Gospel Story Finder

When Ryan Wilkinson moved from Horsefly, British Columbia, Canada, to Bountiful, Utah, during his junior year of high school, he left Horsefly with $255 in his savings account.
That’s $255, Canadian. Or somewhere in the vicinity of 190 U.S. dollars.
Ryan’s goal was to leave for a mission soon after he turned 19 in February 2000. Since Ryan knew he needed approximately $9,000 for the two years he planned to be in the mission field, he could do the math. “What I had in the bank wouldn’t even last me a month as a missionary,” he explains.
So Ryan did what anybody in need of eight or nine grand would do.
“I went looking for a job.”
In Canada, Ryan had worked wrapping potatoes in aluminum foil at a nearby restaurant. “I got $5 for each box,” he says. Lots of potatoes but not much money.
So with less than two years before he turned 19, Ryan put a plan in place once he got to Utah. “I figured if I could earn $2,000 before I graduated from high school, I could earn the rest by getting a full-time job once I was out of school,” he says. The plan was feasible since Ryan decided he wasn’t going to go to college until after his mission.
When Ryan put on the cap and gown for Bountiful High School’s class of ’99 commencement exercises, he had about $1,800 in his account, just short of his goal but in the neighborhood. All that money came from his work as a bagger and then as a cashier at a local grocery store. “I even got a 15-cent raise when I was promoted,” he says with a smile.
Not long after graduation, a neighbor who was building a house down the street from the Wilkinsons approached Ryan and his brother Mark about working construction for the summer. “We didn’t know what we were doing, but we learned as we went,” Ryan says. “That was a pretty good job. We put on the roof, and I put on all the shingles. I helped put in the windows and doors, and I helped pour the cement for the basement floor.”
Ka-ching. Ka-ching. The money began adding up.
But two jobs, apparently, weren’t enough.
“I heard about this other job—a graveyard shift—from midnight to six in the morning where I’d be unloading boxes from a truck,” he says. “And it paid a lot more than being a cashier. But since it would be a harder job, I decided to quit my [grocery store] job.”
But being a conscientious employee, Ryan gave two weeks’ notice at the grocery store. And this is where his schedule became a little tricky.
“I did the three jobs for two weeks. I’d start in the morning and go build the house from eight until about five. Then I’d go to the store from seven o’clock to eleven,” he says. “After I cashed out the money, I’d head to the loading dock. I worked from midnight to six.”
What about sleep?
“I didn’t get a lot,” he admits.
Fortunately, that torturous schedule ended, and he could settle back in to the relaxation of working only two jobs.
“Yeah, everybody says that going on a mission will be the hardest thing I’ll ever do in my life,” Ryan adds. “But it seems that going on a mission will be a break for me.”
Guess he’s finding out.
On March 1, Elder Wilkinson entered the Missionary Training Center. Two months later he left for the Italy Rome Mission. He earned a little extra for the purchase of suits, shirts, shoes, and all the other things he needed to be a missionary. But he had the $9,000 in his account for the 24 months he’d be gone.
“I always knew I was going to earn the money for my mission,” Ryan adds. “I just didn’t know how.”
He does now.

I grew up on a farm in Washington State, where my parents raised kids and cattle. I was the youngest in our large family, and at 14 I was busy trying to balance chores at home with my budding social schedule.
Each day after school it was my responsibility to feed and count all 60 head of cattle to make sure that each was safe. To a 14-year-old girl, this was a tedious chore, so I avoided counting them. In the winter it wasn’t as dangerous because none of the cattle were calving, but when the spring hit, it was critical that the pregnant heifers that had never given birth were each watched carefully. But I was too busy worrying about my hair and braces to be bothered about a few cows.
I clearly remember the day I was pulled out of school and rushed home to help. One of our young heifers, my very own actually, had been in labor for three days, hidden in the woods, suffering with no food, no water, and no help. The unborn calf had perished days before, and the cow had been unable to birth it. So, with the help of a vet, my father and I had to remove it from her.
When I pulled up in the truck and saw my father standing there, I was sure he would be angry with me. He had told me thousands of times to count the cattle, always asking if they were all there and all safe. But I was too busy to listen. I was too busy with things I thought were more important, like basketball practice. Or I would wait too long and feed them in the dark, making it impossible to count the herd. At the time, my own things really did seem more important. I didn’t understand; I didn’t have the big picture yet.
When I looked at that poor animal suffering from starvation, crippled and ruined, never again to bear a calf, I knew my father had been right. I had chosen not to listen to his simple instructions, and the consequences affected far more than my own life. I spent the next two months nursing the animal back to health, working her through the paralysis, and doing my best to repair the damage I had caused.
My father? He loved me. He put his arms around me and knew that I would never do it again. He knew that I had learned the lesson the hard way, but it was learned. If only I had listened. It was my own laziness, my own selfish insistence on my personal comfort that had kept me from following my dad’s simple instructions that would have saved a life.

Recently, I approached the reception desk of a large hospital to learn the room number of a patient I had come to visit. This hospital, like almost every other in the land, was undergoing a massive expansion. Behind the desk where the receptionist sat was a magnificent plaque which bore an inscription of thanks to donors who had made possible the expansion. The name of each donor who had contributed $100,000 appeared in a flowing script, etched on an individual brass placard suspended from the main plaque by a glittering chain.
The names of the benefactors were well known. Captains of commerce, giants of industry, professors of learning—all were there. I felt gratitude for their charitable benevolence. Then my eyes rested on a brass placard which was different—it contained no name. One word, and one word only, was inscribed: “Anonymous.” I smiled and wondered who the unnamed contributor could have been. Surely he or she experienced a quiet joy unknown to any other.

We attend a lot of meetings in the Church, and one meeting I attended a few years ago had a powerful effect on me. It was a testimony meeting in a ward in Barcelona, Spain.
To my surprise, around 10 youth shared their testimonies following an FSY conference they had participated in. What impressed me most was that they all bore pure, powerful testimonies of the Savior, Jesus Christ, His atoning sacrifice, and His love for all of us. I was amazed that after five days of fun activities with other youth, food, games, and dances, it was the joy they had in the Savior that really stuck with them. It left me wondering why.
Later I moved to Brazil. I learned the leaders in the area were preparing for an FSY conference. As an Area Seventy, I was invited to help organize the conference and to participate in all five days with the youth.
Before I left, the Area Presidency asked me to be prepared to give a report on my experience at FSY when I returned. My wife and I attended the conference, and for the first three days we enjoyed the planned activities, including morning scripture study, devotionals, classes, outside activities, good food, family home evening, and dances. Everything moved forward as planned, and I felt that I had seen enough to complete my report.
The next evening, we held a beautiful and touching musical program. The Spirit was so special that the owner of the conference site, not a member of the Church, told me that he would love to have our group attend FSY at his place every year.
After the musical program, the youth gathered in their groups for a testimony meeting. My wife and I went from group to group and heard touching testimonies. We could tell that the participants in the conference had been having strong spiritual experiences. We loved hearing the youth freely express their feelings of happiness. We felt like a part of a big spiritual family. We felt the love of the Savior for each one of us.
I looked to my wife and asked, “What is going on here?” She could not say a word. But we knew so many had experienced a spiritual moment and received an unforgettable testimony of the Lord, Jesus Christ.
I went to my room that night and wrote a totally different report! The following year, my wife and I went to FSY again and enjoyed the same experience. Now I understand why the youth in that testimony meeting in Spain shared such meaningful feelings for the Savior instead of relating the fun activities they had.
My desire is that you will have many similar experiences in your life, whether it is at FSY, by your bedside as you pray, when you read the scriptures, or when you share your testimony with your friends.
I testify that we are sons and daughters of a loving Heavenly Father. We came here to earth from His presence, and we are all members of His great spiritual family. Our eldest Brother is the Lord, Jesus Christ. He is our Master, and from Him we can learn and grow “in wisdom and stature, and in favour with God and man” (Luke 2:52), as He did.
Detail from Christ and the Rich Young Ruler by Heinrich Hofmann
Jesus Christ is our Savior. His power is infinite, and He stands ready to rescue us from any afflicting situation we may find ourselves in. He is our friend—a friend who loves us, knows us, and has offered His life to save us. His atoning sacrifice for us made it possible for Him to know how to succor us, to strengthen us, and to perfect us. Let us all accept His invitation: “Come, follow me” (Luke 18:22).

This story happened in Kenya.
How was Primary?
It was good. And I got my Friend magazine!
That’s great! Ready to go home?
Yep!
Hello!
Hello!
Reading the Friend makes me happy. Maybe it will make her happy too.
This is for you! It’s a magazine about Jesus Christ.
Thank you!
That was nice of you.
Thanks. I just wanted her to feel the happiness I feel when I learn about Jesus!
“Share the gospel. Be you and hold up the light.”
Elder Marcus B. Nash of the Seventy, “Hold Up Your Light,” Liahona, Nov. 2021, 72.
Thanks to Sasha O. for sharing her story!
How can you share the gospel with others?
Illustrations by Kelly Light

On the first and second of November 1831, a conference was held at Hiram, Ohio, when it was decided that the revelations should be compiled and published. On the first day of the conference the Lord gave approval to the plan by giving a revelation He called His “preface unto the book of my commandments, which I have given them to publish unto you, O inhabitants of the earth” (D&C 1:6).

During the course of the conference there was not perfect harmony among the brethren. A few criticized the language found in the revelations. They forgot that the Lord uses men as instruments as they are available, through whom He communicates, just as an author when writing makes use of whatever pen, paper, or ink he may be able to obtain to produce his work. Some of the brethren did not fully realize that divine revelation is independent from university study, and they were wavering in their faith. In answer to this inquiry, the Lord issued a challenge:

Now, seek ye out of the Book of Commandments, even the least that is among them, and appoint him that is the most wise among you;
Or, if there be any among you that shall make one like unto it, then ye are justified in saying that ye do not know that they are true;
But if ye cannot make one like unto it, ye are under condemnation if ye do not bear record that they are true. [D&C 67:6–8]

William E. McLellin accepted the offer and undertook to initiate the revelations of the Lord. His efforts to produce a revelation were witnessed with great interest by the elders assembled, and when they were aware of his complete failure, all doubts concerning the revelations of God vanished. They were then willing to testify to the truth and signed a document containing their testimonies and witnesses to the truthfulness of the book.

Clint Dalley was the first assistant to the president in the priests quorum that year and one of those natural All-American athletes. Scott liked Clint and probably gravitated to him because of Clint’s athletic successes. Clint, however, was busy trying to make those important life decisions and was quite busy with many activities. As a result, the two did not spend a great deal of time together. Like other quorum members, Clint gave Scott a ride occasionally or sometimes they went for a soft drink at the local drive-in.
They came together one springtime in our town of Highland, Utah, because of a basketball tournament. It is traditional for all men and boys in the ward to be formed into basketball teams and participate in the “H.A.C.” tournament. The initials stand for Highland Athletic Commission (no one knows why they named it that), but those who participate think the name “HAC” describes how rough the hacking fouls are.
That year I was selected to be the coach for one team and found that both Clint and Scott had been chosen as team members. During each game, I made sure that everyone on the team played. Because of Clint and some other players my team kept winning during the three nights of play and eventually won the championship. After the last game, Scott’s mother stopped to thank me for allowing Scott to play in the games, “even when the score was close,” she said. She was aware that because of the intensity of play other team members might resent Scott’s participation. He is moderately handicapped and is not very coordinated. But I told her that Scott did just fine and made his contribution. In fact, when he played the pressure on everyone was reduced and basketball became more fun and less competitive. I noted that after the last game Clint left with Scott, and Clint’s dad told me they were going to get an ice cream cone before going home. I learned later that from that moment they spent more time than usual together.

I didn’t have a happy childhood. My father is very against the Church, and my parents have made my Church participation difficult. Plus, because of things my parents told me, I believed I was ugly and dumb. My feelings of self-worth were reduced to nothing.
One night, things at home were worse than ever before. I went to my bedroom, and out of stress and exhaustion, I fell to my knees to pray.
Until that moment, I don’t think I’d ever prayed seriously. I began, “My dear Heavenly Father, I need Thy help so much. Please send me someone whom I can talk to and trust. At times like these, I long for someone on earth to hold me, listen to me, and try to help me.”
I prayed with similar pleadings for more than a week. I watched and listened, hoping that Heavenly Father would send me someone I could talk to in person. Nothing happened.
Things at home became worse, but I prayed daily. I heard testimonies of prayers answered immediately and others answered within weeks. But the comfort I wanted came in a way I hadn’t expected, and my prayer to have someone on earth help me didn’t come for two years. So instead of just praying, I started seriously studying the scriptures, fasting, and reading my patriarchal blessing often.
I started to feel something. I could tell I was growing spiritually. During those two very painful years, I got to know my Heavenly Father and my Savior. Because of those two years of praying and waiting, I gained a relationship with Them that is so powerful and strong that I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Even though the answer hadn’t come the way I thought it would, through the Savior’s grace and Atonement, I was able to find peace.
As I look back on those two years, I realize that Heavenly Father and the Savior know me better than I’ll ever know myself. They know what’s best for me. Two years after my first prayer, Heavenly Father sent people to help me. But by waiting, I was also blessed with endurance, strength, and a testimony that keeps growing stronger every day.

I’m a yoga instructor, and when I’m teaching, I always strive to help others feel loved and connected to the Spirit like I do. At the head of the class, I can see everyone’s body language, which usually allows me to see the uncomfortable emotions they may be holding on to.

One morning I noticed a young woman in my class. I could see through each movement that she was sad and trying to let go of something heavy in her life.

After class, I felt a prompting from the Spirit to ask her how she was doing. I felt sort of awkward about it, but when I remembered Christlike examples of ministering, I followed the prompting. I went up to this woman and told her I could listen if she needed someone to talk to.

She immediately started sharing her feelings and struggles with me.

I am grateful I listened to the Spirit and was able to have a vulnerable conversation with her. During our conversation, we felt the Spirit, and she expressed her gratitude that I listened to her. She said, “The Savior places people in our paths to love and support us—to help us. I am grateful He’s leading me to friends who lift me up.”

Sister Sandra Rone of the Hatillo Branch in the San Cristobal Dominican Republic Stake was baptized as a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints as a young single adult. After her conversion, she continued to live with her parents and pursue her studies. Sandra shared her beliefs with her parents, but they were not interested. Despite their lack of interest, Sandra continued with unwavering faith and dedication to the gospel. She later started her own family but maintained a close relationship with her parents. She continued to teach them by example, living her life dedicated to the Savior and teaching them principles through family conversations.
Over time, Sandra’s mother died, and her 85-year-old father, Manuel Antonio Rone Puello, was left without his wife, the only love of his life. He was lonely and missed her very much. From that moment on, Sandra taught him that being with his wife again was possible through the sealing ordinances in the temple. Manuel asked, “How is that? Explain more to me.”
Sandra taught him that through the temple ordinances, family and couple relationships do not end when we die. If Manuel was sealed to his wife in the temple, he could be with her after he passes from this life. She went on to explain that to receive these blessings, he must first be baptized. Manuel replied, “I want that. I’d like to be baptized. I want to be with my wife.”
After 20 years of being taught and shown the gospel of Jesus Christ by his daughter’s example, Manuel was baptized.

Jerry was another guy who helped me shape up properly. He managed the health spa where my brothers and I used to do our weight lifting, and he often joined our workouts.
Jerry was no scrawny high school kid. He was a mountain of muscle. Any weight I could lift barely once, Jerry could easily lift ten times. I hated it and loved it when Jerry worked out with us. I hated it because he wouldn’t let us rest or loaf.
“One more! C’mon, you can do one more rep,” he’d yell when I was ready to rack the weights. “Don’t give up now. You can do it.” Then he’d stand over me as I grunted and strained to produce one more repetition. “Atta boy. I knew you could do it.”
I hated the hard work, but I loved the encouragement and motivation he added to our workouts. Jerry squeezed out the best in me, and I always made my best lifts when he was around.

Final thought: There was a young professional woman whose office reported to the Foreign Ministry, or the U.S. State Department equivalent, who attended BYU-Hawaii in 2002. Her name was Lu Lu. At the conclusion of her studies here I inquired with her what she gained the most from her studies.

She replied, "I have thoroughly enjoyed my studies here, because of the students and faculty. I have never met a more giving and loving people. My studies were excellent, the teachers so nice and thoughtful. I am very sad I am leaving this wonderful campus."

When I inquired even more, she said, "Yes, there is on more thing: When I first came to BYUH my goals and objectives were set, I was focused (because her leader was expecting a lot upon here return to China). For me my professional role was more important than family."

"But, something happened here to my surprise, I could not get over the genuine love and kindness of the people here." It bothered her to the point she and others thought this was a coordinated effort or staged by the Mormon people to show this kind of kindness.

"For the first few months I pushed hard on my studies, while at the same time students and faculty were inviting me to come to their homes and church. My feelings were changing on one item, FAMILIES! I observed how the members around here place their families above their profession, and yet did not see their ability to conduct their business fazed."

"One day while speaking with my husband [on the telephone] at the end of my conversation I found myself saying, 'I love you!' He did not say anything and we continued to talk. The following weeks as I spoke to my husband I would always close with 'I love you!' but it was as before. He would say nothing!

"As the months rolled forward here at BYUH, I again said to my husband, 'I love you!' and, again he spoke as before without recognition of my affection. I said in a loud voice, 'didn't you hear what I said?' There was a long pause. He said, 'I know I have heard it over and over again. What are they teaching over there?'"

"Somewhat shocked, I replied, 'What do you mean?' 'I mean if that is what you are learning there, I want to come to BYU Hawaii.'"

Since leaving BYU Hawaii I continue to communicate by email. She sent me an email indicating she loves her work but now there is one item which has brought much fulfillment to her and her husband: She is called, Kitty.

With the agility and energy of a six-year-old, I climbed to the stool and perched myself expectantly at the kitchen counter beside my four-year old sister, Kristy. This was the moment we had been waiting for all evening. In bright-eyed anticipation, I tossed back my long, sun-bleached curls and looked over at Kristy, giving her a knowing, dimpled grin. With her thick, brown pigtails and soft, brown eyes that were as big as pennies, she looked at me and burst into a stream of excited giggles.
You see, Mom was gone to a meeting, and we were fortunate enough to have our favorite baby-sitter—the Sugar Cookie Baby-sitter. Some baby-sitters just watch TV or talk on the phone the whole time; others are mean and bop you if you spill your soup. Some baby-sitters are nice enough to read you stories and play games with you. Some will even let you stay up late past your bedtime. But the best kind of baby-sitter is the kind that bakes you cookies. Our baby-sitter made us sugar cookies, and he always let us help. He was our dad.
So it was with a great deal of enthusiasm that we peered over the counter as Dad assembled the necessary ingredients and equipment. Making the dough was a team effort. Dad was in charge of measuring, and Kristy and I took turns dumping and pouring. As it came time to add the eggs, Dad took over. This was a job requiring a lot of talent, so we were told. With reverent awe, Kristy and I watched as Dad’s large, skillful hands precisely cracked each egg with a tremendous “whack” on the edge of the bowl and carefully pulled the shell apart as the liquid oozed out, cascading into the bowl with splendid ease. Stirring the dough with great vigor was also a job for Dad.
Kristy and I watched with eager intent as the dough was mixed. Finally it was time for the most important part—“testing” the dough. The ritual began with Dad eating a heaping spoonful of the soft, white dough. This first test was never quite accurate enough, so he would ask for second and third opinions. This is where we could help, and we completed our task with expert competence. The ritual was repeated several times, each taste followed by an “ooh” or an “ah.”
After the dough had successfully passed all the tests, Dad rolled it out and we helped him cut it into circles for baking. The problem came when we had only one cookie cutter. Since this was a team effort, something had to be done; and Dad was creative and resourceful. Bright-colored aluminum drinking cups became elegant and stylish cookie cutters. Putting the circles of dough onto the cookie sheet and sprinkling them with sugar was a job which was given exclusively to Kristy and me. Of course Dad pretended not to notice when some of the circles never quite made it to the cookie sheet.
While the surviving cookies baked, Kristy and I raced to get ready for bed and climbed onto Dad’s lap for stories. The stories were followed by “horseback” rides and eating warm cookies. Then off to bed we went, content with the evening’s festivities.
Such are my memories of my Sugar Cookie Baby-sitter. It was several years later, as a college student, that I became aware of the sacrifice my father had made to spend that time with his two little girls. Along with working full-time, he was going to school at the university. Instead of doing his homework in the evenings, he would spend that time with us. Mom tells of scolding him when she came home after meetings and found him just beginning his school assignments. He often had to stay up until the early hours of the morning to finish them. Parents make a lot of sacrifices for their children. As a recipient of those sacrifices, I will always be grateful for those sugar cookie nights and times spent with my dad.

Our youth activities should reflect our belief that “men are, that they might have joy,” and we should be willing to share that joy with others. Not long ago I met a woman from the East who is now living in the Salt Lake Valley. She is a devout member of another Christian church, and I asked her how she enjoyed living among the Latter-day Saints. She said: “My husband and I get along fine, but I worry about our teenage daughter. Each Wednesday evening about seven o’clock, several girls in our neighborhood walk right past our home headed somewhere together, and not once have they stopped to invite our 14-year-old daughter to go with them.”
I said, “My dear, this is your lucky day; I am in a position to get that problem fixed.” She readily gave me her daughter’s name and address, and we made contact with both the stake president and the seminary principal.
Our friends and neighbors are children of a loving Father in Heaven, who desires that all of us return to Him. Can we be content when not all the members of our quorum are in attendance Sunday morning? Surely we can extend ourselves to the less active and those of other faiths and warmly invite them to our Young Men and Young Women Mutual activities, seminary, Sunday School classes, and sacrament meetings.

Sometimes the pathway to conversion can be long and hard. My brother-in-law was less active in the Church for 50 years. Not until he was in his 60s did he begin to accept the Savior’s invitation to come back. Many helped him along the way. One home teacher sent him a postcard every month for 22 years. But he had to decide he wanted to come back. He had to exercise his agency. He had to take that first step—and then another and another. Now he and his wife have been sealed together, and he is serving in a bishopric.
Recently we showed him the videos that have been developed to help leaders and teachers implement the new learning resources. After watching the videos, my brother-in-law leaned back in his chair and said, somewhat emotionally, “Maybe if I had had that when I was young, I wouldn’t have fallen away.”

Dr. William Ghormley served as president of the stake in Corpus Christi, Texas. He bought his gasoline at a particular station. Each time he filled his tank he would leave a piece of Church literature with the station owner. It might have been a tract or a Church magazine or the Church News, but he never went there without leaving something. The man who ran the station was converted by the power of the Spirit as he read that literature. When last I checked, he was serving as a bishop.

Once I heard a forceful appeal by a woman from the Mutual. … She gave a rousing talk on the reading of the scriptures and making them our own; then she stopped her dissertation to ask this mixed congregation, about a thousand of us, “How many of you have read the Bible through?”
I think I was about fourteen years old at the time. An accusing guilt complex spread over me. I had read many books by that time, the funny papers, and light books, but my accusing heart said to me, “You, Spencer Kimball, you have never read that holy book. Why?” I looked around me at the people in front and on both sides of the hall to see if I was alone in my failure to read the sacred book. Of the thousand people, there were perhaps a half dozen who proudly raised their hands. I slumped down in my seat. I had no thought for the others who had also failed, but only a deep accusing thought for myself. I don’t know what other people were doing and thinking, but I heard no more of the sermon. It had accomplished its work. When the meeting closed, I sought the large double exit door and rushed to my home a block east of the chapel; and I was gritting my teeth and saying to myself, “I will. I will. I will.”
Entering the back door of our family home, I went to the kitchen shelf where we kept the coal oil lamps, selected one that was full of oil and had a newly trimmed wick, and climbed the stairs to my attic room. There I opened my Bible and began on Genesis, first chapter and first verse, and I read well into the night with Adam and Eve and Cain and Abel, and Enoch and Noah and through the flood even to Abraham.
Note: Young Spencer went on to finish the Bible. Since then he has read it and all the scriptures many times.

As we prepared to sing during a dedicatory session of the Concepción Chile Temple in 2018, all the members of the young adult choir I was conducting had the same goal: do the musical and spiritual work necessary to give God our best offering.
With the choir members, from two stakes in the city of Chillán, I dedicated myself to being as pure as I could be. I wanted to reflect the Light of Christ in my life. I wanted the offering we gave God in His holy house to be as perfect as possible. I knew that if we did our part, Heavenly Father would help us, and we would sing as He would have us sing.
During the dedication, we sang with our voices and our hearts. I think angels sang with us. The sound of the choir was perfect. We felt that the grace of God was with us and that He was pleased with our offering. That feeling stayed with me for a long time.
After the temple dedication, I felt spiritually nourished and at one with Heavenly Father. I felt a stronger connection with Him than I had ever experienced. That connection was so strong that I felt spiritually directed in what to ask for when I prayed (see 3 Nephi 19:24).
By the time of the temple dedication, I was five weeks pregnant. A few months later, I miscarried my baby. That was a terrible time. I felt so sad, especially when I learned that I might not be able to have more children.
But this difficult experience occurred at a time when I felt the most spiritually strong. I understood that I had been prepared for this moment by means of the offering we had rendered in the temple. The spiritual strength I had experienced helped me overcome this trial because Heavenly Father was with me and gave me peace.
A short time later, God blessed my husband and me with a miracle. We were overjoyed when our son, Arturo, received a little sister, Daniela.
I would not have been able to weather that experience without the close connection I had enjoyed with Heavenly Father. I knew that everything would be OK and in accordance with His will. Remembering these things still fills my heart with joy and gratitude.

It reminded me of the Palo Alto Institute of Religion and George Pace and Eugene England. Both Brother Pace and Brother England have taught at BYU for years. I would like to pay tribute to them for helping me. As a freshman I thought institute would be like my seminary class. I started attending it with the same chip on my shoulder—trying to think of challenging questions. Brother Pace and Brother England were always upbeat. They never lost their patience. I started listening to their stories and thinking about the gospel and, for the first time, reading the Book of Mormon. Did it help that I was intensely homesick and worried that I would fail? Yes, it did. Homesickness is often fertile soil in which the seeds of testimony may grow. Nonetheless, I am grateful for their steadiness, their knowledge, and their friendship while I progressed from unpleasant disregard to pleasant regard to complete attention. Were it not for them, I might not have chosen to go on a mission, which turned out to be the most important experience of my young life.

My last example of a miraculous indication is a personal one which happened one month after President Nelson gave that talk.
The first week of May 2018 was a turbulent time for our family. Our daughter Jenny was scheduled to deliver our first grandchild. She and her husband, Joe, were living in Orem so my wife, Marie, had gone down to help out a few days before the scheduled delivery. I stayed in Rexburg to teach my classes and planned to drive to Orem early on the morning of the delivery.
Previous to becoming pregnant, Jenny developed a potentially dangerous autoimmune condition that causes excessive bruising and bleeding. The bleeding results from unusually low levels of platelets—the cells that help blood to clot. It is critically important to moniter this condition when delivering a baby; if your platelet count drops before delivering, you have a greater risk of heavy bleeding.
On the morning of May 7 everything looked good and Jenny, Joe, Marie, and Joe’s mother, Amy, were all at the hospital awaiting the big moment. It was around noon when the text messages from Marie notified me of some progress in the delivery room. Jenny was pushing hard. The baby’s head was crowning. I was now in the hospital parking lot, anxiously awaiting each text. Finally, the baby was out! It was a boy! I texted my response and asked if I should come inside. There was no response to my text. After several minutes I resent the text and again, I did not receive a response. I had an uncomfortable feeling in my stomach. I decided to go inside and see what was happening.
When I opened the door to the outer waiting room both my wife and Joe’s mother were in the room and they were crying. It took a minute to get the details from them. I learned that the baby was okay; he had been taken to the NICU. Jenny on the other hand was not doing well. She had hemorrhaged during the delivery and had been taken to intensive care. Only Joe had been allowed to go with her. For the next hour we didn’t know much of what was happening. When we got a report on Jenny’s condition, we learned that it had been a very close call. Jenny had lost so much blood so quickly that her vital organs had begun shutting down. In the ICU she had been put on a respirator, intubated, and given several units of blood. The doctors had slowed her bleeding but had not been able to stop it completely. We were not allowed to see her until just before midnight when her condition stabilized and Joe and I were able to go to her room and give her a priesthood blessing. That night at the hotel as Marie and I said our prayers together, we thanked the Lord for the miracle of Tanner’s healthy birth and that Jenny had been spared and had a good prognosis. Five days after giving birth, Jenny was discharged from the ICU and today everyone is healthy and happy. You probably think that this happy ending is the extent of the miracle, but there is more. We did not realize it at the time, but it just so “happened” that Jenny’s labor coincided with a personnel shift-change in the labor and delivery ward. This allowed there to be double the number of doctors and nurses available as usual and it turned out that all of them were needed to get Jenny stabilized. Additionally, because of her rapid loss of blood, several units were needed on an emergency basis and thanks to the close proximity of other large hospitals, those units of blood arrived in just minutes. Viewing this medical emergency through a clarifying lens of faith I could see that miracles had happened even before we knew they were needed.