Gospel Story Finder

When I was in high school, my friend Skip Stewart invited me to play basketball with the team at his church, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I thought, “Oh, brother, that’s not going to be good basketball. But I guess I might as well.” As it turned out, the team was very good—so good that we traveled to play in a large tournament in Salt Lake City, Utah. While there, I heard President Joseph Fielding Smith speak at a banquet, and I felt very impressed with “the Mormons” and their teachings. When I went home, I asked to have the missionary discussions. Soon I was baptized.

I was in the kitchen helping Mom make tuna sandwiches for 14 billion of Todd’s friends who had just happened to come over on a Saturday. We couldn’t help but overhear their conversation in the living room.
“How will we all get home after the game?” asked one of his friends. They were seniors in high school and didn’t have anything better to do than worry about getting home from the game.
“Maybe I could take you,” Todd said. “That’d be great,” said another friend.
“Wait a minute,” Todd said.
“We’d have to share the costs.”
“Costs?”
“The only car big enough is the LTD. That’s ten cents a mile. I figure that with the eight of you that’s got to be around 50 miles. Plus a pro rata share of my monthly insurance bill and the cost of gasoline, which at 69¢ a gallon and 11 miles to the gallon comes to $3.13, plus the mileage and share—that’s $9.13. And there are eight of us so it’s $1.14 each, with a penny left over. I’ll treat you to the penny.”
They were astounded. They were appalled. “A dollar each just to get home from the game?”
“A dollar and fourteen cents. And don’t forget the free penny.”
“I think my parents can take me.” Pretty soon all of them decided their parents could take them home.
“Too bad,” Todd said. “It probably costs your parents more than a buck to make a special trip there and back. You guys just don’t know how much it costs to keep cars running these days.”
I spread tuna on the last sandwich as Mother ran water in the bowl. “Do you hear what I hear?” I asked.
“I think my son Todd is beginning to get some sense about money,” she answered.
I didn’t say anything. I thought it sounded like my brother Todd wasn’t pulling a full train.

In 1972, Jirí was called to be the presiding elder of the Church in Czechoslovakia and was asked to renew Church activity as much as possible. In 1975, a district was created, and Jirí was set apart as its president. For many years, Jirí and Olga and their children spent their summer vacations traveling around the country, locating, visiting, and strengthening members. Often they would find only one person; other times they would meet with a group of five or six members gathered in a home. When Church officials from outside Czechoslovakia were able to obtain visas, Jirí accompanied them on their visits around the country.

Between visits, written correspondence “was executed very carefully,” he says. “We worked out an information system interspersed in our letters so the secret police, who censored all my mail—-both overseas and domestic, couldn’t find out what was happening. It was very difficult for somebody uninitiated to see the meaning of our letters.”

Those were busy—though quiet—years for Czechoslovak Church leaders and members. “We weren’t idle!” Brother Snederfler says. Since they couldn’t officially get materials from Church headquarters into Czechoslovakia, they worked quietly and tirelessly to share with one another whatever printed Church material anyone could get their hands on. They translated Church hymns, handbooks, and manuals, finished a translation and review of the Doctrine and Covenants and scriptural commentaries, and transcribed speeches given at district conferences.

Then they typed all of these materials on old typewriters with nine carbon copies at a time. Each of the nine recipients would, in turn, make an additional nine carbon copies and hand-deliver them to others. In this way, Church materials were disseminated to members and families wherever they lived.

At all times, the members knew they were running the risk of severe consequences if they were caught with Church literature. “Our home was searched by the authorities,” says Jirí, “but they never found anything. We had many places to hide things.” And the risk was worth it. “These materials helped the members study and gain the greatest knowledge possible,” he says. “It was glorious work—preparing all of us for the time we would again be able to worship freely and openly in public.”

Although for many years the Czechoslovak Saints had no contact with members at Church headquarters or around the world—and little contact among themselves—“we never felt alone,” says Brother Snederfler. “God is above. I always felt that we were part of the larger family of Church members in the whole world.”

We can also encourage our associates to do likewise. Where we have the courage to make a friendly request, like Elder Kimball, we will often receive a respectful and cooperative reply. Our married daughter who lives in Illinois had such an experience. As she took her turn carpooling the twelve-year-olds home from the soccer game, her noisy passengers filled the air with profanity. Firmly, but with good humor, she told the boys, “In our family we only use that name when we worship, so we ask you, please don’t say that name disrespectfully in our car.” The boys immediately complied, and, what is even more surprising, most of them still remembered the next time it was her turn to drive.

Now, the second experience:
I’d only been home from my mission a couple days when I stopped in to see my mother who was just finishing up another academic year of teaching Spanish and English at my high school. As I passed under sagging banners swaying from the ceiling I reminisced about the three somewhat angst-filled years of my life I’d spent there. Without warning I suddenly found myself nose-to-nose with one of my former teachers. She had absent-mindedly entered the hallway with a stack of papers in her hands and we nearly collided. As she looked up into my face she said one of the more memorable things I’ve ever heard. She said: “You look holy”! What?! Me… Holy?… Her unexpected greeting was particularly surprising because she was not a member of the Church, and it had been no secret that she harbored negative feelings about Church as well. As I recovered from my shock, I was pleased to tell her that I’d just returned from a mission. I was hopeful that this experience might be a seed to better things regarding the restored gospel for her. As we parted, I was floored by the implications of her observation. … Me… Holy…
In the 2005 October General Conference, Sister Susan W. Tanner serving as the Young Women’s General President explained,
I had seen this happen in other’s lives in the mission field, but up that point I had no idea that such a change was also happening in me![3] However preliminary and unfinished it was, I had begun to receive Christ’s image in my countenance – in a literal and discernable way. Over the years since my teacher’s startling statement, I’ve searched the gospel to understand this dynamic connection between our spirits and our bodies; and, by extension just how that informs our real test of life.

An unforgettable and frightening experience I once had with President Lee was when he invited me to come to his home to participate in giving a blessing to a very sick mutual friend. As we gathered with a few family members, President Lee asked me if I would anoint the brother’s head with consecrated oil. This I did humbly and in a spirit of inadequacy. I had never before had the opportunity of having this rich spiritual experience of having a prophet of God seal an anointing that I would pronounce. I recall with vividness even today President Lee’s sealing of this ordinance. It seemed to me he was struggling for words, direction, and guidance to give encouragement to this good brother. I had the feeling he wanted to promise him complete recovery and health, but the words didn’t come as he pronounced the sealing. It was evident as the seconds passed that he was not only troubled, but was groping for direction that would be positive and rewarding—not only to the recipient, but also to others in the room who had grave concern over the individual’s health. President Lee never did promise health, strength, and recovery to this individual. He gave words of encouragement and touched on the basics of the total gospel plan, but the promise of healing was not forthcoming.

Immediately following this experience, President Lee took me aside in another room and said softly and in perfect mildness, “Marvin, he’s not going to get better, is he?” I responded to President Lee, “No. I could tell you wanted to promise this type of blessing, but it was apparently not to be.” I recall that his final comment as we walked away from the hearing of family members was, “The Lord has other plans, and he determines not only what we promise but what will happen.”

We were as tough as they come. In just a couple of weeks my friends and I would be graduating from eighth grade and be on our way to high school. One day during music time toward the end of that year, the teacher thrilled the boys by announcing that the high school freshman football coach was coming to talk to those interested in trying out for the team in the fall. Gladly, every boy in class joined the mass exodus into the gym.
We sat noisily on the floor, poking and jabbing each other when this mountain of a man walked in. He squared off, faced us, and said, “Men, if you want to play high school football, there are a few things I want you to do.” He outlined some basic conditioning techniques and cautioned us against eating too much candy and drinking too much soda pop. He told us to run every day and ride our bikes as often as possible. He even suggested we lift weights and find jobs that required discipline, strength, and stamina. He talked of the fun and thrill we could get by playing and winning but reminded us that the opponents were out to win as well.
As you might guess, the coach’s counsel went unheeded. We ate candy, goofed off, and took full advantage of a leisurely summer. Before we were ready, the summer was over and a letter came advising us where and when to pick up our football gear. On a hot August afternoon a rough-looking group of kids appeared at the gym door.
When all the equipment was issued, we were ordered onto the field, where the coach had us warm up by knocking shoulder pads with each other. We were then assigned positions according to size and where we happened to be standing. We were taught a few plays, which we practiced for about 30 minutes. By then we were all hot and tired.
The coach then blew his whistle and lined us up on the goal line. We expected a short pep talk before we headed for the welcome cool of the showers. We were mistaken. The coach said, “When I blow the whistle, run full speed to the 20-yard line, and line up there.” I didn’t see much sense in that, but we all obeyed. At the 20, he blew the whistle again and had us run back to the goal line. Now things were beginning to get ridiculous. Why would he want us to just run back and forth?
On the second sprint from the goal line to the 20, several of my friends ran to the sidelines, ripped off their helmets and began throwing up. I guess the combination of heat, physical exertion, and the poor shape we were in had taken its toll. On the way back from the 20 to the goal line, several more dropped out. Back to the 20 we went, only this time I started feeling sick. On my way back downfield to the goal line, I dropped out and joined my friends. The coach finally called us all together and rather sternly chewed us out for not taking seriously his challenge to prepare. He finished his speech by informing us that we would meet at 6:00 a.m. the next morning for a three-hour workout and more wind sprints. Several players assured the coach they wouldn’t be there. They walked to the locker room and turned in their gear.
True to the coach’s word, we started practice at 6:00 a.m. It wasn’t nearly so hot, but the wind sprints made a bunch of us sick all over again. When the coach announced another practice at 4:30 that afternoon, another half dozen guys quit.
The 4:30 practice was terrible. My muscles were sore. I even had soreness where I didn’t know I had muscles. By the next morning almost half the team had dropped out. But after a week the soreness was gone, the practices started to be fun, and the anticipation of the first game increased our excitement. By the end of the season we determined that the coach was right. Football was fun.

In order to keep the Sabbath day holy, I once had to lose my job. But I know now that God lives. This is a great joy, isn’t it? Another time, shortly after my marriage, I became seriously ill. For two years my condition worsened and doctors gave no hope for my recovery. Finally, however, through a powerful priesthood blessing, my health was fully restored. Without your help and the help of other missionaries, I might never have known about the restoration of the priesthood. I don’t know how to thank you all enough for your sincere hearts and your love for me.

I had planned to go to the temple in December 2017 but ended up postponing the trip. My husband was not ready to go without someone else to go with us. I fasted everyday but after a few months I became sick. All reports were normal, but the doctor recommended complete bedrest. I couldn’t understand what was wrong. I felt that perhaps I was not worthy. I continued to read the scriptures and prayed, but still felt bad. One Sunday I felt especially alone and even left church after taking the sacrament.
At last I met with my stake president and he said, “Sister Mahana you are a strong pillar; you never give up because you have a treasure of miracles.” I realized that he was right, I was fighter and I was a daughter of God. So, I read the scriptures more than before. In October of 2017, I accepted President Nelson’s 85-day challenge to read the Book of Mormon. As soon as I started reading the Book of Mormon, one by one my problems were solved. One month later I received a new calling. I fulfilled that calling faithfully and finished reading the Book of Mormon too. I met with the stake president on 27 January 2018 and we decided that I would go to the temple in April 2019. It felt so good to hear that I was finally going to the temple. This time I felt I couldn’t wait. I realized that what the stake president said was true, that I did have a treasure of miracles because I am totally changed. I have received many blessings, both spiritual and temporal. On 21 April 2019 we left for the temple. I am grateful for this trial. It has taught me more patience and given me more knowledge of spiritual things.

One night my dad was at a Church meeting. Me, my mom, my three brothers, and my sister decided to go to the track at 8:30 p.m. My brothers and I ran around the track with my sister. We found frogs and heard bats. Eventually we were tired, so we walked around once more with Mom.
Now it was really dark outside, and we could see the stars. Even though the moon and the stars were bright in the night sky, there were still lots of shadows as me and my little brother raced to go through the gate to the car. I was the first one to get to the gate and suddenly had a deep, warm feeling in my heart to look left. There in the shadows, slithering out of the gate into the light, was a big, long snake! He curled up right by our car.
I immediately grabbed my brother and ran back to Mom, saying, “There’s a big snake right by the gate.” We didn’t know what kind of snake it was. We called our grandpa to come help, but the snake already slithered away.
I am grateful for the warning I received from the Holy Ghost. Otherwise we might have gotten hurt. I am glad to be a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

That is a question that a lot of us would like to know the answer to. Scientists also are searching for the answer to such a strange phenomenon. To find out what they are learning, two of my sons and I took a trip to Scripps Institution of Oceanography last March. While visiting the aquarium there, we picked up a pamphlet that listed the times of high and low tides for the area around San Diego. Sandwiched in the center of the booklet was an article called “The Grunion Story.” It described the strange habits of a small silvery fish called the grunion that beaches itself upon the sand in very large numbers about twice each month at certain times of the year. These “runs,” as they are called, can be predicted fairly accurately from a knowledge of the tides. The booklet indicated that a grunion run was expected to begin about one o’clock the following morning. Well, you can probably guess what happened when my boys read that!

In the dead of night, Keith’s wristwatch alarm rang to wake us up. We got dressed and headed outside, where we were greeted by a fog so thick that we could only see a few feet in front of us. Undaunted, we climbed into our car and inched our way down the winding street to the ocean’s edge.

Except for us and a couple of sleepy-looking birds, the beach was deserted. Where is everyone? we wondered. We watched wave after wave roll in and break upon the sand and then recede, but no grunion appeared. I stood watch on a rock a little farther out, where a large wave broke over my feet and filled my shoes with water. But still no grunion. After an hour of fruitless waiting, we gave up and wended our way through the heavy fog back to the motel, where we lapsed into sleep.

Suddenly Keith’s alarm rang again, and we saw that it was light outside. It was almost time for the aquarium to open, so we hustled off without eating breakfast. When we got there, however, the aquarium was still closed. Puzzled, we peered through the glass door to see a large clock on the wall with its big hand on six and its little hand between seven and eight. Keith’s watch also had its big hand on six, but its little hand was between eight and nine. Then we realized the reason for the absence of people and grunion at the beach that night. Keith’s watch was an hour fast. We had arrived an hour early and left just before the grunion run was supposed to start!

The original dedication of the Suva Fiji Temple on June 18, 2000, was also remarkable. As the temple neared completion, members of parliament were taken hostage by a group of rebels. Downtown Suva, Fiji, was looted and burned. The military declared martial law.
As the Area President, I went with the four stake presidents in Fiji and met the military leaders at the Queen Elizabeth barracks. After we explained the proposed dedication, they were supportive but concerned about the safety of President Gordon B. Hinckley. They recommended a small dedication with no events outside the temple, like the cornerstone ceremony. They emphasized that anyone outside the temple could be a potential target for violence.
President Hinckley approved one small dedicatory session with just the new temple presidency and a few local leaders; no others were invited because of the danger. However, he emphatically stated, “If we do dedicate the temple, we will have the cornerstone ceremony because Jesus Christ is the chief cornerstone, and this is His Church.”
When we actually went outside for the cornerstone ceremony, there were no nonmembers, children, media, or others present. But a faithful prophet demonstrated his courageous and unwavering commitment to the Savior.
Later President Hinckley, speaking of the Savior, said: “There is none to equal Him. There never has been. There never will be. Thanks be to God for the gift of His Beloved Son, who gave His life that we might live and who is the chief, immovable cornerstone of our faith and His Church.”

What a choice Heidi Heistø had to make! Should she become a doctor or a professional musician? Both paths were open to her. Both were wonderful ways to serve her country and her fellowmen. Both were traditions in her family. Both seemed attainable. She has the talent in both areas.
So Heidi didn’t choose. She decided to pursue both. She had completed her high school years with a fine academic standing and was accepted into three medical schools and auditioned and was accepted into music conservatory. Soon she was spending every minute either at school or studying or practicing. After two quarters of this killer pace, she was tired and confused. She felt she was not giving either school her best. When she asked friends and relatives what she should do, the answers were of little help. Some said, “Oh, if you have the possibility of going to medical school, you must do that.” Others said, “Oh, you are so talented in music. Of course, you must do that.” Heidi was very confused.
Heidi had been taught by her mother, Karin, and her grandmother how to search out the guides in her life. She had learned in church that she had an eternal friend who will always listen. She turned to Heavenly Father in prayer. She also asked for and received a blessing from her home teacher. The blessing said that she had her agency and that she should pray about her decision. As she prayed, her answer became more clear. She should devote herself to music. Her fears about not being skilled enough lessened.
She turned to her patriarchal blessing, which encourages her to develop her musical talent. She had started with the violin at age seven even though she had been begging to start much earlier. Then her instructor suggested she change to the viola because the warm, somber tones of that instrument complimented her technique and temperament. And Heidi found she preferred the beautiful tone. Now she has chosen her course and is devoting her schooling to music.

I had always been jealous of Lynn. Despite a close friendship, Lynn and I had always been in unspoken competition with each other in high school—at least, I always felt that way. I longed to be like her. She was pretty, intelligent, talented, and fun to be around. I, on the other hand, lacked confidence in my appearance and felt socially inept.
After I had been home from my mission for nearly a year, I met Lynn for lunch. I told her how I had always envied her. She listened quietly and then looked at me in astonishment. “I was always jealous of you!” she said. I realized then how pointless my unspoken envy had been. I asked her if she could forgive me.
“Of course,” she said. “As long as you can forgive me, too.”
We laughed then and cried a little. I felt an old bitterness melt away to be replaced by peace and an intense gratitude for Lynn’s friendship.

Perhaps the most inspiring story in the history of the pre-existence is that of Joseph Smith's contemporary, the preacher Edward Beecher. His sister fell into spiritual apostasy over the question of God's harsh justice. In trying to bring her back to faith, he found himself unable to reconcile God's justice with the saga of human depravity and suffering that constitutes our history. He devoted himself to study and prayer, seeking a resolution. His brother described his search this way: None but those most intimate with the author, most acquainted with his habits of prayer, and deep humiliation before God, & entire consecration to Christ can form any idea of [his] travail of Soul. Many hours he lay prostrate on his face before God agonizing in prayer for the holy spirit. One felt in entering his study at such times as Moses felt when the voice said, "Put off thy shoes from thy foot for the place whereon thou standest is holy ground."

Paying such a price, it is no surprise Beecher found his answer. His brother described it as a "virtual revelation;" after "groping in some vast cathedral, in the gloom of midnight, . . . suddenly before the vast arched window of the nave a glorious sun had suddenly burst forth." The resultant vision was a paradigm-shattering epiphany about our pre-mortal existence that Beecher wanted to share at once with his congregation and the world. His father, the famous Lyman Beecher, and his family, including Henry Ward Beecher, urged him not to ruin his career by going public with such an unorthodox doctrine. Beecher kept the revelation to himself for a quarter century. But he came to fervently believe that this doctrine, and this doctrine alone, could rescue a Christianity suffering under the blight of apostasy. So he threw caution to the wind and issued a four hundred page manifesto, the boldest and most detailed exposition of the doctrine of pre-existence in religious history.

The story ends on a somber note. When I tracked down the story of Edward Beecher, I located the manuscript story of his life written by a devoted brother. It had been donated to a small Illinois college, and there was this note on top, written by one of his descendents. It read, "I am about to send on to you at last the manuscript Life of Edward Beecher by his brother Charles. . . . It is none too rich in human interest, perhaps, being concerned overwhelmingly with Edward's 'spiritual' (theological) development and his belief in the pre-existence of the soul, an unfortunate excursion into the realms of heresy which apparently wrecked his career."

On a beautiful summer morning, our family attended the Special Olympics to watch our son Scott participate. The Special Olympics are held each year to allow people with disabilities to enjoy friendly competition. We observed that as the runners were taking their positions for the 50-yard dash, they were being encouraged by special friends affectionately known as huggers. Seconds before the start of the race, these huggers took their places at the race’s finish line. It didn’t matter who crossed the finish line first. What did matter was that every runner completed the race and that every runner received a congratulatory hug. Both the courageous runners and the caring huggers taught important principles of truth.

Once, for instance, I prayed through the night to know what I was to choose to do in the morning. I knew that no other choice could have had a greater effect on the lives of others and on my own. I knew what choice looked most comfortable to me. I knew what outcome I wanted. But I could not see the future. I could not see which choice would lead to which outcome. So the risk of being wrong seemed too great to me.
I prayed, but for hours there seemed to be no answer. Just before dawn, a feeling came over me. More than at any time since I had been a child, I felt like one. My heart and my mind seemed to grow very quiet. There was a peace in that inner stillness.
Somewhat to my surprise, I found myself praying, “Heavenly Father, it doesn’t matter what I want. I don’t care anymore what I want. I only want that Thy will be done. That is all that I want. Please tell me what to do.”
In that moment I felt as quiet inside as I had ever felt. And the message came, and I was sure who it was from. It was clear what I was to do. I received no promise of the outcome. There was only the assurance that I was a child who had been told what path led to whatever He wanted for me.
I learned from that experience and countless repetitions that the description of the Holy Ghost as a still, small voice is real. It is poetic, but it is not poetry. Only when my heart has been still and quiet, in submission like a little child, has the Spirit been clearly audible to my heart and mind.

Marianne pulled her sweater around her as she walked home from church. She loved autumn. The air was cool and crisp, the trees had turned a beautiful orange and yellow, and the layer of snow on the top of the mountains reflected the sunlight.
Her older brother walked ahead; her mom was still in the meetinghouse library. Marianne knew that when she got home, her dad would be sitting in the family room, reading the newspaper, as he had every Sunday for as long as she could remember.
She sighed and looked down at the paper cup in her hand. Jesus often taught the gospel by talking about seeds. Today her CTR teacher had helped her and her classmates plant seeds and told them about Alma’s teachings about faith. Marianne knew that every time she looked at her little plant, she would remember that Jesus wanted her to plant His words in her heart and to always choose the right.
Right now, though, she was thinking about some different seeds—missionary seeds she had learned about a couple of weeks ago at the Primary activity. The Primary president had talked about the ones we plant when we talk to people who are not members of the Church.
Her father was not a member of the Church, and she wanted to help him gain a testimony. She thought about the things she did and said when she was with him. Sometimes she forgot to obey quickly, and sometimes she and her big brother fought. But she was trying her best to be a good example, and she prayed for her father all the time. Today she wondered if maybe there was something more she could be doing. She decided to ask her mom about it.
Right after school the next day, Marianne put on her warmest sweatshirt and went out in the front yard to help her mom plant tulip bulbs. The sun warmed her back, but her face and hands felt the bite of fall. Her mom hummed as she dug the holes, and Marianne put in the bulbs and covered them with the dark, cool dirt.
“I’m glad you came out to help me,” Mom said, smiling. “When these come up in the spring, they will be twice as beautiful because we planted them together.”
Marianne smiled back, then cleared her throat. “Mom, remember our Primary activity a few weeks ago?”
“The missionary activity?”
“Yes. We talked about setting a good example for our nonmember friends and about sharing our testimonies.”
“Those are good things to do.”
“Well, I wondered if there is something else I should be doing … you know, with Dad, so he can be a member too.”
Mom thought for a minute. “I think we’re doing all we can.”
“Well, then, when is he going to get baptized?”
“We just have to be patient, Marianne. Sometimes it takes a little time.”
Marianne felt confused. She had a strong testimony that the Church was true. If she could tell him and show him, why didn’t her dad see how right it was? She wrinkled her nose and looked at her mother for an explanation.
Mom smiled at her. “Marianne, go in my room and get my scriptures. We’ll see if we can find an answer there.”
It only took a minute to get the scriptures. Marianne sat on the porch step and handed the worn brown books to her mother.
Brushing the dirt off her hands, Mom carefully turned the pages. She handed the book to Marianne and said, “Read aloud from Matthew 13:3–8 [Matt. 13:3–8].”
“‘And he spake many things unto them in parables, saying, Behold, a sower went forth to sow;
“‘And when he sowed, some seeds fell by the way side, and the fowls came and devoured them up:
“‘Some fell upon stony places, where they had not much earth: and forthwith they sprung up, because they had no deepness of earth:
“‘And when the sun was up, they were scorched; and because they had no root, they withered away.
“‘And some fell among thorns; and the thorns sprung up, and choked them:
“‘But other fell into good ground, and brought forth fruit. …’”
“What do you think this parable is saying?” Mom asked.
“Well, it says that not all the seeds that were planted grew. Some didn’t have good soil, weeds choked some, and some were eaten by birds.” She paused a second, then, with a troubled look, asked, “Do you mean that you don’t think our seeds will grow? You don’t think that Dad will ever join the Church?” Tears started to gather in her eyes.
“No, Marianne. I do believe that your dad will join the Church. I just don’t know when. You see, the seeds we plant are very important, but so is the soil. The heart has to be ready to receive. Your dad has to do that for himself; no one can do it for him or force him.”
“But Dad is the best!”
“Yes, he is. He’s a great man.” Mom thought a minute as she returned to the flower bed, dug in the ground, and placed a tulip bulb in the hole. “Look at these bulbs we’re planting. They aren’t going to grow now. No matter how we care for them, these tulip bulbs have to lie in the soil all winter long if they are to be ready to grow in the spring. Do you understand?”
Marianne was silent for a moment. “I guess so. We have to set a good example, share our testimonies, and love Dad. Then we have to wait until the seeds are ready to grow, right?”
“Yes, that is right. And while we’re waiting, we continue to support him as the head of our home.”
“And we can still pray.”
“Yes, sweetheart, we always pray. Does that help you?”
“Yes. I feel much better.”
“Good. It looks like we’re just about done here. Let’s finish up and go fix a nice dinner to welcome Dad home from work.”
As Marianne was putting the last things on the table, Dad drove in the driveway. She ran to give him a hug. “Hi, Dad!”
“Hi, sweet pea. What have my two best girls been doing?”
The “two best girls” shared a look of understanding before Marianne took Dad’s hand, gave him a kiss on the cheek, and said, “Oh, just planting some seeds.”

From the time she was a young teen, Emilie struggled with substance abuse. Experimentation led to habit, and habit eventually hardened into an addiction that held her captive for years, notwithstanding occasional periods of wellness. Emilie carefully concealed her problem, especially after she became a wife and mother.

The beginning of her deliverance did not feel like deliverance at all. One minute, Emilie was undergoing a routine medical exam, and the next, she was being driven by ambulance to an inpatient treatment facility. She began to panic as she thought of being separated from her children, her husband, her home.

That night, alone in a cold, dark room, Emilie curled up on her bed and sobbed. Her ability to reason diminished until finally, overcome with anxiety, fear, and the oppressive darkness in that room and in her soul, Emilie actually thought she would die that night. Alone.

In that desperate condition, Emilie somehow summoned the strength to roll off the bed and onto her knees. Without any posturing that had sometimes been part of previous prayers, Emilie completely surrendered herself to the Lord as she desperately pleaded, “Dear God, I need You. Please help me. I don’t want to be alone. Please get me through this night.”

And immediately, as He had done with Peter of old, Jesus stretched forth His hand and caught her sinking soul.11 There came over Emilie a wondrous calm, courage, assurance, and love. The room was no longer cold, she knew she was not alone, and for the first time since she was 14 years old, Emilie knew everything would be all right. As she “awoke unto God,”12 Emilie fell asleep in peace. And thus we see that “if ye will repent and harden not your hearts, immediately shall the great plan of redemption be brought about unto you.”13

Emilie’s healing and ultimate deliverance took a long time—months of treatment, training, and counseling, during which she was sustained and sometimes carried by His goodness. And that goodness continued with her as she entered the temple with her husband and children to be sealed together forever. Like the people of Zarahemla, Emilie now gives thanks as she reflects on the immediate goodness of God and His power in delivering her from bondage.

Clark was deeply touched when, on a typically marvelous Monson fishing experience, his father asked him to reel in his line for a moment. When the lines were in and the rods set aside in the boat, Brother Monson said, “In about five minutes your brother Tom will be sitting down to take the bar examination admitting him to the practice of law. He has worked hard through three years of law school for this and he will be a little nervous. Let’s just kneel here in the boat. I’ll offer a prayer for him, and then you offer one.”
“That was one of the greatest experiences of my life,” Clark later reported. He was also deeply touched years later when his father turned the car around and drove sixty-four kilometers out of his way to let Clark get a good look at a hawk’s nest. “I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised that he would do that. It’s exactly the kind of thing he has done all his life for those he sees in need.”