Gospel Story Finder

Adam Martin, a ward Sunday School president in Calgary, Alberta, Canada, says he appreciates suggestions from the ward council. “The Relief Society president or the elders quorum president will say, ‘We’d like teachers to focus on this,’ so we bring that up in teacher council [meeting],” he says.
When teacher council meetings first started, teachers weren’t sure what to expect, so he extended lots of personal invitations and introduced training materials available at teaching.lds.org. “Now the ball is rolling,” he says. “They know it’s a place to discuss what’s going on.”
One recent meeting focused on following the Spirit. “We talked about preparing well but not worrying about covering everything,” he says. “One sister said she had always felt she needed to talk about every item in her lesson plan. You could see the light go on for her when we talked about following inspiration as you guide a discussion.”

While I served as bishop, one of the Mia Maids in my ward came in for her annual interview. It was a bright summer day, and the rays of the afternoon sun reflected off the dust floating in the air. She and I talked about the significance of the small things in life versus the highly visible parts of what we are doing.
Without any warning she suddenly burst into tears and wept and wept. I left the chair behind my desk and walked around to where she was seated and sat down next to her. I attempted to comfort her.
“What’s the matter?” I asked.
“I am so awful!” she cried out.
“What have you done that you think is so awful?” I asked.
“I am so cruel to my best friend. I deliberately play jokes on her to embarrass her in front of other people. I am just awful.” Then she cried some more.
“Could you give me an example of how you treat her?” I asked cautiously.
She described several situations that really were vicious, well-planned attacks on this other young woman that she claimed was her best friend.
“What am I going to do, bishop?” I remember her asking me.
As kindly and gently as possible, I explained to her that she must repent.
“How?” she asked.
“Well,” I said, “you have recognized that you are doing wrong toward your friend. That is the first step. Now you have to decide if you really want to repent. Do you really want to go all the way with this decision?” She nodded her head that she did.
Through the following days and weeks, this fine young woman worked hard at learning how to stop being quietly vicious. She changed her plans to hurt into plans that would help and lift.
She confessed her sins to me, as her bishop. Then kneeling together in prayer I listened while she confessed them to God. Finally, she went to her friend and made peace. In an attempt to make restitution, my young friend went out of her way to make life easier and less complicated for her true, understanding friend. I learned firsthand how it is equally as important to forgive as it is to seek forgiveness. Fortunately, these were two special young women.
Within a few months my young Mia Maid friend had forgiven herself—her friend had forgiven her weeks earlier—and she had been forgiven in heaven.
Her heart and mind are now at peace. I am certain that she still remembers how she treated her friend. That will help her remember not to ever do it again. However, she feels no heartache or torture of mind because she has fully repented.

It is 1869, and President Brigham Young is concerned about the young women in the Church. He is worried that some of them, including his own daughters, are too caught up in the fashions and trends of the world.
On 18 November 1869, he holds a meeting with his daughters. He asks them to set an example by spending more time learning about the gospel and gaining important life skills rather than chasing after trends.
“I desire [you] to retrench from [your] extravagance in dress, in eating, and even in speech,” President Young tells his daughters. “I should like you to get up your own fashions, and set the style for the rest of the world who desire sensible and comely fashions to follow. … There is a need for the young daughters of Israel to get a living testimony of the truth” (A Century of Sisterhood, 8).
At first this is difficult for his daughters. These girls are some of the most popular girls in the territory, and they enjoy stylish things. Now they can’t spend hours looking at clothing catalogs from back East. Instead they must sew their own simple and modest dresses, without any ruffles, that go all the way to the ground. They must spend less time socializing and more time studying the scriptures and learning the gospel.
But these girls know their father is a prophet, and they choose to follow him. They create the Young Ladies Department of the Cooperative Retrenchment Association and begin meeting often to support each other in their efforts.
It has been almost 50 years since Brigham Young first met with his daughters, and now girls throughout the world are following his counsel.

You know from studying Church history that we have tried to live as one in a variety of settings. A story from one of those tries, in Orderville, Utah, gives us a clue as to why it is so hard.
Orderville was founded in 1870 and 1871 by people who wanted to live the united order; in 1875 they began the order. They built housing units in a square, with a common dining hall. They built a storehouse, shoe shop, bakery, blacksmith shop, tannery, schoolhouse, sheep shed, and woolen factory. They grew and made nearly everything they needed, from soap to trousers. They had carpenters, midwives, teachers, artists, and musicians. They produced enough surplus that they could sell it in neighboring towns for cash: with that they built up a capital fund to buy more land and equipment.
The population rose to seven hundred people. One hundred and fifty of them gave Orderville a special advantage: they had come to Orderville from the mission on the Muddy River, where they had nearly starved. When those who had been called to the Muddy were released, they were in near destitution. Twenty-four of those families went to Long Valley, founded Orderville, and pledged all they had to the Lord. They didn’t have much, but their poverty may have been their greatest contribution. Their having almost nothing provided a basis for future comparison that might have guaranteed gratitude: any food or clothing or housing that came to them in Orderville would be treasure compared to their privation on the Muddy mission.
But time passed, the railroad came, and a mining boom put cash in the hands of people in the neighboring towns. They could buy imported clothes, and they did. The people in Orderville were living better than they had in years, but the memory of poverty on the Muddy had faded. They now focused on what was in the next town. And so they felt old-fashioned and deprived.
One ingenious boy acted on the discontent he felt when he was denied a new pair of pants from the Orderville factory because his were not worn out yet. He secretly gathered the docked lambs’ tails from the spring crop. He sheared the wool from them and stored it in sacks. Then, when he was sent with a load of wool to sell in Nephi, he took his sacks along and exchanged them for a pair of store pants. He created a sensation when he wore the new-style pants to the next dance.
The president of the order asked him what he had done. The boy gave an honest answer. So they called him into a meeting and told him to bring the pants. They commended him for his initiative, pointed out that the pants really belonged to the order, and took them. But they told him this: the pants would be taken apart, used as a pattern, and henceforth Orderville pants would have the new store-bought style. And he would get the first pair.
That did not quite end the pants rebellion. Orders for new pants soon swamped the tailoring department. When the orders were denied because pants weren’t yet worn out, boys began slipping into the shed where the grinding wheel was housed. Soon, pants began to wear out quickly. The elders gave in, sent a load of wool out to trade for cloth, and the new-style pants were produced for everyone.
You know that isn’t a happy ending. There were many challenges Orderville faced in the ten years they lived the order there. One of them they never really conquered. It was the problem of not remembering. That is a problem we must solve, too.

Many examples coming into the Relief Society general offices are showing that this is happening. Gail McHardy, Relief Society president in the Houston Branch, St. Robert Missouri Stake, made coming up with ideas a matter of prayer with her counselors. “The Spirit was certainly there to help us,” she said during a telephone conversation.

Then, with the support of the branch president, she presented the ideas to the sisters in the ward. She was surprised when the most popular activity was a class in American Sign Language. Another sister in the branch had taken sign language courses and agreed to teach the classes.

“The branch president has agreed to let them sign with the choir soon,” Sister McHardy said. She added that one sister had recently returned to Church activity and by participating in the class “she felt much more a part of Relief Society.”

Recounting this history brings to my mind the experience of John E. Page as the Prophet Joseph Smith called him to serve a mission in Canada. “But I can’t go on a mission to Canada, Brother Joseph,” protested John E. Page. “I don’t even have a coat to wear.”

“Here,” said Joseph Smith, removing his own coat, “take this, and the Lord will bless you.”

John E. Page left Kirtland, Ohio, May 31, 1836, on his first mission as an elder of the Church. He labored in Canada for two years. During that time, he traveled over five thousand miles, mostly on foot, and baptized some six hundred people.

Edna Amburo also had difficulty reading the Book of Mormon at first—not just because she found it hard to understand, but because friends told her she was “going to the fire” for reading it. “All my friends told me to burn the book,” she says, “but I decided not to burn it because I felt the Book of Mormon was the word of God.”

Edna was baptized in 1990. Shortly thereafter, she was called to teach the Book of Mormon to seminary students.

“I said, ‘How am I going to teach? I am not an educated woman. I am not a good speaker in English, and I am not a good writer. I left school in grade five.’”

Branch members and the full-time missionaries encouraged Sister Amburo to ask the Lord for help. She took the suggestion seriously and spent a tearful two weeks fasting and praying that the Lord would help her to become an effective teacher.

“I found Moroni 10:4–5 [Moro. 10:4–5] and exercised it,” she says. “I saw it was true. I got peace in my heart. I got joy. And I was happy that I was going to teach seminary. I really love the Book of Mormon. I understand it now.”

Sister Amburo attributes her spiritual and intellectual growth to help from her Heavenly Father. In addition to teaching seminary, she teaches Sunday School and serves as a counselor in the Popondetta Branch Relief Society presidency.

“Step by step I came along. The Church has helped me a lot. It is a learning church.”

Merry Christmas, Grandma and Grandpa, my two favorite missionaries!
Love, Abby
Abby underlined the word love as her brother, Zac, marched into the living room.
“What are you doing?” Zac asked as he peered over Abby’s shoulder.
“Finishing my Christmas card for Grandma and Grandpa. Are you done with yours?” Abby looked up at Zac as he dropped a fistful of crayons onto the table.
Zac shook his head. “I don’t really want to make a card for them.”
“Why?” Abby asked, surprised.
Zac shrugged. “I don’t know. It seems strange not having Grandma and Grandpa come to visit us. I miss hearing Grandpa’s great stories, and it doesn’t seem the same without Grandma serving her secret-recipe pumpkin pie.”
Abby nodded. “It’s been three months since Grandpa and Grandma left on their mission. We’ve never gone that long without seeing them. I miss them too.”
“I always thought if people loved you, they wouldn’t want to leave you.”
Abby glanced around the living room at the four red knit stockings hung on the mantelpiece, the garland strung around the kitchen doorway, and the colored lights blinking brightly on the Christmas tree. Suddenly her gaze became fixed on the Nativity scene placed on a small wooden table in the corner of the room.
“Come with me,” Abby said, gently tugging Zac’s sleeve. She led him over to the table. “Isn’t this beautiful?”
“Sure,” Zac said with a puzzled look on his face.
Abby carefully picked up two shepherd figures and three small white sheep from the manger scene. She set them on the floor beside her. “Zac, what if an angel hadn’t appeared to the shepherds, telling them Jesus was born?”
“Abby,” Zac said, upset, “the manger doesn’t look right without the shepherds and the sheep.”
“I know,” Abby said softly. “Help me put these back in place.”
She pressed the shepherds into his hands. “The shepherds knew about Jesus because somebody told them. But, Zac,” she said as he placed the shepherds close to the manger, “there are a lot of people who don’t know about Jesus.”
Zac was quiet as he ran his fingers over the top of the stable. “And Grandma and Grandpa are going to find them and teach them about Him.”
“That’s right. Think what a special Christmas this will be for the families Grandma and Grandpa are teaching the gospel to.”
“I still miss them,” Zac said, almost in a whisper.
“Me, too,” Abby agreed.
Zac scooped up his crayons. “See you later,” he said.
“Where are you going?” Abby asked.
“I have to make a Christmas card for Grandma and Grandpa.”
“Show it to me when you’re finished, OK?” Abby called as her brother disappeared around the corner. Her gaze returned to the Nativity scene. She smiled as she gently touched the small star above the manger. “Merry Christmas, Grandma and Grandpa.”

I conclude with just one of many illustrative experiences from President Monson's life--one that he shared recently in general conference:

On one occasion many years ago, I was swimming laps at the [gym] when I felt the inspiration to go to the University Hospital to visit a good friend of mine who had lost the use of his lower limbs. ... I immediately left the pool, dressed, and was soon on my way to see this good man.

When I arrived at his room, I found that it was empty. Upon inquiry I learned I would probably find him in the swimming pool area of the hospital, an area which was used for physical therapy. Such turned out to be the case. He had guided himself there in his wheelchair and was the only occupant of the room. He was on the far side of the pool, near the deep end. I called to him, and he maneuvered his wheelchair over to greet me. We had an enjoyable visit, and I accompanied him back to his hospital room, where I gave him a blessing.

I learned later from my friend that he had been utterly despondent that day and had been contemplating taking his own life. He had prayed for relief but began to feel that his prayers had gone unanswered. He went to the pool with the thought that this would be a way to end his misery--by guiding his wheelchair into the deep end of the pool. I had arrived at a critical moment, in response to what I know was inspiration from on high.

President Monson concluded:

My friend was able to live many more years--years filled with happiness and gratitude. How pleased I am to have been an instrument in the Lord's hands on that critical day at the swimming pool.[31]

Wilford Woodruff, as President of the Church, described his experience in the offices of the priesthood:
“I heard the first sermon I ever heard in this Church. The next day I was baptized. … I was ordained a Teacher. My mission immediately commenced. … I went through that whole mission as a Teacher. … At the conference I was ordained a Priest. … After I was ordained a Priest I was sent … on a mission to the southern country. That was in the fall of 1834. I had a companion with me, and we started out without purse and scrip. I traveled alone a good many miles and preached the Gospel, and I baptized a number that I could not confirm in the Church, because I was only a Priest. … I traveled some time preaching the Gospel before I was ordained an Elder. …
“[Now] I have been some fifty-four years a member of the Twelve Apostles. I have traveled with that and other quorums now for sixty years; and I want to say to this assembly that I was just as much sustained by the power of God while holding the office of a Teacher, and especially while officiating in the vineyard as a Priest, as I ever was as an Apostle. There is no difference in this so long as we do our duty.”1

A new girl joined our school class in the middle of the year. She looked and spoke differently than the other students. She had moved around a lot and had a hard time making friends. She had sad things happening in her family and came to school crying on some days. I knew I wanted to try to help this girl, but I wasn’t exactly sure what I should do because she did not always like to talk with other children. I prayed about what I should do and could feel the Holy Ghost whisper that I should just try to be her friend.
I helped her with her school-work, and told her that our Heavenly Father gave her special talents for her to use and share with others. I invited her to play with me and other students at recess. A few months later, she said I was the first friend she ever had.
She had to move again, and I felt really sad. I asked the school secretary to send a letter to her at her new address. In the letter, I told my friend I would miss her and that she would always be my friend. I drew pictures of us playing together and reminded her of some of her talents. I told her she should be brave and try to make a new friend because she could help someone else. I prayed that she would find a friend in her new school and that the other children would be nice to her.
I know that Heavenly Father loves all of His children, and I am thankful that He helps us to help each of them.

In the spring of 2020 when missionaries around the world were returning to their home countries due to the COVID-19 pandemic, three sister missionaries from the island nation of Kiribati were serving in the Barbados Bridgetown Mission. Sister Manoua Bokai left her home to travel to the missionary training center on Dec. 31, 2018, so she only had a few months left to serve. Sister Tekimatang Auria had been serving for about six months as she started serving on Sep. 10, 2019. Sister Kiakia Barekiau, who had begun her MTC training on Jan. 14, 2020, had just arrived in Barbados on March 16.
Barbados closed due to the pandemic just a day or two after Sister Barekiau arrived. She was supposed to go to the island country of Saint Lucia, but because of the closure she stayed in Barbados. As a brand-new missionary, she and her companion taught people over the phone, by Facebook messenger, by Zoom, and through WhatsApp.
Sister Auria and Sister Bokai were in Saint Lucia when the countries closed, and people were required to stay at home. “We only had a small phone, not a smart phone for a long time,” Sister Auria said. “It was hard to teach people because we could not have a Zoom meeting or any other video chat. We could not see them; we could only talk on the phone.”
In August of 2020, President Alan L. Fisher and Sister Elizabeth H. Fisher, the mission president and his companion, gathered all the missionaries in the Barbados Bridgetown Mission together in Barbados. President and Sister Fisher recalled, “We loved working with these sisters and having the opportunity of becoming very close to them during the pandemic. We believe the Lord wanted them to have this experience, learn these lessons, and have an opportunity to develop relationships with each other and their mission leaders in a way that wouldn’t have happened otherwise. One of the tender mercies we experienced was sharing in the ordinance of the sacrament with them in their apartment. We prayed, sang, and shared scriptures from the Book of Mormon. This repeated connection together brought a bond of love and strength between us and between these sweet missionaries and the Lord. He lifted them and was a constant sustaining influence.”
One of the things Sister Bokai loved best about serving in the Barbados Bridgetown Mission was teaching about the Restoration of the gospel, especially sharing the First Vision. “I know that the Spirit touches the hearts of the people. You can feel when they are receptive and listening carefully. Every time we started to teach about the First Vision, distracting things would happen—phone calls, family needing them, etc.—but Heavenly Father blessed us, and we would get through it. There is power in teaching about the First Vision because, even though I was not there, I know it really happened, I know that God the Father and Jesus Christ truly appeared to Joseph Smith.”
President and Sister Fisher commented, “One of the blessings that evolved for sisters and for us was the power of singing together to bring the Spirit into teaching sessions and into their lives. The sisters sang through Zoom to the volcano-evacuated saints in St. Vincent. They brought them such peace and hope. As we taught with them, and especially each time they recited the account of the First Vision, the Spirit was poured out upon the people they taught, as well as on us and them!”
During this time, the travel departments of both the Caribbean Area, where they were serving, and the Pacific Area, where their home country is located, were trying to figure out a way to get these sisters home. Because the missionaries travelling to the Pacific needed to fly through Fiji to reach their home countries, they needed to wait until Fiji opened its borders, which finally happened in April 2021. Travel was arranged, but because of the eruption of the La Soufrière volcano which sent clouds of ash over Barbados, the flight was cancelled.
Three weeks after the volcano, another way was found. But in order to go on those flights, the sisters needed a specific COVID-19 test record that was not available in Barbados. The decision was made to bring them to the Dominican Republic where they could get that record. They would need to stay in the Dominican Republic for two weeks, and then go on several flights through five different countries to reach their home.
Sister Auria, Sister Barekiau, and Sister Bokai arrived in the Dominican Republic in May 2021 on a chartered flight. They received the COVID-19 records that they needed. All was ready for them to finally make it home, but while they were in the Dominican Republic, Fiji closed its borders again due to cases of COVID-19 increasing.
Their two-week stay turned into a nearly five-month stay. The sisters were reassigned to the Dominican Republic Santo Domingo East Mission. The problem was that they did not know any Spanish. They served in the Santo Domingo Dominican Republic Temple, performing temple ordinances and also helping in the laundry. Sister Barekiau remembered, “When the people in the laundry spoke to us in Spanish, we were able to understand them, and we knew what to do because the Spirit helped us.” Sister Auria said, “Serving in the laundry and doing endowment sessions in the temple were some of the blessings of serving longer.”
They also started the Pathway program during their extended service.
Sister Bokai shared, “Serving longer than 18 months has been a blessing because the promise in Ether 12:27 has been true for me. My weaknesses have become my strengths. By serving longer I can see that more clearly in my life. In the October 2021 general conference, Elder Moisés Villanueva said, ‘In moments of difficulty and trial, there are few things that bring us greater peace and satisfaction than serving our fellow man.’1 I have seen that this is true.”
Even after serving many months longer than they were originally called to serve, they stated, “Our challenge to the youth is to go on a mission no matter your situation or the problems that you are facing in life. It is worth it because the person that serves a mission is the happiest person in the world.”
On Oct. 8, 2021, these sisters left the Dominican Republic to go to Croatia, which is the collecting location for missionaries waiting to return home, where they served in the Adriatic North Mission until March 2022. They did not know each other prior to serving their missions. Now they have formed a unique bond as a trio. They served as companions in three different missions where they served together and sang together.
At the time of the writing of this article (March 2022), Sister Auria and Sister Barekiau are serving in the Fiji Suva Mission (their fourth mission) until they can return home to Kiribati. Sister Auria has been serving for 30 months, and Sister Barekiau has been serving for 26 months. Sister Bokai was released as missionary after serving for more than 38 months. She is living in Fiji with family members.

I'd like to share an example from my own family experience. While it doesn't rival the challenges of pioneers, it had many lessons for us. Years ago my employment took us to Little Rock, Arkansas. We decided to buy a home in the rural suburbs of Little Rock. We had visions of a peaceful country setting with a few acres that would allow us to enjoy the tranquility and beauty of country life.

We quickly found out that we are city folk. We weren't quite sure what to do with our three acres, except mow it. We didn't have any animals-except the unwanted ones that regularly ate our garden. We moved to our little piece of paradise early in the spring with only a 21-inch push lawn mower to serve as both our lawn mower and brush hog. Southern folks will know what I'm talking about. With all the expenses of a new home, we weren't in a position to purchase a large riding lawn mower. Instead, we divided our three acres into five segments and assigned each child who was old enough a segment to mow each week. When one was finished with their segment, the lawn mower would be passed to the next person. Over the course of a week, our lawn generally got mowed. Occasionally, our neighbor would feel sorry for us and make a few swipes with his large tractor-mower.

After a couple of seasons of this, our family was ready for a riding lawn mower. We investigated our options carefully and finally decided on a zero-radius, liquid-cooled 36-horsepower mower with a 60-inch cut that could mow an acre in 12 minutes. The lawn mower was called the "Bad Boy." Our family was excited. Our preschooler asked to take promotional literature to share with his preschool friends. Mowing suddenly became a recreational activity instead of a chore. One night soon after getting our lawnmower, our preschooler came into our bedroom and asked if he could talk with us. He'd obviously had been deep in thought so we gave him our full attention. He said, "Mom, Dad, when you die can I have the lawn mower?"

While this may be a silly story, it illustrates for me how our hardships can help us appreciate the blessings in our life. Had we not experienced the challenge of mowing with a small push mower, I'm quite sure, the new riding lawn mower and satisfaction of a nice yard would have been less exciting and gone largely unappreciated.

As a teen I studied in a technical school for young men. It was hard to be a member of the Church in an atmosphere where there were other beliefs or no beliefs at all. Being the only member in school was difficult because I felt alone; I felt different. My classmates were relatively good, but many didn’t share my principles.
I remember well one time when they wanted to get me to smoke. They didn’t say it directly. Instead, one of them lit a cigarette while we were in our classroom waiting for the professor. We weren’t supposed to smoke inside the school.
I was sitting in the back. The guys at the front of the room lit the cigarette, and they each took a puff and passed it on. Everyone was watching to see it get to me. Finally the guy in front of me took a puff and turned around.
I didn’t take the cigarette.
He said, “Come on. Go ahead.”
“No, I’m not going to smoke.”
He took the cigarette and put it to my mouth. So I hit him. He hit me back. Then almost everyone in the room started to fight, though we quickly calmed down before the professor got there.
Now I’m not saying that was the right way to respond, but I was only 13. I didn’t know how to respond. I just knew no one was going to make me smoke.
After class I found the boy I had hit and asked his forgiveness. With some emotion, he told me, “No, I’m the one who needs to ask your forgiveness.”
If I had lowered my standards, would the Holy Ghost have stayed with me? Or would I have lost my guide?
By choosing the right, I allowed the Holy Ghost to be my companion. With Him as my guide, I had help making the right decisions, and my testimony was strengthened.

Recently I visited the Missionary Training Center at Provo, Utah, where missionaries who have been called to serve throughout the world are devotedly learning the fundamentals of the languages spoken by the people to whom they shall teach and testify.
Vaguely familiar to me were the conversations in Spanish, French, German, and Swedish. Totally foreign to me and perhaps to most of the missionaries were the sounds of Japanese, Chinese, and Finnish. One marvels at the devotion and total concentration of these young men and women as they grapple with the unfamiliar and learn the difficult.
I am told that on occasion when a missionary in training feels that the Spanish he is called upon to master appears overwhelming or just too hard to learn, he is placed during the luncheon break next to missionaries studying the complex languages of the Orient. He listens. Suddenly Spanish becomes not too overpowering, and he eagerly returns to his study.
There is one language, however, that is understood by each missionary: the language of the Spirit. It is not learned from textbooks written by men of letters, nor is it acquired through reading and memorization. The language of the Spirit comes to him who seeks with all his heart to know God and to keep His divine commandments. Proficiency in this language permits one to breach barriers, overcome obstacles, and touch the human heart.
The Apostle Paul, in his second epistle to the Corinthians, urges that we turn from the narrow confinement of the letter of the law and seek the open vista of opportunity which the Spirit provides. I love and cherish Paul’s statement: “The letter killeth, but the spirit giveth life.” (2 Cor. 3:6.)
In a day of danger or a time of trial, such knowledge, such hope, such understanding bring comfort to the troubled mind and grieving heart. The entire message of the New Testament breathes a spirit of awakening to the human soul. Shadows of despair are dispelled by rays of hope, sorrow yields to joy, and the feeling of being lost in the crowd of life vanishes with the certain knowledge that our Heavenly Father is mindful of each of us.
The Savior provided assurance of this truth when He taught that even a sparrow shall not fall to the ground unnoticed by our Father. He then concluded the beautiful thought by saying, “Fear ye not therefore, ye are of more value than many sparrows.” (Matt. 10:29–31.)
We live in a complex world with daily challenges. There is a tendency to feel detached—even isolated—from the Giver of every good gift. We worry that we walk alone.
From the bed of pain, from the pillow wet with the tears of loneliness, we are lifted heavenward by that divine assurance and precious promise, “I will not fail thee, nor forsake thee.” (Josh. 1:5.)
Such comfort is priceless as we journey along the pathway of mortality, with its many forks and turnings. Rarely is the assurance communicated by a flashing sign or a loud voice. Rather, the language of the Spirit is gentle, quiet, uplifting to the heart and soothing to the soul.
At times, the answers to our questions and the responses to our daily prayers come to us through silent promptings of the Spirit. As William Cowper wrote:
God moves in a mysterious way
His wonders to perform;
He plants his footsteps in the sea
And rides upon the storm. …
Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,
But trust him for his grace;
Behind a frowning providence
He hides a smiling face.
(Hymns, no. 48.)
We watch. We wait. We listen for that still, small voice. When it speaks, wise men and women obey. We do not postpone following promptings of the Spirit.
To address such a sacred subject, may I refer not to the writings of others, but to the actual experiences of my life. I testify to their truth, for I lived them. I share with you today three cherished examples of what President David O. McKay identified as “heart petals”—the language of the Spirit, the promptings from a heavenly source.
First, the inspiration which attends a call to serve.
Second, the gratitude of God for a life well lived.
Third, the knowledge that we do not walk alone.
Every bishop can testify to the promptings which attend calls to serve in the Church. Frequently the call seems to be not so much for the benefit of those to be taught or led as for the person who is to teach or lead.
As a bishop, I worried about any members who were inactive, not attending, not serving. Such was my thought as I drove down the street where Ben and Emily lived. They were older—even in the twilight period of life. Aches and pains of advancing years caused them to withdraw from activity to the shelter of their home—isolated, detached, shut out from the mainstream of daily life and association.
I felt the unmistakable prompting to park my car and visit Ben and Emily, even though I was on the way to a meeting. It was a sunny weekday afternoon. I approached the door to their home and knocked. Emily answered. When she recognized me, her bishop, she exclaimed, “All day long I have waited for my phone to ring. It has been silent. I hoped that the postman would deliver a letter. He brought only bills. Bishop, how did you know today was my birthday?”
I answered, “God knows, Emily, for He loves you.”
In the quiet of the living room, I said to Ben and Emily, “I don’t know why I was directed here today, but our Heavenly Father knows. Let’s kneel in prayer and ask Him why.” This we did, and the answer came. Emily was asked to sing in the choir—even to provide a solo for the forthcoming ward conference. Ben was asked to speak to the Aaronic Priesthood young men and recount a special experience in his life when his safety was assured by responding to the promptings of the Spirit. She sang. He spoke. Hearts were gladdened by the return to activity of Ben and Emily. They rarely missed a sacrament meeting from that day to the time each was called home. The language of the Spirit had been spoken. It had been heard. It had been understood. Hearts were touched and lives saved.
For my second example I turn to the release of a stake president in Star Valley, Wyoming—even the late E. Francis Winters. He had served faithfully for the lengthy term of twenty-three years. Though modest by nature and circumstance, he had been a perpetual pillar of strength to everyone in the valley. On the day of the stake conference, the building was filled to overflowing. Each heart seemed to be saying a silent thank-you to this noble leader who had given so unselfishly of his life for the benefit of others.
As I stood to speak following the reorganization of the stake presidency, I was prompted to do something I had not done before, nor have I done so since. I stated how long Francis Winters had presided in the stake; then I asked all whom he had blessed or confirmed as children to stand and remain standing. Then I asked all those persons whom President Winters had ordained, set apart, personally counseled, or blessed to please stand. The outcome was electrifying. Every person in the audience rose to his feet. Tears flowed freely—tears which communicated better than could words the gratitude of tender hearts. I turned to President and Sister Winters and said, “We are witnesses today of the prompting of the Spirit. This vast throng reflects not only individual feelings but also the gratitude of God for a life well lived.” No person who was in the congregation that day will forget how he felt when he witnessed the language of the Spirit of the Lord.
Finally, I testify that we do not walk alone.
Stan, a dear friend of mine, was taken seriously ill and rendered partially paralyzed. He had been robust in health, athletic in build, and active in many pursuits. Now he was unable to walk or to stand. His wheelchair was his home. The finest of physicians had cared for him, and the prayers of family and friends had been offered in a spirit of hope and trust. Yet Stan continued to lie in the confinement of his bed at the university hospital. He despaired.
Late one afternoon I was swimming at the Deseret Gym, gazing at the ceiling while backstroking width after width. Silently, but ever so clearly, there came to my mind the thought: “Here you swim almost effortlessly, while your friend Stan languishes in his hospital bed, unable to move.” I felt the prompting: “Get to the hospital and give him a blessing.”
I ceased my swimming, dressed, and hurried to Stan’s room at the hospital. His bed was empty. A nurse said he was in his wheelchair at the swimming pool, preparing for therapy. I hurried to the area, and there was Stan, all alone, at the edge of the deeper portion of the pool. We greeted one another and returned to his room, where a priesthood blessing was provided.
Slowly but surely, strength and movement returned to Stan’s legs. First he could stand on faltering feet. Then he learned once again to walk—step by step. Today one would not know that Stan had lain so close to death and with no hope of recovery.
Frequently Stan speaks in Church meetings and tells of the goodness of the Lord to him. To some he reveals the dark thoughts of depression which engulfed him that afternoon as he sat in his wheelchair at the edge of the pool, sentenced, it seemed, to a life of despair. He tells how he pondered the alternative. It would be so easy to propel the hated wheelchair into the silent water of the deep pool. Life would then be over. But at that precise moment he saw me, his friend. That day Stan learned literally that we do not walk alone. I, too, learned a lesson that day: Never, never, never postpone following a prompting.
As we pursue the journey of life, let us learn the language of the Spirit. May we remember and respond to the Master’s gentle invitation: “Behold, I stand at the door, and knock: if any man hear my voice, and open the door, I will come in to him.” (Rev. 3:20.) This is the language of the Spirit. He spoke it. He taught it. He lived it. May each of us do likewise, I pray in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

The last day of her fifth-grade year was a day Rose would never forget. She was 11 years old, quiet, and shy. But she loved being with her friends and playing games in which she competed with them.
And that day was a day of outdoor competitions. Rose thought, I can choose to do whatever I want today at the games!
A few teachers had set up games and races for the children. Rose and her two best friends, Tricia and Kelly, decided to help some of the teachers set things up. Rose had a lot of fun helping her own teacher, Mr. Charles, put up signs and get the first-, second-, and third-place ribbons ready for the winners.
Of course, Rose wanted to be one of the winners. In fact, she thought, I sure would like a first-place ribbon to take home!
At last the fun began. Rose, Tricia, and Kelly competed in several games together. Each of them won second- and third-place ribbons.
After a while, Kelly decided she wanted to help the first-grade teacher with the sack race, and Tricia wanted to enter the drawing contest. Rose didn’t know what else she wanted to do, so she decided to walk around.
The peanut race looked like it would be fun. She watched the younger children’s division and saw that it was no ordinary race. She clapped her hands as the winner got to the finish line—it was her happy little neighbor, Andi Marie.
When she signed up for her own division, Rose saw that about nine other girls had entered. She didn’t know any of them very well, but they all seemed to be friends.
The teacher in charge, Mr. Stevens, was one of the favorite teachers in the school. He handed each girl a peanut and a little, flat wooden spoon and explained the rules. “First, place the peanut on the spoon. When I blow the whistle, go as fast as you can toward the finish line, trying not to let the peanut fall off. If it does, stop, pick it up, put it back on your spoon, and continue the race. The first one who crosses the finish line will be the winner. No cheating!”
As Mr. Stevens headed for the finish line, which seemed very far away, Rose saw that many kids had gathered along both sides of the racecourse. Her heart began to pound.
The whistle blew, and off they went! Rose was determined to win, but it was harder than she’d thought it would be. Every few steps the peanut rolled off her spoon. She kept stopping to pick it up, put it back on her spoon, and hurry on. It was fun at first, but then she heard some kids laughing. The laughter got louder and louder. Mr. Stevens was yelling out over the noise, “Come on, keep it up! You can make it!”
When she dared to glance up, she saw that all the other girls had already crossed the finish line. How could they have gotten there so fast? Rose wondered. They were laughing, too—and hooting—at her: “You’re too slow! We all beat you! Ha-ha-ha!”
All eyes were on Rose. The peanut kept rolling off, and she kept picking it up as even the bystanders laughed and made fun.
She was only halfway down the racecourse. Her face flushed bright red with embarrassment, and the next time the peanut rolled off, she stopped, picked it up, and walked off the course. What’s the use of going on? she asked herself. She just wanted to go home or hide someplace.
Feeling a tap on her shoulder, she turned around to see a concerned Mr. Stevens. When he asked why she had walked off, all she could do was shrug. If she had tried to speak, she would have cried.
She never forgot what Mr. Stevens said to her then: “You should have kept going. Even if you had come in last, you would have been the winner. Didn’t you know that all the other girls had their thumbs on the peanuts? They all cheated. You were the only one who was honest. I’m proud of you for that, but you didn’t win the race because you gave up.”
“You gave up” kept ringing in her ears. She didn’t like those words. She felt good about being honest, but she felt bad about giving up. She didn’t believe in being a quitter, but she had quit anyway. If she hadn’t, she would now be a happy winner with a first-place ribbon!

My wife, Brittney, and I began purchasing food storage early in our marriage. In the first months after our wedding, we bought a few storable items each time we went grocery shopping. By adding a little bit at a time, we accumulated a useful store of food. We didn’t know when we would need to use it, but we knew it was important.
A year into our marriage, we moved across the country for graduate school, and we brought our food storage with us. Financially, things were difficult. We had used all of our savings to secure housing, and Brittney received no income as a student teacher. We relied on my graduate school assistantship to pay the bills, but it didn’t go far.
Our finances took another turn for the worse the second night in our new home. Brittney woke up with severe stomach pain, and when it didn’t subside after several hours, we went to the hospital. She had her appendix removed later that day.
After she recovered, we sat down to budget our money. As we calculated the next four months’ bills—which included the emergency surgery—we discovered we could still get by without going into debt. In order to do so, however, we could spend no more than $25 each month on groceries. That was about one-fourth of what we were used to spending.
The food storage we had accumulated over the past year became invaluable. It was enough to cover our basic needs for four months, and we used the budgeted $25 to buy milk and other perishables. We didn’t eat fancy food, but we didn’t go hungry.
As we lived frugally and served others willingly, we received added blessings. One of my fellow students finished his degree and asked us to help his family move. While we were helping, he asked if we would like to take the food left in their freezer. Because of his kindness, we now had meat to supplement our food storage.
The Lord blessed us as we prepared food storage, paid our tithing, and showed willingness to serve. We made it through those months without borrowing any money. After that semester, my wife found a full-time job, and we could afford to spend more money on groceries. We built up our food storage again, and we continue to be blessed as we obey the Lord’s commandments.

In 1968 I left my New Zealand home to settle in Israel. I just came, without great means and not knowing what conditions to expect in this land. The Spirit of God pressed upon me to come here, and being unmarried, I undertook the journey alone.
But before coming to Israel I searched a map of this land for a place where I might go to stay, for I had no relatives here to welcome me. The only map of Israel in my possession was an old biblical map, and on it I found a place by the name of Zerin.
After arriving in Israel I discovered that a kibbutz was built next to the ruins of Zerin and that this was the ancient town of Jezreel, which name the kibbutz had adopted anew. Upon joining this kibbutz I was questioned as to why I chose that place rather than another, but at that time I was at a loss for an adequate reply.
For a few years I worked on the kibbutz, or farming commune, milking cows and helping to build up the land. I began to observe the laws of Moses, and I studied the Bible a great deal, although until I came to Israel I had no background in Judaism.
One day, while I was looking for a book to read in the kibbutz library, the librarian, who was nonreligious, handed me the Book of Mormon and said that I should read it. It had once been left in the library by a young Mormon volunteer worker who had spent a few months on the kibbutz. I was not interested in the Book of Mormon, but this lady, knowing I was spiritually inclined, was insistent that I read it, and so out of curiosity I took it with me.
When I began to read it, I greatly wondered at its contents, as I read of things that I had never supposed existed. I prayed about whether the things contained in the Book of Mormon were true, and indeed, just as promised in the admonition in the book, the Holy Spirit witnessed very strongly in me, and I began to take these writings seriously.
I read the Book of Mormon twice and then sent a letter addressed to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, Salt Lake City, asking for further information. Back came a reply from the Missionary Department, with tracts and a letter of encouragement.
Through the tracts I learned of the existence of two books called the Doctrine and Covenants and the Pearl of Great Price, and I immediately sent for these also. Many things were pressing to be clarified to my mind, and I desired to have all the scriptural material that was available.
From studying these things in the light of the Mormon scriptures, I became increasingly convinced of the truth of the fullness of the gospel of Jesus Christ as taught by The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Within a year I earnestly sought to be baptized, but I was unable to locate any Latter-day Saints. At the government information services I was told that the Church had no presence in Israel; and when I followed up addresses of Saints forwarded to me by the Switzerland Mission, I received no answer. It was not until three years after first reading the Book of Mormon that I met any Mormons.
While studying Oral Law in a yeshiva, or Jewish Talmudic school, on Mount Zion, I came across an advertisement of Latter-day Saint services on a torn piece of newspaper. Immediately I contacted the brethren of the Jerusalem Branch, which before President Harold B. Lee’s recent visit to the Holy Land was still called the Israel Group, a non-Israeli congregation of about thirty souls, the majority being children.
For some weeks I secretly attended meetings and further studied the gospel through the favor of the presidency of this branch. Early one morning, the day I left the yeshiva, some brethren gathered at the Pool of Shiloam, and there I was baptized. The day following, at the house of the branch president, I was ordained a priest, both these ordinances having been carried out by President David B. Galbraith and his first counselor, Elder John Tvedtnes, from whom I took further instruction in the gospel.

It wasn’t learning about the priesthood ban that shook Tomicka’s faith; it was the speculation behind that restriction put forward by some Latter-day Saints. Tomicka faced a choice: walk away from the Church or hold to the rod. Thanks to the Book of Mormon, she held tight.

I grew up in the Church. I attended Primary and went through the Young Women program. I loved it. My best friends were Latter-day Saints. When I went away to college, however, my activity in the Church wasn’t as great as it should have been.

I never had a doubt that the gospel was true, but after college I was reading about the priesthood ban on African-Americans. It really began to bother me—not so much the ban, but what people said were the reasons for the ban.

Some people said things like, “You weren’t as valiant in the war in heaven” or, “You’re not as intelligent or as faithful.” Those things didn’t mesh with what I knew to be true from my mom, from other black members of the Church who are really good examples of faith, and even from faithful black people outside the Church.

I had a moment, a crisis of faith, when I thought that I could just walk away from it all. But at that moment, I thought, “Is the Book of Mormon true? Do you believe it to be true?”

I could answer, “Yes, without a shadow of a doubt, I believe it to be true.” Then the Spirit told me, “Well, if the Book of Mormon is true, then everything else is.”

I got the impression that the gospel is perfect, but people aren’t. And so, I have to remind myself over and over that people sometimes do things and say things that don’t match with what the gospel tells us.

Some people in the Church are going to say things that are wrong. The gospel is perfect, but people aren’t perfect. The Church is for imperfect people. We’re trying to get there, but we’re still a long way from it.

A friend asked me point blank, “How did you stay, knowing all of this?” I said, “It’s my testimony of the Book of Mormon.” I believe it to be true. No, I know it to be true.

That was the reason I could stay.

When I graduated from college I was just like many other Chinese young men: I called myself a scientist. I did not really believe in God. I could not believe that the universe was created by God. I often accepted invitations to “Bai-Bai” (traditional Chinese family worship), but I mostly wanted to enjoy the company and the wonderful food offered to their gods as part of the ceremony, but eaten by the participants. I was not the only one with such feelings; sometimes neither the sponsor of “Bai-Bai” nor the guest knew which god or gods they were worshiping that day.
My family worshiped their ancestors only during Chinese festival days, but despite lack of a strong religious tradition in the family, Christianity was unthinkable as an alternative. We felt that accepting a “foreign” God would make us traitors to our ancestors. Furthermore, like many Chinese, I disliked Christian missionaries because their governments had, for the last two hundred years, invaded my country, selling opium to my countrymen, and almost destroying China just as they destroyed India, Egypt, and the Incas.
Nevertheless, one day a Latter-day Saint schoolmate, Young Ho Chin, told me he was going to visit two sister missionaries who lived close to his house. One was from Canada, he said. I went with him to see this Canadian because I had never seen one before. When I was introduced to Sister Moirg Blackmore, who was from Cardston, Alberta, and Sister E. Julia Smith from Salt Lake City, they began teaching me the gospel immediately, even before I could ask which one was from Canada.
For the first three lessons I did not fully understand the Christian terms they were using, and I had so many questions it was hard for the sisters to answer all of them. And many of these teachings seemed to contradict the “scientific” knowledge I had obtained in school. But not wishing to be rude, and touched by their enthusiasm, I continued to investigate the restored gospel. Eventually I was more interested in it than in anything I had ever studied before.
Then they asked me to be baptized. I knew this would be a turning point in my life. I knew the gospel was true, but the traditional Chinese concept of God was so deeply planted in my mind that I could neither get rid of it nor adjust it to the truth. I knew I must kneel down and pray, but when I started to, a strange force bound me and I could not utter one word. When I stopped praying, I was free from that force. After twelve unsuccessful attempts, I was finally able to pray. I was soaking wet with perspiration.
When I rose from my knees, it was 2:30 in the morning, but I had no doubts in my mind. My decision was made and I was baptized. My faith could not become complete in one day, and sometimes a doubt would flash over my mind. Nevertheless, the more I studied the scriptures the more I believed.
For instance, God told us to have our genealogy worked out, and the Chinese are a race that keeps genealogical records. My family’s record goes back to 1,000 B.C. I also found some parallels between Chinese tradition and Christian teachings. For example, Chinese lore preserves the story of Pan Ko Shi, who lived in heaven and died so his body could become the world. This legend has similarities to the mission of Christ, who was crucified so man could have eternal life. There are other examples: The Chinese character for ark can mean eight persons in a boat; Noah’s ark had eight persons on it. (See 1 Pet. 3:20.) We put red papers on the door frame to get luck and to cast out evils; the ancient Israelites put blood on their door frames to protect them from the destroying angel. (See Ex. 12:13.) Chinese records indicate that their ancient kings and emperors lived about eight hundred years; Genesis indicates very long lifespans for its early patriarchs. Chinese describe heaven and hell in multiples of three, each with a different glory or punishment. The Church teaches the three degrees of glory. Whenever we Chinese had a tyrannical leader, the people would say that a true heavenly son would descend, save the people, and become their new king. Chinese also know the definition and necessity of opposition.
When I found all these things, I knew that my people had once had the truth. Since those ancient times, Chinese have retained only a blurred idea of all these teachings. But they keep and honor them in their own way. I now know I am not a traitor to my ancestors in joining the Church, nor am I worshiping a “foreign” God.
In the many years since I was baptized, my parents and friends have finally accepted me as a Latter-day Saint: a funny man who drinks no wine, smokes no tobacco, has no mistress, and sometimes, incredibly, even eats no food. They think I have no pleasure in life. But I have gained pleasure and peace in my heart that is beyond their understanding.