Gospel Story Finder

Equal to my fears of going to the bishop were my feelings of unworthiness to be at church with people who were living good lives and had not indulged in the sins I had committed. I was sure the first Sunday I returned to church that everyone would see right into my soul and know what I was guilty of and the feelings I was struggling with.

Instead, my anxieties were put to rest when members of the ward welcomed me back with loving fellowship. Repentance would have been much more difficult if I had gone from being a less-active member to a less-included member of the ward.

When Ivanessa Romero, 15, found herself starting to follow the example of friends in using bad language, she knew she needed to change. One day she told them, “From now on, whenever anybody says a bad word, I’m going to charge a penny.” After a few days, she had collected four dollars! Her friends said, “Iva is going to be a millionaire!” Using For the Strength of Youth, Ivanessa encouraged her friends to clean up their language. “They’re making progress,” she says. In the meantime, she learned something about example. “I realized my friends are looking for the light. Every little thing we say or do is an influence on others.”

“Stephen, will you come here, please?” Stephen’s mother called from the living room.
“Sure, Mom,” Stephen said. He put down the video game controller. “I’ll be right back, Josh,” he said to his little brother.
In the living room, Stephen was surprised to see a police officer talking to Mom. What surprised him even more was that the police officer was holding the blue bike Stephen had gotten for Christmas last year!
“Is this your bike, Son?” the officer asked.
“It looks like mine,” Stephen said. “I think I left it down at the end of the block.”
“That’s where I found it,” the officer said. “Someone started a fire near where your bike was, and some neighbors said they saw you playing in that area. Would you mind telling me what you were doing there? Were you playing with fire?”
“No,” Stephen said. “I rode my bike there to play with my friends. We played tag for a while, and then some older boys came around. They looked kind of mean, so we left. I must have left my bike there. Then I came home and played video games with my brother. I didn’t start any fires.”
The officer folded his arms and looked stern. Stephen felt his cheeks getting hot. What if the police officer didn’t believe him?
The officer turned to Stephen’s mother. “Does Stephen tell the truth?” he asked.
“Stephen has never lied to me,” Mom said. “If he says he didn’t start the fire, he didn’t start it.”
The police officer asked a few more questions and then thanked Mom and Stephen for talking to him. Before he left, he told Stephen to take better care of his bike.
A few hours later, Stephen and his mother learned that the police officer found the older boys Stephen had seen, and they admitted to starting the fire.
“I’m glad you believed me when I said I didn’t start the fire,” Stephen told Mom.
“I knew you didn’t do it,” Mom said. “You have always told me the truth, even when it might get you in trouble. I always know I can trust you.”
Stephen smiled and gave his mom a hug. It felt good to be trusted. It was a feeling he always wanted to have.

“Also when I was five years old, my family moved to southern California, where my great love became the Pacific Ocean. I used to enjoy going down to the beach almost every day to go surfing. When I was about seven years old, a decision was made to build a new chapel. It was for the Santa Monica Ward, and it is still being used today. I remember well the day of the ground-breaking. Mother had explained to me that men with shovels would turn the earth over for the ground-breaking ceremony. I remember taking my little sand shovel so that I could help break ground with the men. It gave me a feeling of pride in that building that has never left me. I felt that I was truly a part of it.

“When I was about ten or eleven years old, I was involved with Primary. My teacher, Sister Zundell, was a very special person. She always taught us so effectively about the Savior. Many times while she was teaching, a little tear would trickle down her cheek, and it always impressed me that she had such tender emotions about the Savior. She taught us about His life and His teachings, which had a profound effect upon me. I can’t tell you the words or the stories that she told us; but just the way she did it, with the tears that would come, had a great effect upon me and the others in the class.

“When I was in sixth grade, I was elected student body president, which they called ‘mayor’ in those days. I was mayor of the school and used to wear my mayor’s badge. It was an honor that I’ve always appreciated. About this time, also, I was a member of an organization called the Western Rangers. This was before there was a Cub Scout program. We went on camping trips to the nearby mountains, and we had some exciting times doing the things that Scouts do.

“I always had in the back of my mind the thought that one day I would be a missionary. When I was old enough to serve on a mission, there was a terrible depression, and Dad was out of work. I did all kinds of odd jobs to earn and save enough money for a mission. I still remember the day I received my call: My boss, who was not a Mormon, called me in and told me he was very proud that one of his boys had been called to be a missionary. He gave me a check for fifty dollars, which in those days kept a missionary going for three months. I was called to New Zealand, and I served there for three full years. When I arrived there, I remember thinking that I was going to help those people become good, solid Christians. But after three years, I realized that they had taught me as much about being a good Christian as I had taught them—lessons of patience, kindness, gentleness, and compassion. Their Polynesian life-style was different from anything I had ever seen, and it was beautiful to see. That mission experience really changed my life and gave it new direction.

“The Maoris are often referred to as a nation of children. This is in no way a derogatory term; it is used because these people have such total faith and sincerity. If they make mistakes, they quickly repent. I was fortunate to be able to spend nine years of my life in New Zealand. The first three were as a young missionary, the second three as mission president, and the last three as executive administrator for all the Pacific Islands, with headquarters in New Zealand. I am grateful for the temples being built in Tahiti, Samoa, and Tonga, as well as for those already in use in New Zealand and Hawaii. A large percentage of temples are built for the Polynesians because of their faithfulness and their interest in genealogy.

“The greatest advice that I can give to the children of the world is for them to learn obedience and loyalty. I’m thinking, first of all, of being obedient and loyal to their parents and not showing disrespect of any kind to them. This carries over to obedience and loyalty to the prophet.

“I would like to add just one word about soft-speaking. Our home was a ‘soft-spoken’ home, and now my children won’t have it any other way in their homes. If we are going to invite the Savior to be a part of our family circle, we need kindness and gentleness in our homes.”

I’ve been on my mission for over a year now. Every P-day I’ve written two letters home. One to Mom and Dad and one to Gus. I’ve received a letter every week from Mom or Dad, but Gus has never written. Not one letter! I can’t believe it. We were so close. Mom tells me what he’s doing, but I want to hear from him. They say he hasn’t been to church since my farewell.
I tell them about my experiences, and I bear testimony of the gospel in each letter. Mom said Gus reads them.
That’s all there is to Gus’s story. I wish there were more to tell. I want it to have a happy ending.
I’m going to stop writing now. I feel a real need to pray. I’m a little discouraged. The Jones family won’t make a commitment, and Gus won’t write to me. They will both be in my prayers tonight.
I received a very special letter from Mom. She said she caught Gus crying as he read my letter about the Jones family.
I can’t believe Mom’s letter today!
She said she’s not sure, but she thinks Gus is actually reading the Book of Mormon (in secret of course).
I hope so. It would help him so much.
She also said she hasn’t found any cigarettes in his pockets when she washes his clothes.
If he could just stop smoking! He still doesn’t know we know.
A letter from Mom. No doubt about it—Gus has stopped smoking. But the secret’s still on.
Dad wrote. He invited Gus to go to church with Mom and him, like he always does, and Gus actually went! Only he insisted on following Dad’s car on his Harley-Davidson.
During Sunday School he didn’t know where to go for the Young Adult class, and the teacher for the 14- and 15-year-olds (about 4 boys and 3 girls) didn’t show up. Two of the boys had seen Gus drive up on the Harley D. and asked him to show it to them. Before long most of the class was out in the parking lot admiring the Harley D. He even flipped “wheelies” for them. He’s such a show-off.
The Sunday School president had a conniption when he caught them.
The kids all wanted to sluff sacrament meeting and go motorcycle riding, but Gus calmed them down and got them reverently into the chapel for the meeting. It’s great!
Dad wrote again. Last Sunday Gus was ready for church before he and Mom even woke up.
When they arrived at church (this time Dad made him leave the Harley D. at home), the panic-stricken Sunday School president confronted Dad and Gus and begged them to substitute teach the 14- and 15-year-olds because the teacher didn’t show up again. Dad accepted and was surprised to hear Gus accept.
When they got in the class, Dad couldn’t get the kids to pay attention, so Gus stood up and there was total silence.
Then Gus told of a certain friend of his (he gave no name) who had started smoking when he was 14 and who was completely addicted by the time he was 24. He told how his friend couldn’t stop smoking, no matter how hard he tried, until he went to the Lord in prayer. And then his friend was given the strength to quit. Then Gus bore testimony of the Word of Wisdom.
Dad said it was the best impromptu lesson he’d ever heard. The kids loved it. He said he’s proud of Gus.
Now I just wish Gus would write. What’s going through his mind?
My eyes are full of tears as I write this evening. I received a letter from Gus. It’s the very first since I’ve been out.
He began by apologizing for never writing. He confessed he used to smoke. He said he’s never told anyone but the bishop and me. He asked me to never tell Mom and Dad because they’d be so hurt. If he only knew.
He told me he has fallen in love with the ward and never misses church. He and the bishop have had many talks, and Gus feels he has found a new friend.
He announced he has read the Book of Mormon from cover to cover. He bore testimony of its truthfulness and expressed his appreciation for the gospel of Jesus Christ.
He says he’s trying to get his friend Rod to talk to the missionaries.
And the most special news is that my big brother Gus will be ordained an elder this coming Sunday by my Dad.
The Lord answers prayers.
Gus has shaved his beard and cut his hair! Mom sent me a snapshot of him. He looks so funny! I’d forgotten what a baby face he has without whiskers.
Another letter from Gus! He says even though he’s 25 years old, he thinks about serving a mission once in a while.
He said he would probably go anywhere in the world but Japan, because, though he loves the people and culture, he is still not sold on Japanese motorcycles.
I almost can’t believe I’m writing this! Gus talked to our stake president! The missionary papers have been submitted. He’s actually waiting for his call. He says he’s going crazy waiting. I can relate. I’ve been there.
He’s really going on a mission. Gus, a missionary!
A telegram from home! Gus is going to Japan. That’s about the funniest thing I’ve ever heard.
They’re not giving him much time. He enters the MTC December 3rd. I’ll barely miss seeing him. I don’t get released until December 20th. That’ll make four years before we see each other. Four years! I’ll go crazy. A guy could get married in four years! Kids, college, we’ll be strangers.
But you know what? I wouldn’t have it any other way.
A letter from Gus. He’ll sell his gas station and the great and irreplaceable Harley D. to pay for his mission. What a sacrifice! I’m so proud of Gus.
And get this! He says he’s going to try to save money so when he gets back he can buy a Kawasaki motorcycle. He calls it “cultural appreciation.”
Mom wrote. Gus’s farewell testimonial was great. She said at least 20 platinum blondes were in attendance.
His testimony brought tears to many eyes. What really humbles me is Mom says he told everybody he loved me and expressed thanks for my example.
Gus. His story is a miracle.

It was in a sacrament meeting that I came to better appreciate the power of a mother’s teaching. A young returned missionary, Clint Jordan, was telling us about his mission and of the variety of experiences he had had in sharing the gospel.
But then he said something that made me more than just a casual listener. “I really wouldn’t have had any of these experiences,” he said, “if my mother hadn’t taught me the real value of prayer.”
He continued, “I can still hear my mother’s voice telling me over and over again, ‘Clint, there’s no reason to be afraid. Whenever you are alone or you begin to feel afraid, remember that your Heavenly Father is always with you.’”
Gathering my children together after the meeting, I could still feel the power of that testimony. A mother’s example, and the example of her son, gave me greater resolve to instill that same understanding of prayer in the hearts of my small children.

Because sacred music opens our hearts to the influence of the Holy Ghost, it is one of the means by which our Father in Heaven can bless and strengthen us. A sister who had struggled with serious health problems for many years was in constant pain. A few years ago, she underwent some prolonged and painful medical tests. Afterward, she was asked how she was able to withstand the tests. “I sang in my head every Primary song I could remember,” she replied. “The pain did not go away, but I was given strength to endure.”

Not long ago, my wife and I decided that we should more fully experience the beauty of an area close to our home in northwest Montana. We determined to take our bicycles to the Hiawatha Trail, a converted rail line that crosses the beautiful Rocky Mountains between Montana and Idaho. We anticipated a fun day with good friends, enjoying the natural beauty of the area.
We knew our ride along the magnificent 15-mile (24 km) trail would include trestles stretching over deep canyons and long tunnels penetrating rugged mountains. So we prepared ourselves with lights strapped to our helmets and bicycles.
Those who had gone before warned us that the tunnels were dark and that we needed really strong lights. As we gathered in front of the massive stone opening of the Taft Tunnel, a caretaker explained some of the dangers of the trail, including deep ditches along the edges, rough walls, and complete darkness. Impatiently, we pushed forward into the tunnel. After we had ridden only a few minutes, the predicted darkness engulfed us. The lights I brought proved inadequate, and the darkness soon overwhelmed them. Suddenly, I began to feel anxious, confused, and disoriented.
I was embarrassed to admit my anxieties to my friends and family. Although an experienced cyclist, I now felt as though I had never ridden a bicycle. I struggled to stay upright as my confusion increased. Finally, after I did express my discomfort to those around me, I was able to draw closer to the more powerful light of a friend. In fact, everyone in the group began to form a tight circle around him. By staying close to him and relying for a time on his light and the collective light of the group, we pushed deeper into the darkness of the tunnel.
After what seemed like hours, I saw a pinpoint of light. Almost immediately, I began to feel reassured that all would be well. I continued to press forward, relying on both the light of my friends and the growing pinpoint of light. My confidence gradually returned as the light grew in size and intensity. Long before reaching the end of the tunnel, I no longer needed the assistance of my friends. All anxiety disappeared as we pedaled quickly toward the light. I felt calm and reassured even before we rode into the morning full of warmth and splendor.

I stepped out of the car in my Sunday best and opened my umbrella. My host father merely smiled and pointed to a red brick building, saying, “Das Gebäude dort drüben.” I thanked him and watched his car roll back into traffic.
When I left home in the United States to come to Germany I thought I didn’t need the Church, that I wouldn’t notice two weeks without sacrament meeting. But the past two weekends I had noticed. I noticed something missing that now made me quicken my pace as I approached the building shown to me the night before by the two missionaries serving in this small German town.
When I reached the door, an elder opened it and beckoned me inside. The room was about the size of my bedroom and had plain, whitewashed walls. Four rows of chairs and a plain wooden table holding one tray for bread and another for water were all this tiny room had in the way of furniture. White lace covered the windows.
Though the room was small and the people unknown to me, the first thought that entered my mind was “I’m home. I’m home.”
I sat down and the service began. We sang “The Spirit of God” (Hymns, no. 2) loud and clear in German, and my heart sang with the familiarity. Never had that hymn had a greater impact on me.
I wanted to laugh and dance and say to the people walking on the rainy streets, “Don’t you realize? Don’t you realize this Church is true? Isn’t it wonderful?”
The sacrament prayer began, and I bowed my head, listening to the familiar prayer in German. I listened intently, loving each word. I’m home. I’m home.
Tears began to form in my eyes as a plastic sacrament tray was passed. Though the congregation was small, the Spirit was strong. Others were crying too. I felt the Spirit burn and leap inside my heart as it never had before.
I looked through the lace curtains at the gloomy world outside and smiled through my tears. Thousands of miles away from my family, I knew I was at home in the Church.

When I was a child, my mother introduced me to the nature of God with a story from her own childhood: “As a little girl, I walked home from school with my brother. We always took a shortcut past a large black dog that chased us as we ran by his house. If we ran at just the right time, we could make it to a fence and to safety. My brother would tell me when to run.

“One day I was alone and didn’t run at the right time. The dog threatened me, and I froze on the sidewalk in terror. As he lunged toward me, I cried out as loud as I could, ‘Heavenly Father, help me!’”

Suddenly, my mother recalled, the dog halted as if his way had been barred, and she crawled through the fence to safety. She knew her prayer had been answered.
That story told me much about the God my mother worshiped. It gave me a sense of security, a comfort I could not have put into words.

A ward member told me that one day she saw a car driving by and, thinking I was the driver, she waved. A moment later, she thought, “How silly! Laurie’s blind; she can’t see me wave.” Her mind didn’t find it at all odd that I could be driving the car. “I felt so silly when I thought of it later,” she told me. “But then, I always forget you are blind.” Perhaps that is the greatest compliment I am ever paid—when people think of me as they would any other individual. “I forget you’re blind”—that’s one of the nicest things I could hear.

Elizabeth Fetzer Bates, a piano teacher and the mother of six children, became totally blind in 1951. She accepted her blindness as a challenge and decided that she would learn to do everything that she could. She said, “I wrote ‘Pioneer Children’ because we are all pioneers—we’ve never been in today before.”
In 1969, she wrote “Book of Mormon Stories” because she loves the Book of Mormon and is grateful for America.
She thinks that children like this song because it is simple and true.
Sister Bates still teaches piano lessons, and she believes that everyone should write a song. “Heavenly Father has created so many lovely things that we should sing as we walk along! We can always be happy if we remember to be grateful.”

NARRATOR: When inspiring words unite with noble and stirring music, art is raised to worship. There is perhaps no better blending of artistic talent in LDS hymns than in those created by Eliza R. Snow and George Careless. Five times the products of their combined pens appear in our hymnbook. Of these, none excels the hymn “Though Deepening Trials.”
Written in 1838 or 39 when the Saints were being driven from their homes in Missouri, the poem offers strength, encouragement, and hope. Having experienced persecution, first in Kirtland and then Missouri, Eliza R. Snow understood the need for comfort, assurance, and hope for better times. From the depths of anguish and despair rose the lofty expression of hope and courage:
“Press on, press on, ye Saints …
The time at longest is not long …
Though tribulations rage abroad,
Christ says, ‘In me ye shall have peace.’”
Just as these noble thoughts found life in the midst of despair, so too did the music. George Careless had endured a long illness that had gradually sapped his physical as well as his spiritual strength.
In a mood of great despondency, he went first to the scriptures and then to his beloved hymnbook in an attempt to find some comfort and hope. As he read through the familiar words of the hymns he knew so well, he came at length to one of Eliza R. Snow’s that she called “Be Not Discouraged.” As he read through the words, they inspired him to write the music that has made this hymn one of our most popular. His spirits rose, his despair left, and when he was once again well, he called on his good friend, Horace K. Whitney, to suggest a title for it. Brother Whitney gave it the name, “Reliance.” (See Pyper, p. 140; Cornwall, p. 278.)
SONG: “Though Deepening Trials.” (Hymns, p. 285.)

In December 2020, Church services resumed, and the missionary force started growing, but so did political unrest, and President Russell M. Nelson ultimately decided the missionaries needed to move out of the country.
Miraculously, some of the missionaries serving in remote areas were able to fly to the nation’s capital before access to Addis Ababa was cut off. “On our mission, we learned that you’re never alone. The Lord is at the helm” recalled Darice. Missionaries who had been tested for COVID-19 were put on a plane to Kenya, where the Ethiopia mission was relocated.
They operated from Kenya, although most of their missionaries were reassigned temporarily to the Kenya Nairobi Mission. Those who remained in the Ethiopia mission used telephones and limited technology to connect with members and friends of the Church in Ethiopia, where local leaders took over the responsibility of missionary work.
Of the Kenya experience, senior missionaries, Elder and Sister Moyers said, “We experienced that unexpected and drastic change presses on our emotions, intellect, and especially our faith in our purpose . . . Being relocated is either a blessing or a challenge, and each missionary has the agency to choose which it will be for him or her.”
The Moyers served as member-leader support missionaries and helped to build the Church from within. President Dudfield said, “We learned the significant value of missionary service and the great value of senior couples. This is a call for those willing and able to serve. It changes your life.”

Like many of you, I am frequently before those who are not of our faith, and the challenge is great and wonderful. Not long ago I was given a little honor before a great group of non-Latter-day Saint athletes. In the proceedings of the convention, one of my great idols, a Hall of Famer, was to take the rostrum and speak to us. Being the great athlete that he was, respected by many, I was shocked to hear his language as he repeatedly took the name of the Lord in vain. As I sat there, I wondered, “What do you do as a Latter-day Saint in these kinds of social situations?” And then I remembered—again, a great influence in my life—the counsel from a prophet and an experience that he had had one time coming out of surgery. An orderly who was wheeling the prophet back to his hospital room on a little metal cart caught his hand between the door and the cart in the elevator and, not thinking, let go with a few adjectives, taking the name of the Lord in vain in the process. And a prophet, sick as he was physically but very well spiritually, lifted his head and said, “Please don’t talk that way—that’s my best friend.”
Those thoughts went through my mind as I listened to my idol. As he concluded and sat down, I put my hand on his knee and said to him, “You’re terrific! Did you know that when I was growing up I had you on a high pedestal? But, if I might level with you, tonight you fell off that pedestal.”
He said, “Didn’t you like my workshop?”
I said, “I loved it. But every time you opened your mouth, you offended me and a lot of other people out there. I’m going to challenge you tonight, as your friend, to clean up your language.”
I thought of the apostle Paul and Joseph Smith and particularly of a prophet today, Spencer W. Kimball; and I learned on that occasion, as I have on many others, that people really want what you and I have, if we have the courage to give it.

In a 1929 American football game held in Pasadena, California, a player named Roy Riegels recovered a fumble and ran almost the length of the field toward the wrong goal line. He was tackled and brought down by one of his own teammates, thus preventing a score for the other team. He had lost his sense of direction in a moment of stress. His mistake cost his team a victory. He was a great player, but ever afterward he was remembered as the man who ran the wrong way.

Even as we strive with all our might to fulfill our mission, we will all have experiences we would rather avoid. But these experiences, as unpleasant as they may be, can be most helpful to us. My next area of mission service was made up of sixteen small islands. Because the mission was so short of missionaries, I had no companion. My only instructions were that I should preach the gospel and build up the Church in my area.

Often I took members of the Church on some of those islands, and I often took them with me on preaching trips. We mostly traveled by small sailboat. One day as we were sailing to our home island, the weather became very rough. Suddenly we found ourselves in the middle of a tropical storm which was very dangerous. As two huge waves came toward us, the captain shouted to the six of us on board the boat, “Abandon ship!”

We dove into the sea as those waves smashed our tiny boat, leaving us struggling for our lives. Exerting all our efforts, we headed for a small island we had passed earlier. After swimming for about one hour, we finally made it to the shore, exhausted but alive. The storm passed rather rapidly, but we were still stranded on the island for several days before we were able to make our way home over much friendlier seas.

How much more I appreciated life and solid ground than I had before. We don’t begin to understand or appreciate life as we should until we sense the closeness of death. This whole experience gave me a new outlook and appreciation for life.

While I would not have chosen that experience in the sea or some other experiences I had, much of my subsequent happiness and joy can be traced back to some of those so-called “unwanted” experiences. We don’t need to seek these experiences. They find us more often than we may desire. All we have to do is try with all our might to live the way we should, remember on our goal, and leave the rest to the Lord.

Family prayer is a powerful and sustaining influence. During the dark days of World War II, a 500-pound bomb fell outside the little home of Brother Patey, a young father in Liverpool, England, but the bomb did not go off. His wife had died, so he was rearing his five children alone. He gathered them together at this very anxious time for family prayer. They “all prayed … earnestly and when they had finished praying, the children said: ‘Daddy, we will be all right. We will be all right in our home tonight.’
“And so they went to bed, imagine, with that terrific bomb lying just outside the door half submerged in the ground. If it had gone off it would have destroyed probably forty or fifty houses and killed two or three hundred people. …
“The next morning the … whole neighborhood was removed for forty-eight hours and the bomb was finally taken away. …
“On the way back Brother Patey asked the foreman of the A. R. P. Squad: ‘Well, what did you find?’
“‘Mr. Patey, we got at the bomb outside of your door and found it ready to explode at any moment. There was nothing wrong with it. We are puzzled why it did not go off.’” Miraculous things happen when families pray together.

Some young men march to the beat of a different drum. Because they may not enjoy physical activity, as most do, they are often isolated from the group. I remember one young man, not much of an athlete, who excelled on the stage. In our ward plays and roadshows, we could always count on a stellar performance from Mike.

Later in his youth he directed a theater-in-the-round production in the ward. Today he teaches drama in a great university and is a faithful member of the Church. How easily we could have lost him without that opportunity to be someone and to excel at something. Our cultural arts have been neglected in recent years, not intentionally, but when stakes and wards were given the liberty to choose their activities instead of being dictated to from Church headquarters—something made necessary by the worldwide growth of the Church—some took this as a signal that cultural arts were no longer to be promoted. The ward and stake activity committees are there to help our bishoprics, quorums, and Young Women classes carry out those cultural activities planned by the Bishopric Youth Committee: music, drama, speech, dance. These again are as broad as the interests of the youth and a valuable resource in promoting activity and brotherhood in the Aaronic Priesthood quorums.

Thirty years ago, as a branch president, I was interviewing a man and his wife. The wife was tearing down her husband: he had not been the provider she had expected; he had not been the companion she had dreamed about before her marriage; they could not communicate together without arguing and attacking one another.
Her husband loved her, and yet she hurt him. There were tears in his eyes as he absorbed the verbal abuse. I couldn’t take any more as a twenty-one-year-old branch president, and asked, “Why do you hurt this person who loves you the most? Why do you hurt a husband who would do anything to help you?”
Her answer startled me. “Oh, I guess we argue and injure those we love because we can hurt them the most.”
I have never forgotten that incident. There is truth in that example. We can’t hurt a stranger as much as we can a loved one. We know just what to do to hurt our companions, parents, or brothers and sisters. We know where they are vulnerable. We know how they can be hurt the most by our actions. To many it seems to be a test of faith in life to be wounded by those closest to us. Of Jesus it is said in Zechariah that when asked where he had received the wounds in his hands, he would say that he “was wounded in the house of [his] friends.” (Zech. 13:6.) Isn’t it true that God, our Father, and his Son grieve when we sin? When we fail to be obedient and accept the atoning sacrifice of our Lord, aren’t we hurting Him who loves us most?