Gospel Story Finder

Amy and her family lived in an old log house at the foot of a pine tree covered mountain. She used to have to stand on a chair to look out the window, but now Amy stood on the floor and pressed her nose against the windowpane, watching the snowflakes float down.
“Mom! Mom!” she called. “Mother Goose is shaking her feather pillows again. Look at the snow coming down!” Amy danced happily around the room. “May I go outside?” Amy asked her mother. “I want to play in the snow.”
Amy’s mother looked outside at the snow-covered slope. Turning, she smiled at Amy and said, “Yes, but be careful. The snow looks soft and snuggly, but it covers hard rocks and holes.”
Giving her mother a quick little hug, Amy ran to the closet and put on her coat, stocking cap, mittens, and boots. Then she grinned at her mother and bounded out the door. There was a half-foot of snow on the ground. Amy laughed as she fell backward into the snow and moved her arms up and down and her legs back and forth to make a snow angel.
Quickly jumping up, Amy ran to the woodshed. I wish we had a sled, Amy thought as she opened the door. Maybe there’s something in here that I can use. Looking around, she saw an old deer hide stretched over a box. Maybe that will make a good sled, she thought, grabbing at the corner of the hide and dragging it up the hill. But the hide didn’t slide well at all, so Amy dragged it back to the woodshed. This time she found a large piece of cardboard.
After carrying the cardboard up the slope and checking for rocks and holes, Amy sat down on the cardboard and slid down the hill. “Whee! That was fun!” she shouted when she reached the bottom. But it wasn’t long until the cardboard was too soggy and ragged to slide.
Amy was soon back in the woodshed to find something else. She searched in all the corners and behind the woodpile. Just as she was about to give up, she spotted a big metal dishpan hanging on the wall. “Oh!” Amy squealed happily at her discovery. “I bet that would make a wonderful sled!”
Picking up a broom, Amy knocked the dishpan off the wall. She grabbed the pan, stepped outside, and ran back up the slope.
SWISH! Round and round Amy went down the hill, sitting in the dishpan. Tumbling out at the bottom into the soft, deepening snow, she lay there, breathless and dizzy.
“What’s the matter?” a voice asked.
Turning over, Amy looked up into the face of her older brother Roy. “Just the greatest ride ever,” Amy replied. “You should take a ride. It goes round and round!”
“You want me to ride in a dishpan?” Roy asked. “I’m too big. How do you steer it anyway?”
“You don’t steer it,” Amy said excitedly. “You just ride in it! C’mon, I’ll give you a push.”
Not wanting to be outdone by his little sister, Roy walked up the hill with her. With a push from Amy, he was off.
“Yippee!” Roy shouted as round and round and down and down he went.
At the bottom Roy tumbled out and rolled over in the snow. Amy ran down to meet him. “I told you, didn’t I? Wasn’t it fun?” she asked.
“That’s really terrific,” Roy told her with a big grin.
Mom and Dad came running up. “What happened?” Mother gasped. “We heard someone hollering.”
Roy, getting up and looking at Amy, said, “Only the greatest ride ever. Amy found a ‘sled’ that really goes.”
“Let me show you,” said Amy as she grabbed the dishpan and ran up the hill. Mom and Dad watched Amy push off and come hurtling toward them. Faster and faster she came down the hill until she tumbled out at the bottom.
Laughing with excitement, Amy and Roy and Mother watched Dad reach down, pick up the dishpan, and run up the hill. He scrunched down in the dishpan and, before you knew it, was flying down the slope, shouting with glee.
At the bottom of the hill Dad handed the dishpan to Mom and said, “Now it’s your turn.” Taking the dishpan, Mom ran up the slope for her ride in Amy’s sled!

Less than three months after she was married, she was hospitalized for a thrombosis in her right leg, and, after several months in the hospital, her leg was in such a bad condition that the doctor determined that the only option to avoid further complications was to amputate it. At that moment, she felt desperate: “I was anguished, not because of myself, but because I felt it was unfair for my husband that when he was newly married, he had to go through having his wife in that situation.”

Asking the doctor for a day to think before the surgery, she wondered what they could do to find out if that was really the Lord’s will. She claims that something told her that she “had forgotten some things,” and she was inspired to ask her husband and her father to call some members of the Church to do a collective fast.

She was greatly surprised to see that many members joined this fast, and what surprised her even more was that she could see that the Lord performed a miracle. The next day, the doctor could not believe the great change in her condition, reversing his decision to do the surgery and allowing her to have her leg today, with no sign of the state it was in at that time.

It took my friend and me almost four hours to hike up the steep path to the waterfall. When we finally arrived, covered in sweat and dirt, we basked in the euphoric reward of the powerful spray and the roar of the cascading falls.
And then I had this automatic thought come to mind: “You should take a picture of this and post it on Instagram.”
Seriously? I was out in nature, enjoying time with a friend, and one of my first thoughts was to share this moment on social media?
I spend a lot of time capturing life moments. Most of the time, photos just end up saved in my camera roll and thoughts end up jotted down in my journal, but they are fun to share on social media sometimes too. I wish I was better at just living in the moment, but I still love documenting the happiest moments in my life. When I’m having a hard time, it’s comforting to look back through my favorite memories.
But for someone who documents a lot of my life, I tend to forget to capture the greatest things I can record: my spiritual experiences.
There was a period of my life when I was really struggling and decided to start a habit of writing down three things I was genuinely grateful for every day. Some days were harder than others, so I had to take notice of even the smallest gifts or figure out a way to add to my own sunshine, like taking the time to enjoy a few chapters of a book.
But a thought occurred to me one day.
What if I recorded my spiritual experiences like I recorded life on social media? What if I documented moments when I recognized God’s hand in my life?
The Book of Mormon uses the word “remember”—including variations like “remembrance” and “remembering”—approximately 220 times.1 Helaman tells his sons Nephi and Lehi, “O remember, remember, my sons, the words which king Benjamin spake unto his people” (Helaman 5:9). He’s not just saying to recall Benjamin’s teachings; he’s saying to act on them.
When the resurrected Jesus Christ visits the Americas, he tells the Nephites, “If ye do always remember me ye shall have my Spirit to be with you” (3 Nephi 18:7). Christ isn’t just telling them to keep His image in their minds; He’s telling them to pattern their lives after His.
We can learn from that. We can act on what we believe, not just recall something we’ve forgotten. As 3 Nephi 29:3 says, “The Lord will remember his covenant which he hath made unto his people,” meaning that the Lord will take action to fulfill the covenants He made.
Remembering changes our behavior. It involves documenting what we experience.
And regarding spiritual matters, it means acting on—and sharing—what we believe.
But because there’s always contrast in the scriptures, we also get to learn from the people who don’t remember what God has done for them. For example, no matter how many miracles they’ve seen, Laman and Lemuel always forget how good God has been to them. After Nephi miraculously builds a boat by inspiration from God, his brothers still rebel and tie him up. Nephi writes, “They did forget by what power they had been brought thither” (1 Nephi 18:9).
This is why capturing our spiritually defining moments is so important.
I spend so much time capturing my life and being afraid I’ll forget some life experience that is important to me. But what would be way worse than losing the memory of a waterfall hike or a good time with a friend would be losing the memory of how much God loves me and has blessed me throughout my life.
So along with filling out my gratitude journal to capture my spiritual moments, I started keeping a list of times I felt the Spirit. Some of these experiences include:
Reading a profound Liahona article2
Having a spiritual conversation with my aunt
Enjoying a beautiful midnight rainstorm
Elder Neil L. Andersen of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles taught: “Embrace your sacred memories. Believe them. Write them down. Share them with your family. Trust that they come to you from your Heavenly Father and His Beloved Son. Let them bring patience to your doubts and understanding to your difficulties. I promise you that as you willingly acknowledge and carefully treasure the spiritually defining events in your life, more and more will come to you. Heavenly Father knows you and loves you!”3
If you’re struggling to feel or to remember your spiritual experiences and want to see God’s hand in your life more clearly, consider creating a list of moments you feel the Spirit each day. Doing so will help you understand how He speaks to you. And when it’s appropriate, don’t forget to share your experiences with friends and family so they can also “have glad tidings of great joy” (Alma 13:22).
There have been plenty of times in my life when I’ve been just like Nephi’s brothers: bitter, confused, and angry when life doesn’t go the way I plan. But unlike his brothers, my heart softens when I remember the spiritual experiences I’ve had and choose to seek out more of them. Through capturing those special moments with my Heavenly Father, I remember the times I’ve felt His love for me through the actions of other people, I am reminded of the ways the Spirit has brought me quiet reassurance, and I reflect on the experiences I’ve had in the temple and in nature.
When I remember those experiences, I have the strength and faith to keep going forward on the covenant path. And when I share those experiences, (just as often as I share moments on social media), I add to others’ faith as well.

I saw the promise come to fruition that my doctors would be guided. When I awoke after one of my operations, the surgeon came to see me.
“I was all done,” she explained, “but something told me to go deeper, and I found additional problem areas, which I was able to remove. We’re fortunate to have found them.”
She is not a member of the Church, but the promise of the blessing I had received early on had come to pass. The Spirit had guided her.

Three weeks ago I was at a stake conference in the lovely little mountain community of Prescott, Arizona. Following the delightful events of that weekend, a sister silently slipped me a note as she and others came by to shake hands and say good-bye. With some hesitation I share a portion of it with you this morning. Please focus on the doctrine this sister teaches, not the participants in the exchange.
“Dear Elder Holland, thank you for the testimony you bore in this conference of the Savior and His love. Forty-one years ago I prayed earnestly to the Lord and told Him I wished I had lived on earth when the Apostles walked upon it, when there had been a true Church, and when Christ’s voice was still heard. Within a year of that prayer, Heavenly Father sent two LDS missionaries to me, and I found that all those hopes could be realized. Perhaps some hour when you are tired or troubled, this note will help you remember why hearing your voice and shaking your hand is so important to me and to millions just like me. Your sister in love and gratitude, Gloria Clements.”

When I visited Hyderabad in 2014, John Murala told me his story and much of the Church history that he has been diligently gathering. He also introduced me to his wife, Annapurna, who told me one of the most powerful Latter-day pioneer stories I have ever heard.

Annapurna was 12 years old in 1991 when her brother Murthy was taught the gospel by two missionaries in Hyderabad. Annapurna’s parents didn’t allow her to listen to the missionaries or attend church. However, Murthy gave her a Book of Mormon and a constant stream of Church literature for her to read. For seven years, Annapurna studied the gospel on her own and gained a strong testimony of its truth. She dreamed of being baptized, serving a mission, and being married in the temple but did not have permission from her parents.

Annapurna faced a difficult decision in her life when she was introduced to John Murala. John had remained strong in his testimony since his baptism in 1978 and was looking for a member of the Church to marry. After a very brief meeting where Annapurna shared her testimony of the gospel, John was convinced that he had met his future wife. Annapurna knew that if she married John, she would be able to be baptized and one day be sealed in the temple. However, at about the same time, Annapurna’s parents were planning to arrange a marriage for her.

Annapurna made the difficult decision to leave home and marry John. She felt it was the only way she could join the Church. She said she was “totally heartbroken” to leave her parents. But even today she affirms, “For everybody’s salvation, … for my posterity and for my parents and their ancestors, to do their temple work, I had to take that step.”8

John and Annapurna are grateful that her parents have now accepted their marriage. Many members in India have made sacrifices, just like the early pioneers, to become members of the Church. Yet these Saints pressed forward with faith because they picture themselves as pioneers and welding links for their families on both sides of the veil. I cherish the many stories of faith, sacrifice, and courage that I have heard from members blazing trails in new gospel frontiers. I still think about pioneers pulling handcarts and crossing icy rivers, but now I can picture modern pioneers in India and all over the world.

In the four short years of Bimbo’s life, he had many experiences. One winter my brother had scarlet fever. In those days no one was allowed to leave the home during such illnesses. My father went to live with his parents for three weeks so he could continue his work. The rest of us, including Bimbo, were not supposed to leave the house.
A quarantine sign was placed in a window and no one came to visit but the doctor. Whenever Mother opened the door to let the doctor in, Bimbo would dart out. Then Mother or I had to chase him up the street and bring him back to his “prison” so he wouldn’t carry the disease to anyone. I don’t know who disliked the quarantine period most—me, my mother, or Bimbo.

Rhett Wyatt, 18, of the Gresham Oregon Stake is involved in drama at his high school, jogs daily, maintains a B-minus average, and has started his own business. He is also blind.
Rhett lost his sight when he was eight. He was hit by a car, which left him in a coma for six months, damaged his leg, and cost him his sight. He hasn’t let his accident stop him.
Although limited in his participation in sports, Rhett still runs daily and works out on a trampoline thanks to an invention of his brother’s. Rhett has become interested in drama. He has been in two school plays, including playing the part of a sighted character. He memorized steps in order to dance in the plays. His entertaining abilities include stand-up comedy routines.
He and his mother founded a small business called “Out of Sight Industries.” They sell T-shirts and backpacks for the blind.
Rhett plans to attend college where he hopes to study counseling or drama.

Of course talking about enduring is somewhat easier than actually doing it. At times we may become discouraged and feel like giving up. We may relate to the feelings of Mrs. Linforth, a pioneer immigrant stranded on the Wyoming plains. In 1856 converts to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints went west pulling handcarts. Most handcart companies were successful. The Willie and Martin Handcart Companies started late in the year. By the time they reached Wyoming, food and other provisions had run low, winter snowstorms had arrived early, and, as a result, hundreds were dying from starvation, exposure, exhaustion, and dysentery.
The handcarts and wagons left most of their belongings at Devil’s Gate and started toward the Salt Lake Valley. Later that day Mrs. Linforth was found sitting by the side of the road dressed “elegantly” and crying. When asked what the matter was, sobbing she replied:
This is too much for me. I have always had plenty, and have never known hardships; we had a good team and wagon; my husband, if let alone, could have taken me on in comfort. Now I am turned out to walk in this wind and snow. I am determined not to go on but will stay here and die. My husband has gone on and left me, but I will not go another step.

You may ask, “How do we seek personal revelation?” Paul counseled the Saints to rely on the Spirit rather than the wisdom of the world. To obtain that Spirit, we begin with prayer. President Lorenzo Snow had studied the gospel for several years before joining the Church. But he did not receive a witness until two or three weeks after his baptism when he retired in secret prayer. “The Spirit of God descended upon me,” he said. “O, the joy and happiness I felt … [for] I then received a perfect knowledge that God lives, that Jesus Christ is the Son of God, and of the restoration of the holy Priesthood, and the fulness of the Gospel.”

I have seen answers to that prayer. I have seen the miracle of the expansion of this cause and kingdom and can testify of it.
In 1960, only twenty-seven years ago, I was given an assignment by the First Presidency to work with the mission presidents, the missionaries, and the Saints in Asia. The Church was weak and small in that part of the earth. The seed had been planted in Japan, Taiwan, and Korea by faithful Latter-day Saints in military service. But it was tiny and unstable. We had no buildings of our own. We met as small groups in rented houses. In winter they were cold and uncomfortable. Converts came into the Church. But some, lacking faith, soon left. However, there remained a residual of strong and wonderful men and women who looked beyond the adversity of the moment. They found their strength in the message, not in the facilities. They have remained faithful to this day, and their numbers have been added to by the tens and tens of thousands.
A few Sundays back we held a regional conference in Tokyo. The spacious hall was filled to capacity. There were almost as many present on that occasion as there are assembled in the Salt Lake Tabernacle this morning. The Spirit of the Lord was there. An attitude of faith filled that vast congregation. For me, who had known those days when we were weak and few in number, it was a miracle to behold, for which I give thanks to the Lord.
We had a similar experience in Hong Kong, where there are now four stakes of Zion.
Then in Seoul, Korea, my heart was touched as we entered the largest hall in that great city to find every seat taken by members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and their invited guests. A magnificent choir of 320 voices opened with the strains “Oh, how lovely was the morning” (“Joseph Smith’s First Prayer,” Hymns, 1985, no. 26). It was a moving expression of the first vision of the Prophet Joseph Smith.
I had known South Korea in its days of poverty and reconstruction following the terrible war. When first I went there, we had six missionaries in Seoul and two in Pusan. Some were ill with hepatitis. Today there are four thriving missions in that land, with some six hundred missionaries. Many of the missionaries are sons and daughters of Korea. They include bright and beautiful young women in whose hearts burns the light of faith. They include young men who leave schooling for a season in order to serve missions. These young men are under tremendous pressures because of military requirements as well as educational demands, but they have faith in their hearts.
When first I went to South Korea, there were two or three tiny branches. Today there are one hundred fifty local units of the Church, both wards and branches. Then it was a small, isolated district of the Northern Far East Mission. We had no chapels. Today there are 14 stakes with 47 chapels built and owned and another 52 under lease, with others under construction.
I felt a spirit in that congregation three weeks ago that touched me to the depths of my soul. I saw the sweet fruits of faith. I knew of the early struggles in establishing an unknown church. I knew of the poverty of the people. Now there is strength. There is an undreamed-of measure of prosperity. There is a warm spirit of fellowship. There are families of devoted husbands and wives and good and beautiful children.
These are people I love, and I love them because of their faith. They are intelligent and well educated. They are hardworking and progressive. They are humble and prayerful. They are an example to others across the world.

For Cathy Antonsson of Helsingborig, Sweden, saying no was not always easy or pleasant.
“It was rough. It’s not easy, but you have to pay the price for who you are. Sometimes I cried my eyes out because I had to stay home. It was difficult because many people here just aren’t religious.
“I went to Rome for two weeks on a school trip. In Italy, they always offered us wine. They have wine with most of their meals, so my friends kept offering me wine, and I kept saying, ‘No, I don’t drink that.’
“My friends spent so much money on drinks. Everytime we went out, I would put the same amount of money in my purse that they spent on their drinks. Before we left, I went to an exclusive dress shop and bought a very expensive designer dress. All my friends were really surprised when they saw it and said, ‘Hey, how could you afford that?’ I told them what I had done and that that was one of the advantages of not drinking.”

Teaching English in Wuhan, China, was an amazing experience. I had always wanted to go somewhere and do something service oriented, and this was the perfect opportunity. I was part of a volunteer program organized by a college professor. I found that I loved teaching. Even more, I loved getting to know the students, the Chinese teachers, and the other volunteers. But one thing was tough for me.

We signed contracts as we joined the program stating that we couldn’t say anything about religion. If we did we would be sent home. I spent a lot of time thinking about that. I cared a lot about these people. They were my friends now, and they didn’t have the gospel. But I kept my promise.

When I returned to Brigham Young University, however, I found myself thinking that although I had given service, I still had more I wanted to give. I kept thinking how much I would like to teach people the gospel so they could know what I know. I spent a whole semester thinking about applying to serve a full-time mission. I have always wanted to serve, but I needed to know that’s what the Lord wanted me to do.

I received good advice from my brother and my two brothers-in-law, just by speaking with them about their own mission experiences that were so life-changing. And I talked with my dad, because not only is he my dad, but he’s also my home-ward bishop. No one ever made me feel pressured or pushed. They just encouraged me to listen to the Spirit and do what was right.

I fasted. I prayed. I searched my soul. And I listened to general conference. When I heard Elder Richard G. Scott of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles give his address, “Now Is the Time to Serve a Mission!” it seemed that the Lord was speaking directly to me through him. (See Ensign, May 2006, 87.)

I made the decision to submit my application. I was excited, but I was also a little scared. I think much of the anxiety came from not knowing where I was going to go. My father called me several times up at school, giving me words of encouragement. I think my experience was bringing back memories of his mission, and he had a lot of neat experiences to share.

Even though I was at school, I asked for my call to be sent to my parents’ home in Tempe, Arizona. When the envelope arrived, my dad set up a conference call, so there was my family in Tempe, Tucson, and Mesa. We all sang the hymn “I’ll Go Where You Want Me to Go,” and I was definitely wondering where that would be. But as soon as my mom read I was going to Asunción, Paraguay, I felt an overwhelming peace and comfort. I haven’t had a moment’s worry since. I know that’s where the Lord wants me to go, 100 percent. And this time as I go to serve, I don’t have to worry—I can talk about the gospel with everyone I meet.

As the Taylor family gathered around the dinner table, Shauna knew that her mother was upset.
“I have an announcement to make,” Mrs. Taylor said quietly, halfway through dinner.
Shauna put her fork down and looked at her mother.
“I have come to the conclusion,” Mrs. Taylor declared, “that this house is haunted.”
“You mean with a ghost?” Peter asked, his eyes growing big.
Shauna thought that ghosts only existed in books and movies.
“What makes you think there’s a ghost here?” Kathy asked. “I just read an article about a house people claim is haunted, but I don’t believe in them, do—”
“I haven’t seen a ghost,” Tim interrupted.
“It’s the only explanation left.” Mother continued. “Too many things are happening that none of us are responsible for.”
“What things?” Shauna asked for all of them.
“Oh, I found wet bath towels on the floor after you children hung them up. An entire package of cookies disappeared the other day when each of you only had two.”
Shauna watched Tim’s face turn red as he squirmed in his seat.
“Then, there are the dirty dishes,” Mr. Taylor added. “We know that you children always rinse off your dishes and put them in the dishwasher when you fix something to eat. But every time I come into the kitchen, I find dirty dishes all over. This ghost has been very hungry lately.”
“It’s also been sneaking into empty rooms and turning on the lights. The other day it even turned on the TV during study time,” Mrs. Taylor went on.
“Does anyone know who’s responsible for this?” Mr. Taylor asked.
The room remained silent.
“In that case,” Mr. Taylor concluded, “we must have a ghost.”
Shauna thought about the “ghost” several times that evening as she finished her homework and got ready for bed. Her mother had looked very tired tonight. Maybe if the Taylor ghost was a little better behaved, things would run more smoothly for her and for the whole family.
No one was home when Shauna returned from school the next afternoon. She removed her backpack, dug the house key out of its side pocket, and let herself in.
The house was a mess! Breakfast dishes were still on the counter. The living room hadn’t been touched since the night before. And towels were draped everywhere in the bathroom. Obviously, Mom had not been there all day as she usually was.
Shauna picked up a note on the kitchen table. “Dear children,” it read. “Grandma is not feeling well. I’m taking her to the doctor and then cleaning her house. Peter is going to Mrs. Pulsipher’s after school—please pick him up. I’ll be home in time for Tim’s award banquet.”
Shauna went to pick up Peter. At their return, Tim and Kathy were just getting home from school.
“I hope Grandma isn’t too sick,” Kathy said, after reading the note to Tim. “Me, too,” he said.
“This place is really a mess, isn’t it?” Shauna asked as they walked through the house to the kitchen.
“It looks like the Taylor ghost and its friends have been here.” Tim laughed. “Speaking of friends, I think I’ll run over to Jeff’s and pick up a tape I want to hear. I hope Mom didn’t forget about the muffins we have to take to the banquet tonight.”
“We can’t leave this mess for Mom,” Shauna protested.
“Get the ghost to clean it up,” Peter suggested.
“That’s a good idea,” Kathy agreed.
“I’m no ghost,” Tim argued. “I’m out of here.”
“I sure hope the ghost doesn’t tell Dad that you left without doing your homework,” Shauna said as Tim opened the front door.
“All right,” he groaned, returning to the kitchen. “But let’s get this over with. I don’t want to spend all afternoon playing ghost.”
Shauna and Peter went through the house putting things in their proper places. They especially made sure that all the towels were hung neatly. Tim did the dishes, while Kathy baked raisin muffins.
When all the tasks were done, Kathy helped Shauna cut out a ghost shape from a piece of white construction paper. They made a name tag for it with a red-bordered gummed label. Shauna printed Taylor Ghost on it, stuck it on the ghost, and placed it on the kitchen counter next to the muffins.
The children—even Tim—gathered around the kitchen table to do their homework while they waited for their mother. Peter brought a coloring book and crayons.
It wasn’t long before the front door opened and Mrs. Taylor rushed to the kitchen. She stopped abruptly and looked around, astonished. Then she spied the muffins on the counter and hurried over and picked up the ghost. “I see our ghost has been here. I like him. I hope he haunts this house forever!” She went around the table and gave everyone a big hug.
That evening as Shauna crawled into bed, she noticed something under her pillow. It was a candy bar wrapped in a note. She carefully removed the paper. It read:
Dear Ghost,
Thank you for helping me today.
I love you,
Mom
Shauna placed the candy bar on top of her desk. She’d save it for after school tomorrow. It had been a long, busy day, and she was tired. It’s a happy kind of tired, though, she decided as she drifted off to sleep.

I raced into the dorm, shut my door, and fell face down on my bed. I was too upset to even cry; I just lay there, not believing that my life had spun so wildly out of control so quickly.
I had flunked a test.
Then I had flunked another one.
I was the Relief Society president for my student ward, visiting teaching reports were due, and not a single person had done hers yet.
My boyfriend and I had broken up.
My roommate had gone on a trip.
I had gained five pounds, caught a cold, and my face had broken out.
But this was my first year at college, and I was determined not to call my mother. I was an adult after all; I could handle it.
It just didn’t feel like I could.
A headache was just beginning to form behind my right eye when I heard a quiet knock on my door. I debated whether or not I should open it; it could be more bad news. But I figured things couldn’t get much worse, so I staggered to the door.
It was a girl from down the hall. I never could remember her name, but I will never forget what she did for me that day. In one hand she held a box of crayons, in the other, a large tablet of art paper.
“You look like you need to color,” she said.
“Huh?”
“Well, I’m just getting bogged down with the project I’m working on for my art class, and you, well … I’ve seen you looking better,” she replied.
She handed me the box of new Crayolas and set about arranging paper on the floor.
“Start with the happiest color you can think of,” she said.
I pulled a yellow crayon from the box. I stared at it, still dazed. I was absorbed in my thoughts, feeling sorry for myself.
“Well, do something!” she called out.
I knelt down and drew a large sun in the middle of one of the sheets of paper. I giggled and said, “Pretty original, huh?”
She smiled and started her own picture. So there we sat, two 18-year-olds, coloring like second graders. We talked about our families and old friends from high school. We talked about boys and classes—I carefully avoided the subject of tests—and what we were going to do over summer vacation. It was just idle chatter, really. She didn’t pry to find out what was bothering me; she just listened to what I wanted to talk about. Pretty soon I was laughing and having such a good time I had nearly forgotten what was bothering me.
After about an hour, she packed up her crayons and left to go back to her art project. My mind returned to tests, church reports, and all of the other things that were weighing so heavily on me, but somehow they just didn’t seem as bad as they had earlier in the afternoon. Most of my anxiety had spread out over the pages of smiling sunshines and purple daisies I now had tacked to my bulletin board.
It may have seemed a small thing to her, but the girl from down the hall did more service with that box of crayons than she will ever know. She didn’t come to see me so she could find out my personal secrets, and she didn’t do it so that other people would see her (actually, no one did see her). She simply saw my need for a friend and filled it.
She also taught me that service can be anything from helping a widow mow her lawn to smiling at the new kid when you pass each other at school. Good Samaritans come in all shapes and sizes. They listen when you talk, and they make you feel good about who you are. And sometimes they come with a big box of crayons.

Let me tell you an experience I had several years ago. I was sitting in my office. I heard a commotion out in the reception area. My secretary picked up the telephone and buzzed me. She said, “There’s a couple here, Elder Pinnock, that you have been assigned to talk with.”

I could tell she was very nervous, and I said, “Have them in.” A man and a woman came into my office. Her face was tearstained.
He began pounding on my desk, “Tell her I have the priesthood, and she’s to do what I tell her to do.”
The first thing I said was, “Stop pounding on my desk.” The second thing I said was, “Brother, you do not have the priesthood.”
“Oh, yes, I do. I was given the priesthood last June.”
I said, “You don’t have the priesthood,” and I turned behind me to where my scriptures lay. I took the triple combination and turned quickly to section 121 of the Doctrine and Covenants. We could have begun in a number of places, but let’s begin with verse 36:

That the rights of the priesthood are inseparably connected with the powers of heaven, and that the powers of heaven cannot be controlled nor handled only upon the principles of righteousness.
That they may be conferred upon us, it is true; but when we undertake to cover our sins, or to gratify our pride, our vain ambition, or to exercise control or dominion or compulsion upon the souls of the children of men, in any degree of unrighteousness, behold, the heavens withdraw themselves; the Spirit of the Lord is grieved; and when it is withdrawn, Amen to the priesthood or the authority of that man.

At that time, that good sister smiled briefly. I said, “Do you understand that you don’t have the priesthood?”
He said, “I didn’t understand that before now.”
Then I said, “Let’s begin reading the 41st verse”:

No power or influence can or ought to be maintained by virtue of the priesthood [or any other position or title, I might add], only by persuasion, by long-suffering, by gentleness and meekness, and by love unfeigned;
By kindness and pure knowledge. . . .

About this time, their hands joined as I read the next several verses:

Which shall greatly enlarge the soul without hypocrisy, and without guile.

Jumping to the 45th verse:

Let thy bowels also be full of charity towards all men, and to the household of faith, and let virtue garnish thy thoughts unceasingly; then shall thy confidence wax strong in the presence of God; and the doctrine of the priesthood shall distil upon thy soul as the dews from heaven.

Well, he was listening now. And we talked for the next few minutes about the importance of meekness and patience and love unfeigned. As they left, they walked out arm in arm, apparently after having learned a great lesson in life. The gospel of Jesus Christ and the priesthood that so many of us in this room bear can only be maintained and handled upon the principles of righteousness.

It happened years later, after our family had moved to the United States, when I was a student at the University of California. Randy, a friend who lived down the hall in the student dormitory, gave me a copy of the Book of Mormon. It sat in my room, unopened, for a long time. Randy and I disagreed on many things, but every time he talked to me about the Church, I felt the Spirit bearing witness to me that what he was telling me was true.
For Christmas vacation, I planned to take a flight home and decided to pack a bag full of books to read on the plane.
As I was packing, the Book of Mormon caught my eye and I threw it in last, thinking that I would read it after I had finished the other books. On the plane, however, the last book in became the first book out, and suddenly I felt a great need to read it. It took me four days of reading day and night to finish the Book of Mormon. As I read and prayed, I knew it was true. I could hardly believe what I was discovering!
When I returned to college in California, I immediately told Randy I believed the Book of Mormon and wanted to be baptized. He was thrilled. We called the elders, and I was baptized shortly thereafter.

I was baptized in Comayaguela, Honduras, in February 1992. After serving a mission in El Salvador, I moved to San Pedro Sula, Honduras. There I met Brenda, a beautiful young woman who had been home from her mission for only nine days. Some months later we were married in the Guatemala City Guatemala Temple.
We established our home in the Fesitranh Ward in Honduras, and before long I was called as the first counselor in the bishopric. At a priesthood executive committee meeting, the bishop informed us that one of our ward members, Brother Fidel Durón, was moving to another ward in the stake. He told us that Brother Durón was a very service-minded person and that every ward member no doubt had something to thank him for.
Brother Durón helped anyone in need, whether it involved an electrical problem, some construction work, a broken pipe, or an early-morning trip to the hospital. His service was not limited to Church members but was also extended to his neighbors and acquaintances. He was loved and respected by all. The bishop gave us an assignment to find all those members who had something to thank Brother Durón for. A meeting was planned to honor him for the selfless service he had given for such a long time.
I said to myself, “I don’t have anything to thank Brother Durón for.” I had lived in the ward for just a short time and had spoken with him on a few occasions. He seemed to be a pleasant person, but I didn’t think I had had the opportunity to be the recipient of an act of service at his hand.
Some time later I was called to be a member of the high council and assigned to the López Arellano Ward, the ward Brother Durón now attended. One Sunday I was in Sunday School in this ward, and the teacher asked class members to share personal experiences regarding service.
I happened to be seated to the left of a sister named Adela Rosa de Santos. She started to tell how the man at her right, Brother Durón, had served as her home teacher when she and her family were new members of the Church. She told how his kind service had given them strength and encouragement when they needed it and how he had blessed their lives. She concluded by saying, “If it weren’t for you, Brother Durón, I wouldn’t be here.”
I could hardly believe my ears. Sister Adela’s daughter, Suyapa, was the missionary who had knocked on my door five years earlier, and now I was a member of the Church and my life had been filled with the richest possible blessings. I had been given the opportunity to serve a mission, the privilege of receiving my temple ordinances, and the glorious hope of having an eternal family.
At that moment I learned that 20 years before, a humble man who was true to his commitment to serve others had unknowingly labored for the welfare of my soul. I was filled with a joy that is hard to express and with love for my brother, Fidel Durón. I had once thought I didn’t have anything to thank Brother Durón for. Now I considered myself to be first and foremost on the list the bishop had asked us to make.
That special meeting for Brother Durón was never held, because he returned to the Fesitranh Ward for a time. We now have a beautiful friendship. I have so many reasons to be grateful to Jesus Christ for all He has done for me and also to Brother Durón for the love he showed me 20 years before he ever met me.

On Easter weekend in 2004, when I lived in Utah, a very special person in my ward passed away. It was Sister Marjorie Hinckley, President Hinckley’s wife. My mom was asked to make a dessert to take to the family dinner after the funeral. We decided to make my two favorite cookie recipes. I wanted to help my mom make the cookies, so we worked hard. While we were making them, I had a wonderful, warm, happy feeling inside. It was the Spirit letting me know that what I was doing was right. My mom and I talked about how Jesus taught that when we serve others, we are really serving God.
The next morning we put all the cookies on a platter to take to the dinner. I put on my white shirt and tie to deliver the cookies. I hope they helped make the Hinckley family feel better.

I was told of a conversation by a Primary teacher, who related what transpired in his class. He was teaching the eleven-year-olds. He asked the question, “Suppose the Lord asked you to build a spaceship big enough to take you and your family and provisions off this planet? Could you do it?”
Steve spoke up and said, “Yes.”
And the teacher said, “Have you ever built a spaceship?”
“No.”
“Have you ever built a model spaceship?”
“No.”
“Have you ever seen one?”
Steve said, “Yes, on TV.” But then he declared, “You said the Lord told me to build it. If the Lord told me to build it, I could do it.”
I wonder how many of us as adults have that kind of faith.