway, practically on her knees, staring at the rear tire of her mother’s car. Travis knew she had just gotten her driver’s license. Normally, he’d ask if he could help, but this afternoon he wasn’t in the mood.
The rear door of the meetinghouse opened, and out stepped Brother Meyer. He slowly made his way across the parking lot and called something to Jennifer. Reaching her car, he set his cane against it, then bent down to examine the tire.
Travis watched as Brother Meyer and Jennifer struggled to pull a spare tire out of the trunk of the car. The tire slipped from their hands, bouncing twice before falling with a thud in front of them.
“Brother Meyer, Jennifer,” Travis hollered, going over to the car, “let me help.”
“You know how to change tire?” Brother Meyer’s German accent brought life to his words.
“No,” Travis replied as he came up to them, “but you can tell me what to do.”
“Das ist gut (This is good)!” Brother Meyer nodded at Travis and signaled him to pull out the jack from the trunk.
Pumping the jack, Travis listened as Jennifer told them how grateful she was for their help. Her father had taken her mother home early with the flu, and they would worry that she’d had an accident if she was late getting home.
Travis stopped pumping to rub away the burning sensation in his upper arm.
“Here.” Brother Meyer handed his cane to Travis. “I show you a trick to help.” Bending on one knee, he pulled out the jack’s lever and inserted his cane into the opening where the lever had been. “My cane is longer. It will be easier to pump now.”
Travis began to pump again. A smile spread across his face as his arm moved faster with less effort. “It is easier!”
As Travis set the hubcap on the tire, he felt a thumping on his leg. Turning, he saw Brother Meyer smiling.
“Is good to help, ja (yes)?” Brother Meyer asked.
Travis smiled. “Yeah, it is. Well, I’d better get going.”
He and his father arrived at the station wagon at the same time.
“Is everything all right?” Father asked.
“Yep.”
“Your mother and I were worried. We know how you feel about Sister Stott. She was a special teacher, wasn’t she?”
“Yeah, she was.” Travis waved to Brother Meyer as he got into the car.
Rolling down his window, Travis thought about Jennifer dejectedly examining the tire. He thought about Brother Meyer tapping him with his cane, saying “Is good to help, ja?”
Valiant class was going to be different, Travis decided, but he had a feeling that one thing wouldn’t change—he was going to learn a lot this year.

by Jeanne McInelly
The silent dignity of the Arkansas House of Representatives was pierced with shouts of “Contact! Contact!” A hundred Arkansas seminary students were clamoring for points in the final scripture chase contest of the year.
“Hold it down! Quiet, quiet! Let’s remember where we are,” cautioned the teacher. “Are you ready? Here’s the clue for scripture number seven.”
It all began the month before in seminary officers meeting where plans were being laid for the next Super Saturday.
“Hey, our lesson is on good government next month.”
“Wow, let’s all go to Washington!”
“No, we’ve got roadshow practice that morning.”
“Well, how about having our lesson at the state capitol building at Little Rock?”
“You’ve got to be important to get in there.”
“Well, so who’s more important than LDS seminary students from all over the state—in our Sunday best?”
“It’s worth trying for. At least after we ask they’ll know there are Mormons in Arkansas.”
Within a week officials were approached, permission was received, and the secretary of state had agreed to speak to the group. Bright picture postcards of the capitol building arrived at all 12 seminary classes around the state announcing the news.
“We’ve got the state capitol building for the next month’s Super Saturday! Be sure to dress up. Now we’re the VIPs.”
The morning of the activity, prior to the lesson, the seminary officers met in a plush committee room complete with microphones at each desk and swivel executive chairs.
“Such class! We ought to meet here every month.”
“So this is what my license plate fee pays for!”
For the lesson students climbed the white marble stairs leading to the assembly room where a seminary fife and drum corps brought in the flag. The Arkansas secretary of state, Kelly Bryant, was a special guest speaker. Some visitors touring the building paused to admire the group and to ask, “Are these kids some special committee for the governor?”
As part of the lesson students impersonating prominent Book of Mormon characters gave campaign speeches in an effort to win votes from the group and gain imaginary seats on the Zarahemla City Council. As this was in progress, one of the state representatives, returning with his wife for some papers, paused to listen and chuckle at King Noah as he confused his interrogators with evasive answers and political double talk. “He sounds like one of us at a press conference,” laughed the representative.
After the lesson students were treated to a tour of the governor’s conference room. Their enthusiasm and good deportment won them a rare peek at the chambers of the state supreme court. “Nobody gets to see these rooms except on court day, but for you I’ll make an exception,” said their guide.
Picnic lunches under the sweet Magnolia trees on the capitol grounds rounded out the impressive day. Between crunches of potato chips, conversations were overheard:
“You know, one of our seminary group just might be a state legislator here someday.”
“Yeah, that kid who played King Noah seemed like he had potential.”

I believe one of President Smith’s most noble accomplishments was after World War II. Starvation was rampant in Germany and in other nations of Europe. President Smith met with United States President Harry S. Truman and said, “We’d like to send welfare supplies to the starving people of Europe, but the bureaucracy and the red tape in postwar Europe are keeping us from doing so.”

President Truman heard his plea and opened the way. He asked, “How many months will it take for you to assemble your supplies?”

President Smith replied, “President Truman, they’re already assembled. All you need do is say go, and they’ll be rolling within twenty-four hours.”

President Truman was taken aback by this slender man who spoke rather softly—but oh, could he move things along. The supplies were sent, and Elder Ezra Taft Benson was also sent to oversee their distribution. Lives were saved as a result.

For example, Spencer McMullin, a college student from Raymond, Alberta, Canada, has set up his own business of cleaning carpets in apartment buildings. He has been able to earn sufficient money to pay for his schooling expenses. Spencer says, “There are always jobs around if you are willing to spend a little time and use a little imagination in looking for them. I Started my own company after working for a friend and learning the business from him. I found it exciting to learn a trade and earn money at the same time. I like to check in the classified ads of popular magazines because many of these contain sections on job opportunities.”

In Brother Oldham's Heredity class on the first day he said, "I can pretty much give you all your final grade today, but we'll go through the semester and by the end you will learn that I know most of you. The people here on the first two rows will get the A's. The people just above them will get the B's. All you people up there in the middle will get the C's and you people way up at the top, you will get the D's and F's." Of course, you can guess where I was sitting. I knew from my high school experience what kind of a student I was. I was sitting way up at the top but I said to myself that day, "He doesn't know me. He can't determine my grade on the first day. I'll show him." I worked my heart out to prove him wrong and got an A in the class from the back of the room.

It was hard, but I learned a lesson. I had never really realized how many distractions there are in a classroom between the back and the front. After that, I never chose to sit at the back of any college classroom. My GPA started to climb.

Illustration by Greg Newbold
I have been active in the Church all my life. I served a full-time mission, married in the temple, and helped raise four wonderful daughters. As the years passed, however, I noticed that some of my friends had given up their Church membership. Some family members were using social media to question and criticize Church leaders. And I was beginning to have my own doubts about the Church for the first time in my life. My doubts caused me to fear the future. At times, I felt overcome with hopelessness.
During this difficult time, I forced myself to attend stake conference. As my stake president spoke, he said, “If we are to survive the difficult times ahead, we need to move from casual feasting to urgent feasting upon the word of God. We need to make regular and focused scripture study a priority in our lives. If we do, I promise that we will not fear.”
The word “fear” caught my attention. I realized that I had allowed my gospel study to become casual. As a result, fear took hold of my life. I decided to give my stake president’s counsel a try.
I went home and created a space for gospel study. In the corner of a room, I set up a small desk with a comfortable chair. I put a few pictures of the Savior on the wall. I gathered my scriptures, some pencils, and a notepad. I began my study with a prayer.
After a week or two, I developed a daily routine. I would first listen to a general conference talk and then study a particular gospel topic. Then I would read a few chapters of the Book of Mormon and finish my study with heartfelt prayer to my Heavenly Father.
Despite various distractions, I rarely missed a day of gospel study for six months. I gained a greater understanding of many gospel topics and strengthened my relationship with my Heavenly Father through regular and sincere prayer.
My testimony was again becoming something I could lean on. My doubts faded because of the new witnesses I had received of the restored gospel. I found myself worrying less because I was trusting God more. I felt fear and despair leaving me. I also lost interest in time-wasting activities and noticed that I was becoming more generous and gentle to others.
As I heeded my stake president’s counsel, God was able to transform me. I was healed and restored by the Master Himself as I feasted upon His word.

My third example highlights the importance of recognizing and accepting the will of God in our lives. Several years ago there was a young father who had been active in the Church as a boy but had chosen a different path during his teenage years. After serving in the military, he married a lovely girl, and soon children blessed their home.

One day without warning their little four-year-old daughter became critically ill and was hospitalized. In desperation and for the first time in many years, the father was found on his knees in prayer, asking that the life of his daughter be spared. Yet her condition worsened. Gradually, this father sensed that his little girl would not live, and slowly his prayers changed; he no longer prayed for healing but rather for understanding. “Let Thy will be done” was now the manner of his pleadings.

Soon his daughter was in a coma, and the father knew her hours on earth were few. Fortified with understanding, trust, and power beyond their own, the young parents prayed again, asking for the opportunity to hold her close once more while she was awake. The daughter’s eyes opened, and her frail arms reached out to her parents for one final embrace. And then she was gone. This father knew their prayers had been answered—a kind, compassionate Father in Heaven had comforted their hearts. God’s will had been done, and they had gained understanding. (Adapted from H. Burke Peterson, “Adversity and Prayer,” Ensign, Jan. 1974, 18.)

My father had a unique experience when he was the age of a priest. There were no high schools where he lived, and he wanted an education. He received permission from his father to leave the farm and seek his education elsewhere, but he had to make it on his own. Arriving in Salt Lake City, he heard of an employment position being offered in the home of President Joseph F. Smith. He was hired to care for the prophet’s two cows. In our family home evenings we would want Dad to relate experiences about his early life of living in the home of the prophet. We would hear him make reports like this:
Sister Smith instructed my father in his duties, explaining that the cows “were aristocrats, and you must treat them well. You are to keep them so clean and train them so well that if I should ever at any time conclude to move them into the parlor, they would be clean enough to enter.” Dad said he understood milking but not laundering cows.
Before milking each morning and night, the cows were thoroughly washed and dried with hot water, soap, and towels prepared for that purpose. They were fed the best of hay and milked at exactly the same hour twice a day.
In addition to his duties with the Smith family and their “aristocratic” cows, my father was asked on occasion to do some housework. He would tell us stories like this: “One frosty morning I washed the steps leading to the official residence of the President of the Church. It nearly led to his downfall, for I let the water freeze before drying. Then I had to take boiling water and thaw the ice and take towels to dry the stones. The steps were nearly clean, but my classmates were passing on their way to school before the job was completed. It was a humbling experience.”
By telling these stories, I don’t want to leave you with the impression that my father was a male twin to Cinderella. The Smith family took this poor farm boy from Idaho into their home while he finished high school and attended the University of Utah. They included him in their family activities, around the dinner table, and at family prayer. My father shared with us his witness that the prophet Joseph F. Smith was truly a man of God: “When I kneeled with the prophet, in family prayer, and listened to his earnest supplications for the blessings of the Lord upon his family and their flocks and their herds, I realized that those same humiliating cows were the subject of his blessings, [and] my feet were brought solidly to earth. … Most great men I have known have been deflated by intimate contact. Not so with the prophet Joseph F. Smith. Every common everyday act added inches to his greatness. To me he was prophet even while washing his hands or untying his shoes.”
The lessons learned taught us a great appreciation and love for a prophet of God.

I can’t think of a better example of helping someone gain understanding than the story of Helen Keller. She was blind and deaf and lived in a world that was dark and quiet. A teacher named Anne Sullivan came to help her. How would you teach a child who can’t even see or hear you?

For a long time, Anne struggled to connect with Helen. One day around noon, she took her out to the water pump. She put one of Helen’s hands under the waterspout and began to pump the water. Anne then spelled out the word W-A-T-E-R on Helen’s other hand. Nothing happened. So she tried again. W-A-T-E-R. Helen squeezed Anne’s hand because she began to understand. By nightfall, she had learned 30 words. Within a matter of months, she had learned 600 words and was able to read Braille. Helen Keller went on to earn a college degree and helped change the world for people who couldn’t see or hear.9 It was a miracle, and her teacher was the miracle worker, just like you will be, parents.

They had seen it all before. The Ahuna kids of Kaneohe, Hawaii, would be sitting at a ward dinner minding their own business when someone would stand up and inform the audience there would be some impromptu entertainment.

The four oldest, Joseph, Ruth, David, and Angela, would look up, utensils in hand. They were pretty sure what was coming next.

"We’d like to invite the Ahunas to come forward and do their Polynesian dances," the man holding the microphone would say.

With knowing looks at each other, the four would set down their forks, their rice would get cold, and outside to the car they’d go, pulling out grass skirts and hoops and all the other things they needed for their show.

Dad had struck again.

"He’d just volunteer us," says Ruth of her father, Joseph. "We never knew when we were going to perform. But my dad thought the more we shared our talents, the more we’d grow."

Ruth and her brothers and sister would step on stage, they’d spend about an hour putting on their song-and-dance show, and in the end they’d bring down the house.

And there was Dad, smiling as big as ever.

Kellene Trentham, 14, was awarded an Outstanding Community Service award from the Chief of Police in Chubbuck, Idaho. Kellene has been the editor and publisher of a community newspaper that has been helping the police instruct citizens about crime prevention.
Kellene’s newspaper started as a get-acquainted effort in her subdivision. One of her neighbors was the Crime Prevention Officer from the police department. At that time, the police were attempting to organize a Neighborhood Watch program where neighbors learn to secure their homes and report unusual activities in their residential area. Kellene started including the information in her newspaper. Soon others were interested in receiving the paper, and local merchants began contributing articles on topics of interest or services. The paper, which is printed once a month, is now being delivered to 1,200 homes.
Kellene has expanded her activities to her local junior high school where, with the help of the police, she is organizing a youth crime prevention group.
Kellene is a member of the Seventh Ward, North Pocatello Idaho Stake.

Today I pay tribute to my great-grandmother Susan Kent Greene and her unwavering testimony.

In 1835 Susan married Evan M. Greene and soon after went to Kirtland to live. They were among the first of the Mormon fugitives at Mount Pisgah, Iowa, in the early spring of 1846. We read,
As soon as Evan pitched the tent he left his wife and their little ones while he went with his team and wagon to aid in bringing forward some of the saints who were without means of their own. Unfortunately for Susan she had no near neighbors. Almost as soon as her husband had gone the eleven-month old baby became ill. The baby rapidly grew worse, and after a few days died in its mother’s arms. This occurred on a dark and stormy night accompanied by loud thunderbolts and vivid lightening flashes. All she could do was to pray that the Lord would not forsake her, but would send someone to help her, which prayer was answered. A young man came to the door and spoke words of pity and comfort. In the morning he made a coffin and dug a grave for the baby and buried it. Susan had to prepare the little body for its last rest, herself. [Lula Greene Richards, “Life Sketch of Susan Kent Greene,” typescript, in author’s possession]
This was only the beginning of the tests that were to follow.

Evan and Susan arrived in Utah, having endured much, she wrote the following on the first page of her journal dated February 3, 1875:
I make this covenant to do the very best I can, asking God for wisdom to direct me in that I may walk with Him in all righteousness and truth. I much desire to be pure in heart that I may see God. Help me, Lord, to overcome all evil with good. Signed: Susan K. Green.
This covenant with the writings on this page is written with my blood and I have not broken my covenant and trust shall not. Signed: Susan K. Greene. [Quoted in Ardeth Greene Kapp, “‘I Shall Know They Are True’: Susan Kent Greene,” in Heroines of the Restoration, ed. Barbara B. Smith and Blythe Darlyn Thatcher (Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1999), 87–88]

When my children were young, we read the scriptures together as a family. Recently, my wife found an old triple combination that we used for years in our family scripture study. She noticed that every page of the Book of Mormon had seven creases in it. That is because when we read together, we folded down the corner of each page as we finished it. The seven creases reminded us that we read the Book of Mormon seven times as a family. Each of our children took a turn reading a verse or two. When the youngest ones wanted to participate, they could say, “And it came to pass,” and then it was the next child’s turn.
It took us five years to read the Book of Mormon for the first time as a family, but we never quit. After we finished using the book with the creased pages, we all continued to read, study, and mark our own scriptures. When we read and study the scriptures often, we can grow closer to Heavenly Father and understand His message to us as His children. Through the scriptures, He teaches us sweet lessons that we can use as a guide for our lives.

Exactly one year ago today, my sweet mother quietly slipped through the veil into the hope-filled embrace of countless ancestors and other family members—including my oldest brother and dear father. What a marvelous reunion that must have been! Just 10 days prior to her passing, mom experienced a collapsed lung due to a large cancerous mass. When the young doctor suggested treatments for the cancer, my nearly 91-year-old mom laughed and quickly countered, “No, it’s my turn. I’ve waited a long time to see all my people.” And that was it! Her decision was made and she’d been provided a ticket “home.” Without question, mom felt completely at peace with the work she’d been called to perform in mortality and knew she had more work to accomplish elsewhere.
Like Nephi of old, I will forever be grateful for “having been born of goodly parents”[1] who loved and taught me the things that would be most important in my life—including the value of good, honest, hard work.

Shortly after I had returned from my mission, I married a wonderful young woman named Wendy. A little over a year later, we experienced the pure joy of welcoming our precious daughter, Aubrey, into the world. Life felt full of promise. However, just shy of our two-year anniversary, everything changed in an instant.

On our way to my grandmother’s funeral, a driver ran a stop sign and crashed into our car. In the harrowing hours that followed, my world was shattered. Wendy passed away, leaving me alone to care for our seven-month-old daughter. The grief was unlike anything I had ever experienced. It tested my faith and resilience in ways I could never have imagined.

Some people wondered how I found the strength to trust God rather than curse Him for what they perceived as a terrible injustice. That answer lies in the Lord’s tender mercies—those quiet, undeniable moments when His hand had prepared me for what was ahead. One such moment had occurred just prior to Wendy’s passing, during an unexpected journey.

Just before the tragic accident, I had joined a close friend and recent BYU graduate on a whirlwind two-day trip to move his family’s belongings to California prior to him starting a new job. His wife was enduring a difficult pregnancy, and he was deeply anxious about her health and the health of their unborn child. My friend felt an urgent need to complete this trip and return to Provo quickly to be by his wife’s side before their baby arrived.

As we drove through miles of open road, our discussion gravitated to an unusual topic. We began to discuss what either of us might do if our wife were to pass away. For hours that was all we talked about—how one might cope with such a devastating loss, how faith in Jesus Christ could provide strength, and how understanding God’s plan might carry us through even the darkest moments.

On that journey I thought I was offering solace and perspective to my friend. I never imagined that just days later I would be standing in a hospital looking at the lifeless body of my wife. As the weight of Wendy’s passing crushed me, I suddenly realized that God, in His infinite kindness and understanding, had been preparing me for this moment. That conversation with my friend was not a coincidence—it was a tender mercy from a loving Father.

Through those hours of discussing grief, faith, and His plan, Heavenly Father had knowingly and tenderly been preparing my heart and mind to face the unimaginable. When the time came, the Spirit whispered to me that death—including Wendy’s passing, as heart-wrenching as it was—is part of a greater plan, a plan guided by a loving Heavenly Father who knew my pain and who would not leave me alone in it.

That understanding strengthened my faith in the Lord immeasurably. I learned in a most poignant way that He is aware of every detail of our lives and is constantly working to prepare and sustain us. It was an assurance that I would lean on heavily in the coming years. Through my friend’s need for help, I had been given a sacred gift: the assurance that God’s hand was in my life, even during my most devastating trial.