Gospel Story Finder

Your courage must be equal to, if not greater than, the courage of young women like Mary Goble Pay. From her journal we read: “We arrived in Salt Lake City nine o’clock at night the 11th of December 1856. Three out of four that were living were frozen. My mother was dead in the wagon. …
“Early next morning Bro. Brigham Young … came. … When he saw our condition—our feet frozen and our mother dead—tears rolled down his cheeks.
“The doctor amputated my toes. … The sisters were dressing Mother for [her grave. When my feet were fixed, they carried us in to see our mother for the last time.] That afternoon she was buried. …
“I [have] thought of [my mother’s] words [before we left England], ‘Polly, I want to go to Zion while my children are small, so they can be raised in the Gospel of Christ. For I know this is the true Church.’” (In A Believing People, Richard H. Cracroft and Neal E. Lambert, comp., Provo, Utah: Brigham Young University Press, 1979, pp. 107, 111.)

What happened last week made me feel even closer to Lizzie. It was a steamy, sweltering day, and Jacob and I were digging in the cool earth beneath our back porch.
We found pieces of broken china buried there. We pretended we were archaeologists and sorted them into bags.
Then I dug up something small and round, caked with red clay.
“What is it?” Jacob asked.
“I think it’s a doorknob. I’m going to wash it off.”
As I carefully scrubbed away the mud, a rosebud mouth, dark eyes, and round pink cheeks emerged. It was the tiny head of a doll, made of thick china! Even her black hair was china. Except for a few nicks, it was in amazingly good condition.
“Cool!” Jacob cried. “Let’s see if we can find the rest.”
It felt sort of gruesome, digging for body parts.
We found her feet and hands, minus the tip of one foot and a thumb. Mama said her body had probably been made of cloth and had rotted away. She helped me sew a new body from muslin, and a gown of pink taffeta.
How did the doll end up beneath our porch? Did someone leave it there and forget about it till it was buried by time? I guess we’ll never know.
I like to think it belonged to Lizzie. I hope she knows that I have it now and is glad.
When school starts, I’ll make other friends, but Lizzie is my best friend right now. I think we knew and loved each other before I was born.
My family have only been members of the Church for a few years. We have a lot of work to do, finding and turning in our ancestors’ names and dates so that we can do the temple work for them. I’m glad that Lizzie’s work is done so that we can be together some day. Thanks to her, I know that all those names belong to real people, people who were once kids who played with dolls and rattled sticks along the railing—like my friend Lizzie.

During the tears and other hubbub of leaving the airport, I paid little attention to all the words of advice and caution everyone was giving me. All I could see was the jet pulling up to the gate and visions of converting the entire countries of Guatemala and El Salvador. Finally, we were told to board, There was a rush of last minute hugs, kisses (from my parents and sisters), and, of course, that special handshake from a smiling, beautiful girl who was close to crying.
When I reached the door leading to the boarding area, my father said, “Son, obey all the rules, and you’ll be happy in life.” I nodded a hurried “Sure, Dad” and left. As I walked to the plane, I laughed to myself. “Dad, you got your words mixed again. You meant to say, ‘Obey all the rules, and you’ll be happy on your mission.’” With that, I tossed his advice into my memory, filed under “Parental Counsel.”
Seven months later, my father was dead.
In those first wavering hours after my mission president told me of the tragic plane accident, I found myself much like the cartoon character who has a devil on one shoulder and an angel on the other. The devil said: “What are you doing here? All that talk about life after death is not true. You go on a mission and what happens. You break your foot; go to the hospital; come to a strange land, with strange people and strange customs; and your father gets killed. Sure it’s the happiest two years of your life. 3,200 kilometers away from home, and you’re all alone.”
Such thoughts were foreign to me. I had been a faithful member of the Church all my life; yet, the thoughts were there.
The angel on my other shoulder said: “Be strong, Elder. You had a great father you can be proud of, a mighty patriarch who taught you the gospel in all things. You know eternal life is a true principle of the gospel, and you know your father will be waiting for you. You ve had a testimony of the gospel since you were old enough to cry. This is no time to start doubting.”
In the midst of this struggle between doubt and reality, my father’s last words at the airport came echoing into my mind: “Son, obey all the rules, and you’ll be happy in life.” Dad hadn’t confused his words at all. Those final words to me were inspired counsel that would guide me for the rest of my life. My father lived as he taught, and a few weeks following his death, the full testimony of his life was made manifest to me.
Finances became a major concern. I had enough money in the bank to cover 11 of the remaining 15 months of my mission and hoped Mom could get enough together for the remaining four. My plans for college now became hopes and dreams. However, the Lord takes care of his missionaries.
I received a letter from my mother telling me that I needn’t worry about finances anymore. A man had contacted my bishop and asked if he could support me for the rest of my mission. This is not too unusual, since there are many good-hearted men in the Church, but the difference in this instance was in what the man told my bishop: “l’m not a member of your church, but out of the love and respect I have for Horace Rappleye, I’d like to support his son for the rest of his mission.” And he did. For 15 months the money was placed regularly in my bank account by the anonymous benefactor.
He remains anonymous to this day.
My father’s life of obedience brought blessings to him even after he died. His death became the highlight of my mission. That may be a strange thing to say, and I wish my father were still alive, but my mission thereafter became a living testimony to my father’s life. I soon found how precious it is to live “all the rules.” No matter how small or insignificant the rule seemed, if I obeyed, I was happy.
We are told by the Lord, “There is a law, irrevocably decreed in heaven before the foundations of this world, upon which all blessings are predicated—
“And when we obtain any blessing from God, it is by obedience to that law upon which it is predicated.” (D&C 130:20–21.)
This scripture is true. Whenever I find that I become depressed or unhappy. I usually find it is because I am not being obedient in all things as I should. At these times a comforting echo reverberates in my head. “Son, obey all the rules, and you’ll be happy in life.”

Later, a young man moved into our community from Nigeria. I found out that he had recently completed his mission and relocated to my community. I enjoyed coming around him because of his strange accent and his stories about the development happening in Nigeria—the beautiful streets and cities.
One day, while we were arguing, one of my colleagues, Amos Bangura, made a statement: “Liberia is a hell, and if you are born and die in Liberia and go to hell, it is a double punishment. Then God is not fair because things are so tough in Liberia.”
The returned missionary, Brother James Kolue, quickly used that statement as an opportunity to teach us about Heavenly Father’s love for all His children—no matter their location, family background, or country. He taught us that God’s love extends beyond our imagination.
After his teaching, I quickly asked him: “Which church are you attending?”
He replied, “I attend The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Have you heard about this church before?”
I quickly said, “Yes, I sometimes see their missionaries passing by.”
He asked if I would like to learn from the missionaries, and I accepted the invitation. I started meeting with the missionaries. They were friendly and kind, and their message about Jesus Christ and the plan of salvation felt different from anything I had ever heard before.
I spent several weeks learning more about their beliefs and reading the Book of Mormon. There was something about the teachings that resonated deeply with me. I remember the day I prayed for the first time to know if the Church was true, and I felt an overwhelming peace—something I had never felt before.
That was when I knew I had to take the next step.
However, life became tough, and I moved to Logan Town in search of opportunities. There, I met different missionaries and stopped them to explain that I had been learning with missionaries in Brewerville. They contacted the other missionaries and continued my teaching.
The missionaries introduced me to the bishop, who was then Bishop Paul Wrotto. He guided and helped me as I took this new step. Soon after, I was baptized. The moment I emerged from the water, I felt like a new person. My heart was full, my mind clearer, and I was ready to follow the path that Heavenly Father had set for me.
The gospel changed everything in my life, and I felt a strong desire to share it with others—just as the missionaries had shared it with me.
I felt prompted to serve a full-time mission and discussed this with Bishop Wrotto. The decision wasn’t easy. I had doubts about leaving behind the life I knew, especially the part-time job that I struggled to get. But my bishop said two things that remained in my heart:
God knows you personally. “Seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you” (Matthew 6:33).
You should create time for God. God should not create time for you.
These words kept playing in my mind. I knew it was what I was supposed to do.
I began preparing for my mission, and soon I was called to serve in the Ghana Accra Mission under President and Sister Young. I left my job to fully prepare, but then the unexpected happened: COVID-19.
The pandemic spread rapidly, buildings were shut down, churches were closed, and public gatherings were prohibited. The missionary training center (MTC) was closed, and I was stuck at home—no job, no mission, just frustration.
During this period, I began questioning my decision. But my bishop encouraged me to use the time as an opportunity to study the scriptures and follow the Come, Follow Me program.
Later, we were notified that we would begin online MTC training. Finally, I was blessed to serve in the Ghana Accra Mission.
My mission took me to places where I met incredible people and worked with companions who taught me to be bold in sharing the gospel and patience in helping others find the same joy I had found.
When I returned home, I felt the desire to share the gospel with my family—especially my brother. He had been skeptical when I first joined the Church. He didn’t understand why I was so passionate about it. But instead of forcing him, I decided to live by example.
One evening, I sat down with him and shared my testimony. I told him how the gospel had changed my life. To my surprise, he listened. We discussed the Book of Mormon, the teachings of Jesus Christ, and the Restoration of the gospel. It wasn’t a quick process, but over time he started reading and praying on his own.
Months later my brother made the decision to be baptized. I couldn’t have been happier. I saw him changing, growing, and the same light I once felt began to shine in him.
Eventually, he felt inspired to serve a full-time mission as well. He is currently serving in the DRC Kinshasa West Mission.
It brings me so much joy to see how far he has come. I know he will touch lives and help others find the same peace that comes from knowing Jesus Christ.
The gospel is meant to be shared, and I will continue to share it with those around me—just as I once shared it with my brother.
As I reflect on my journey—from meeting the missionaries, becoming a missionary myself, and helping my brother find his own path—I know that the Lord’s plan is much bigger than we can understand.
I call this story “a journey of faith.”

Called as president of the Pioneer Stake in Salt Lake City at the age of 31, President Lee became the youngest stake president at that time. It was 1930. A worldwide economic depression had begun, and more than 4,800 of the 7,300 members of the Pioneer Stake required assistance. President Lee spent long hours seeking the Lord’s help to know what to do. Hearkening to the voice of inspiration, he set up a stake storehouse modeled after his father’s ward storehouse in Clifton. He did more, providing the unemployed with work projects such as caring for a large stake garden and building a stake gymnasium.

You’re Rosalie Pakiding, you’re 18 years old, and you’ve just graduated from high school. You’ve been accepted at the University of San Carlos in your native Cebu, Philippines, and you’ve decided you want to major in political science. You’ve got the world in front of you, and you can’t wait to tackle college. You’ve got big plans.
Then the next thing you know, you’re withdrawing from classes and telling your family and friends you’ve decided not to go to school for six months. Attending school right now just doesn’t feel right. You say it’s a feeling you have, but you really know it’s the Holy Ghost speaking to you. It doesn’t make sense to many people. But it does to you, and that’s all that matters.
So you’re left waiting for the second semester to start, which is still six months away. Half a year with free time on your hands. What do you do? You could apply for a job, so you check around to see what’s available. You’re offered a position working in a factory assembling parts to telephones. But working all day means you’d miss your institute classes, and since you enjoyed seminary so much when you were in high school, you turn the job down because, as you say, “Institute is more important.”
Then some things happen that help you understand why you had the feelings you did about going to school. It begins to make more sense.
You meet with Mrs. Itomay from your neighborhood. Her six-year-old daughter, Queenie Ann, is in kinder-one in school, but she has some troubles. She was born with a defect in her tongue that limits her ability to speak. Mrs. Itomay works all day, and she is worried. She knows Queenie Ann needs a tutor who can give her individual attention in the areas that are hard for her. But Mrs. Itomay doesn’t know who could provide that help. To compound matters, she doesn’t have much money to pay a tutor.
So you look at Mrs. Itomay and say, “I think I have an idea.”
You volunteer to be Queenie Ann’s tutor, and Mrs. Itomay is so relieved. What little money she does have she offers to you, but you turn it down. Although you could use the money you realize those seminary lessons about service really did sink in.
Suddenly you’ve got things to do, and life is going to be a bit different. It seems a little odd that instead of sitting in college classes as you planned, it’s you and this six-year-old working on the alphabet.
But you settle into a routine. You do your household chores in the morning and then pick up Queenie Ann. You have word exercises for her to do, you help her write her letters, and you take her to school. She’s a bit of a slow learner. But when she writes out a letter or says a word, you feel so good inside. You also discover she likes to sing. She’s shy around strangers, but you’ve quickly become her best friend. She sings to you a lot. Things are going so well that Queenie asks you if you’ll teach her more. You can tell she’s really learning. And she seems very happy. Whether you’re learning words or stopping for a soda pop break at a store outside the school, it doesn’t matter. She just likes being with you. And you know what? You like it too.
“I’ve learned to love her,” you say, not the least bit surprised by your response.
Taking a semester off, you also figured to have some free time when you weren’t with Queenie Ann. But then your ward, Mandaue II, is asked to produce a road show about the Book of Mormon for a stake activity. It’s a big project, and your bishop is looking for a person to serve as the scriptwriter. Everybody is so busy with school except you, so you volunteer for the assignment. Again, it just feels right.
There have been times when you wondered if you made the right decision, delaying school and everything. You’ve watched while friends progressed in school without you. You’ve asked your Heavenly Father for a confirmation that what you were doing was what he wanted and what was best for you. Eventually those feelings of doubt leave and you say, “I understand now.” And you really do.
Your testimony continues to grow, and you are so excited when you learn new gospel concepts. You’re a bit short on money, but that doesn’t seem to matter. “The knowledge I have learned from institute class cannot be exchanged for the money I could have earned if I had worked,” you explain when someone asks why you’re doing this. Then you continue. “I’m very happy about it.”
It’s then that you look down at Queenie Ann, who’s holding your hand. She looks up at you while squinting in the hot Philippines sun. She smiles, and as you smile back you realize that while dropping out of school for one semester would not be the right decision for most people, it was one of the best decisions you’ve ever made.

It certainly did in Dallas, Texas. A young woman in the Dallas Texas East Stake invited her non-LDS friend to be a part of their service celebration. Her non-LDS parents were passing by the stake center and wanted to see what their daughter was doing there. They came in, listened to the program, felt the light. “We want to become a part of your church,” they said afterwards. The missionaries are now giving them the discussions.

The understanding came much better into focus two years ago at a Christmas gathering when one of our dear friends told of his experience during the Second World War. He was serving in the South Pacific when the commander of his unit ordered for the following day a special reconnaissance mission for John’s detachment. John said, “I shuddered at the thought of this assignment, for I knew from experience that it would be useless and foolish. There was no valuable purpose to be attained by it. It would be very dangerous, and I felt almost certainly that, if I went, I along with others would be killed. I prayed that night with great earnestness, explaining to the Lord how I wanted to devote my life to his purposes. I didn’t want to lose my life in some useless, fruitless mission. I wanted to return home safely and fulfill my destiny in the earth—to find my wife and raise a family in the gospel. The Lord heard my prayer. In the morning I was afflicted with a fever. I wasn’t very ill but ill enough that I was relieved from the mission, with another being sent in my stead.” As he had foreseen, the mission was a disaster and his replacement, together with a number of others, was killed. Then John said, “I really began to think. This man had given his life for me. Whenever I rejoice in the blessings of my life I now remember him. The gifts of my wife, my children, my grandchildren, my whole blessed life on this earth were bought for me at the sacrifice of the life of that man who took my place. It was unavoidable, of course, in this case, but nevertheless very real.”

Of such a nature, but even more infinite, was the sacrifice of the Savior in our behalf. Were it not for him—the life he lived and the atonement he wrought—we would all be without hope of continued happiness and of the blessings of exaltation, and we would be in a way to suffer grievous penalties and disasters which make life utterly unbearable.

Caregiving has been one of the most difficult experiences we have ever had, but also one of the most rewarding. We have seen so many miracles. There were moments when the right resources and people seemed to come out of nowhere exactly when we needed them. Moments when certain medications suddenly became available. Moments when, after an unbearable day, unexpected peace would wash over us. And one of the most beautiful miracles I (Stephen) experienced was watching tender tears fall down Kay’s cheeks as she departed from this world, finally at peace, and seemingly recalling things she hadn’t remembered in years.

During an interview while I served in an elders quorum presidency, I asked a fellow quorum member if he had ever felt and acted on a spiritual prompting. He thought for a moment and shared an experience.
One afternoon he was washing dishes when he received a strong impression to go knock on a neighbor’s door. He did not understand why, but the prompting was powerful and urgent. He stopped what he was doing and left right away.
He arrived at his neighbor’s door, not knowing what to do or say, and knocked. No one answered. He knocked again. There was still no answer. Concluding that no one was home, he turned to leave but then felt another prompting.
He walked back to the door and simply said, “Sister, I love you.” Then he departed.
He thought this experience was unusual, and he felt a little embarrassed by it. I told him that the Lord does not always tell us the reasons for promptings, but we should never feel embarrassed for acting on them. This brother moved away shortly after our interview.
During a fast and testimony meeting a year later, a sister I did not know walked to the stand to bear her testimony. Through tears, she explained that she had been away from the Church for several years, and during that time she became so depressed that she felt she could not go on any longer.
“Heavenly Father, if You really exist and if You really love me,” she prayed, “tell me now so I understand!”
Almost immediately, she heard a knock on her door and then another. When she didn’t answer, she heard a voice say, “Sister, I love you.”
She said feelings of love overwhelmed her, and she found new strength to face her troubled life. She said things were still not great, but her life was improving.
I had no part in this experience, but I have still been blessed. I gained insight into how two seemingly unrelated acts of faith demonstrated that our Father in Heaven knows all of us, and He calls upon us to act on promptings to help His children. I am grateful for, and cherish, this knowledge.

With your indulgence I would like to share a personal experience related to the balance between the intellect and the spirit. Prior to having this experience I thought I understood the doctrine, but afterwards I had certain knowledge that it is true. Intellect and spirituality are mutually dependent.
Over 26 years ago I was hired to be the managing director of the Welfare Services Department of the Church. We were at a critical stage in the history of welfare. Our charge was to bring the welfare program from the 1930s to the 1980s. It was time to go through an agonizing reappraisal of the program in light of current world and Church conditions. The specifics are irrelevant but it will suffice to say I was beside myself with worry and concern.
After praying for a solution, I had a terrific thought: “Glenn, you have access to the Quorum of the Twelve and to a member of the First Presidency. What a resource!” I canonized that thought. Consequently, I called for appointments and met one-on-one with these great men. I poured out my concerns and added my feeling that we were at a stage in the history of the Church where further revelation on the subject was necessary. Then I sat back with my yellow notepad and Cross pen and waited for pearls of wisdom.
I received one consistent pearl from each of those prophets, seers, and revelators: “Brother Pace, I commend you for your concern and conscientiousness in finding solutions to these weighty matters. I, too, have some deep concerns and anxieties and you are absolutely right; we do need additional revelation. Now, go get it!”
Who, me? I was an employee of the Church at the time, not a General Authority, but I, along with the well-qualified staff of the welfare department were charged with the responsibility to do our homework and bring forward well-thought-out recommendations to the Brethren which could be confirmed, modified, or rejected in the appropriate forums. It was our obligation and right to receive inspiration, but it came with agonizingly intense study, research, meditation, and prayer. We read everything we could find on welfare with the objective of separating principles from programs and policies from doctrine in order that we could come up with sound recommendations. It was a two-year process.
The points I wish to make are that we must learn how to obtain our own personal revelation and that revelation comes by using all the intellectual and spiritual abilities with which we have been blessed. The Spirit guides us along the way but will not replace the hard work. It would have been nice to offer up a prayer to the Lord on the first day of my employment and find the answer on my desk the next morning in the form of a welfare manual. It would also have made a more spectacular story. However, for good reason it doesn’t work that way.

At church, I was called as a ward clerk and later as a counselor in the bishopric. I couldn’t believe that someone in a wheelchair could serve. My accident had made me feel useless, but working in the Church made me feel useful and helped me realize I could contribute. I love the opportunity to grow closer to Jesus Christ as I serve.
As a counselor in the bishopric, I wanted to be guided so I could be better at my calling. That made me want to prepare more for each Sunday. I got into the habit of reading my scriptures, and I had opportunities to bear my testimony. Being a leader at church even helped me become a leader at work. I built up the feeling that I could lead and speak up, allowing me to lead in other areas.
“Working in the Church made me feel useful and realize that I could contribute,” says Posenai. “I love the opportunity to grow closer to Jesus Christ as I serve.”

The trial of my faith came to me at various stages of progression along the journey and was a true refiner’s fire. On one occasion, feeling wronged and hurt, I found myself drawn into an exchange of unfriendly words with a member of my core family. When I realized what was happening, I decided to shut my mouth and leave the scene. As I started walking away, I felt rebuked by the Spirit, so I returned and offered a sincere apology for my part in causing the incident. What followed were mutual tears of regret for what had happened and sincere forgiveness for one another.

Now let us go from lessons to lifelines. Years ago, while waterskiing with a friend, Bruce, we found ourselves in trouble as a thunderstorm with high winds moved over the lake so quickly that we had no time to seek the shore. A large wave broke over the motor, and the boat slid backwards into the water. Our swamped boat continued to float just under the surface with only the windshield visible above water. We held onto the side of the submerged boat as we waved for help to other boaters making their way to shore in the storm. As luck would have it, the first boat to arrive held three young boys—so young I was surprised to see them navigating a boat on their own. They moved in as close as they could and immediately shut off their motor. This was a mistake. Again and again they attempted to throw us a rope, but they were not strong enough and the wind prevailed. When they couldn’t restart their motor, they, too, were in trouble. I remember saying as I shivered in the water, “I hope those kids don’t drown because they stopped to help us.” Just a few minutes later two larger boats appeared, and we were encouraged when we saw they both had adult occupants. About the same time, the wind began to subside almost as quickly as it had begun. One man threw a towline to the boys, called out a few instructions, and headed for the dock. As they were being towed, the boys whooped and hollered—obviously enjoying the adventure more than we were.

A man in the other boat threw Bruce a line. He said he’d seen our boat go under and had immediately altered his course to help us. Gratefully we collected the floating items from our boat and passed them to our rescuers. A short time later we were headed to shore in their boat—towing a windshield attached to a submerged boat—and definitely not whooping.

I think of that ill-fated trip when I see children in trouble, particularly those riding the waves in troubled homes. I know the importance of a line thrown to a child by a concerned adult inside or outside the family circle.

“At Summer Quarters we read the scriptures every night,” explains counselor Dan Kolilis. “Just last night we went out to the tents where the boys stay and had pop and chips with them. Then we read in the Book of Mormon about Jesus Christ blessing the little children. All of this year’s male counselors are returned missionaries, so we talked about our missions. Then we read the verse that says: ‘Therefore, go ye unto your homes, and ponder upon the things which I have said, and ask of the Father, in my name, that ye may understand’ (3 Ne. 17:3). It was the last night of the camp. We wanted them to go home, as we will go home, to think about how, with the gospel in their lives, the Lord will help them and guide them.”

Yet life has never been easy for Brady. When he was three years old, he was hospitalized with a collapsed lung and pneumonia. When his condition suddenly worsened, I called his father and suggested that he come back to the hospital because I was sure that Brady could not live more than a few hours. When Brother Blaser arrived, he asked me to join him in administering to Brady. Brother Blaser gave his son another powerful blessing, promising him not only that he would live but that he would be running up the hospital hallway the next day!
As a doctor, I thought, Steve, you can’t promise him that he will run tomorrow—he is struggling just to live!
The next morning Brady ran up the hospital hallway to greet me!

Weak from kidney surgery, and abandoned by those dearest to me, I was totally discouraged. Life had become intolerable—hopeless. I was sick, paralyzed from the neck down, and broken in spirit. There was nothing nor anyone left to turn to. Or so it seemed.
Inactive for ten years, I had no formal connection with the Church except for a soft-spoken, unpretentious home teacher, Brad K. Robison. I had known Brad for about two years and had grown to regard him as kind and thoughtful. But it wasn’t until he walked into my hospital room at this, my life’s lowest ebb, that I realized what he represented and that the hope and promise he brought with him could make my life meaningful.
The first time I spoke with Brad, two years earlier, had been on the phone. A close friend had requested that someone from the Church look in on me, so Brad was assigned to be my home teacher. Knowing nothing about me, Brad asked, “Why haven’t I seen you at Church?”
Cynically, I answered, “My legs just can’t seem to get me there on Sunday.”
“Oh,” he replied. “Some Sundays I have the same problem.” Chuckling, he then asked me if he could visit me. I agreed, without telling him that I was unable to move my arms or legs.
When he walked into my home and realized my condition, Brad turned to me sorrowfully, paused, and then burst into laughter. I couldn’t help but laugh with him. We began talking and found we had quite a lot in common, including the desire to practice medicine—a goal I had been prevented from achieving by my auto accident and the resulting paralysis.
After a pleasant visit, Brad asked if he might come back another day. Thinking I would never see him again, I answered, “Sure.”
To my amazement, month after month, Brad returned. Even when my only words were “Go away!” he never let my moodiness or bitterness put him off. Always he would return, just to talk and ask if there was anything he could do. Not once, in all his early home teaching visits, did we talk about the Church, God, or anything religious. Patient, insightful, or just polite—I’m not sure which—Brad seemed to sense that my pain and suffering wouldn’t allow me, at that time, to accept the idea of a loving God. Brad became a friend when friends were scarce.
In time our friendship grew. The longer I knew him, the more his behavior reminded me of someone in my past—his quiet, inner peace; his sense of who he was and where he was going; his honesty and humility. But who it was, I couldn’t remember.
So it went until Brad, my diligent home teacher-turned-friend, cautiously walked into my hospital room that day. Once again, as when I had decided to join the Church, the truthfulness of the gospel and its witness washed over my being and became undeniable. Peace filled my heart. My self-pity and bitterness left me, and the sense of abandonment faded. I knew things were going to be all right. Suddenly, what before had seemed strangely familiar about Brad now no longer puzzled me. He was the reflection of myself when I was active in the Church and armed with the priesthood, the Holy Ghost, and a knowledge of the truthfulness of the gospel of Jesus Christ. Renewed with hope, I asked if the bishop would visit me.
Bishop C. Lynn Mahoney came and further convinced me that there were still good people—people who cared about others. Graciously, he helped solve my immediate temporal problems and warmly invited me to become active in the ward. He has since supported my efforts to be active by escorting me through the temple to receive my endowment and by asking several of the brethren to assist me to priesthood and sacrament meetings.
Is home teaching really important? I know it is. Because of a dedicated, persistent home teacher and his visit at a time when life seemed hopeless and no longer worth living, I’m once again active in the Church and have a second chance to live life according to Christ’s teachings. My home teacher helped me to see that the gospel offered hope—not only for salvation, but also for happiness in the here and now.

Recently, a young man in a wheelchair was referred to my office for counsel. He had been informed that he had a terminal illness. He desired a blessing and wanted to see a General Authority before he died. Elder Rector and I were talking with him when in came President Kimball. He had learned of the young man’s condition and came to spend a few moments with him. The President makes time for people.

Now a caution: Sometimes, we do not understand why the Lord is asking us to do what we are doing. The Lord’s ways are not our ways, so you really need to think, pray, and learn by faith. We need to be on the Lord’s errand and learn along the way. An example: The Lord came to a man and asked him to push against a big rock. Being obedient, he put on his clothes went out and started pushing. He pushed and pushed, but the rock was not moving. After many days, Satan came and suggested he stop. He had been working and sweating long enough, and the rock was not moving. The man agreed and sat down; that rock was simply too big to move. The Lord came by and asked him why he was sitting. The man explained that he tried as hard as he could, but the rock just would not move to which the Lord said, “I did not ask you to move the rock, I asked you to push against the rock. Look, you have lost some of that extra weight, your muscles are getting stronger, and you are out here in the fresh air and are healthier. Push against the rock, and when it is time to move the rock, I will come and help you.” He will help us with our big heavy rocks in His time, but you know what happens once that rock is moved? We have learned, we have progressed, and we get to push against an even bigger rock.

“Most of you knew Brian before he left on his mission,” she was saying. “You remember that he wanted to be an individual. He would rather take off with his dog in the hills than go to church.”
“Sometimes he would disappear for days—take off in the hills with his dog,” she continued. “We would stay at home and simply pray that God would protect him, wherever he was.”
“Brian has always wanted to worship in his own way,” said his mother.
Her boy had changed. He had gone on a mission. It had been a miracle.
“I wasn’t going to be like everybody else and go on a mission,” he said. “I was different, and I knew I was all right without the Church. I thought I was happy not going to meetings, but hiking off into the mountains for days. Sometimes my parents didn’t know where I was. I know I gave them a lot of concern.”
“But the time came when my friends were going on missions, and I had to make a decision,” the missionary continued. “It was one of the most difficult times of my life. I had never even read the Book of Mormon.
“And one of my friends who was going on a mission told me: ‘Sure, you’re supposed to go on a mission, but nobody will force you to go. Just give it a chance. Read the Book of Mormon. If you don’t want to go after that, at least you gave it a chance.’
“Well, you all know how that turned out.”
“But I want to tell you how it happened,” the missionary said. “I said okay, I’d take a couple of weeks in the desert with my dog and read the Book of Mormon. My friend drove me and my dog out into the desert 100 kilometers from any road. He left us out there with nothing but a little food and our survival equipment. I told him to pick us up in the same spot in about two weeks.”
“I finished the book in two days, and I knew it was true. I knew I wanted to go on a mission. I knew I wanted to tell the world that God still cares and that he provided this book for our guidance. I was ready now. But there I was, 100 kilometers from civilization, and my friend wasn’t going to pick me up for twelve more days.
“Well, I sat down on a rock and thought about what I should do. There really wasn’t any purpose for me to stay out there anymore. So I decided I’d try to walk out. I knew the direction I should go. I knew how far I was from the road. And, although when I look back on it I realize what a crazy decision it was, I thought I could reach the road in a couple of days if I left most of my food supplies and camp gear to retrieve later with a truck. So in the morning, I started out.
“I left camp in my jacket with only a couple of apples in my pocket, my knife, and some matches. I set out at a fast pace, probably covering almost thirty kilometers by mid-afternoon. But then it began to rain.
“It was not a usual rain. It flooded. The water fell in thick black sheets around me so that I could not even see landmarks to know where I was going. My dog and I were drenched within moments, and as the afternoon dragged on, we began to shake with the cold. I huddled inside my coat, overwhelmed with a dreadful feeling. What was I going to do?
“I’d heard enough about hypothermia—where the body gets too cold—to know that I needed to get out of the rain. It was February, and with evening so close, the rain would soon turn to ice. I needed to get dry, but I was too far away from my camp gear to turn back. Luckily, at that moment, I found some shelter in the crevice of some rocks. I crawled inside, and there was just enough space for me. My dog, wet and shaking with cold, stood outside wagging her tail. I wanted to wait for the storm to pass and stayed there for what seemed like hours. It became evident that we could not stay there in that rain. I needed to move and keep my blood circulating, yet out in the cold desert the rain was still pouring down. What could I do?
“I think it was the first time in my life that I really talked with God. I conversed with him like I never had before. I told him my dog and I were in great danger if we couldn’t dry off before the water turned to ice, and if the storm should last several days, we could not find food or build a fire.
“I told Heavenly Father that I now knew the Book of Mormon was true, and that I would serve a mission to tell others to read it so they would have the same confirmation.
“For a moment I stopped pleading with him and listened. I believe I thought he would stop the rain, but the rain continued to pour down in sheets.
“Never had I prayed like I did in those moments. Suddenly, the thought came into my mind that the Lord would do his part if I would just get out there and go. Maybe he would give me the strength to withstand the cold, but I just had to get out and get moving.
“In the moment that I left those rocks, I had a feeling of peace. My dog and I walked for a hundred meters or so in the drenching rain. I walked away from the rocks and into flat, open ground. My shoes, my clothes, my matches—everything was soaking wet, and the rain was still falling down on me in gray sheets.
“But as I continued, praying in my heart for strength, praying for purpose, a sudden soft light opened up above me. I looked around. There was no rain!
“I paused and looked at the blue hills. The rain had stopped only in a large area where I walked. On the edge of the great circle around me the dark rain was still falling, like a gray veil. I couldn’t believe it. The light came down softly around me. I felt warmer, drier, and was able to walk out of the desert.”