Gospel Story Finder

Brother Thach had joined the Church in 1971 while on a South Vietnamese air force training assignment in the United States. He made Latter-day Saint friends, attended Church meetings, accepted the missionary discussions, and was baptized. On his return to Vietnam some nine months later, his suitcase containing his copy of the scriptures was stolen. At the time, he was not aware of any Church organization in Vietnam, although a branch did exist in the capital city. But he did receive a twelve-month gift subscription to the Ensign, the English-language Church magazine. Reading and rereading the twelve copies of the magazine sustained him spiritually during the next ten years. When the government changed in Vietnam and “foreign” printed materials were viewed with suspicion by the authorities, he cherished his copies of the Ensign even more and hid them for safe-keeping.

I received the following letter from Elder Lazcano, a missionary serving in Argentina: "I am writing to share with you the miracles that the Lord has done that have changed my life. While you were in Panama you said to me, 'Write down what the Spirit teaches you as you study Preach My Gospel.' Thanks to you, the principle of revelation has been planted deeply in my heart."

"When I had been on my mission for only six months, I was called as a trainer. One day my new companion asked me, 'Why do you have your planner and a little book under your pillow?' I told him, 'Because I write down what I learn from the Holy Ghost during the night.' He didn't seem to understand what I meant."

"That night my companion woke up in the middle of the night and saw me sitting at the table, writing in my planner. He asked, 'Elder Lazcano, what are you doing?' I told him, 'I am recording revelation.' My companion was touched and he knew by the Spirit that this principle was true. From that evening on, we each wrote what we learned from the Holy Ghost and worked hard to live according to what we had been told. Elder Clarke, I know that the Lord speaks to us. This work is true."

The rest of Dad’s family had been converted to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints after Dad was grown and had left home. Uncle Bob was the youngest member of Dad’s family, and he had a special testimony of the Church.

One day Uncle Bob stacked an armload of wood and turned to my mother. The spirit was strong in his heart as he began to explain the things he had been learning in church and through study of the scriptures and personal prayer. He told her many things about the gospel of Jesus Christ and about Joseph Smith praying to know which church was true and discovering that not one of the churches in his day had the fullness of the gospel. Uncle Bob told her how Joseph Smith had been privileged to see God the Father and His Son, Jesus Christ, and to know for himself that They had bodies of flesh and bone, just as he had. Uncle Bob’s eyes never wavered from my mother’s face as he bore his strong testimony.

Mother didn’t believe a boy so young as Uncle Bob could know these things. She became angry at the words she was hearing and told Uncle Bob, “You may come back to my house anytime, but never mention these things here again.”

Uncle Bob loved my parents and wanted to come as often as he could. He agreed. “Aunt Ruth, I will never mention these things again in your home, I promise. I also promise you that someday you will ask me to baptize you.”

Now, this was many years ago, when young people did not speak their minds. They were expected to show respect to those who were older than they. It took a lot of courage for Uncle Bob to speak to my mother this way.

We spent many happy times with Uncle Bob. He stayed with us occasionally while our parents went to Wyoming to visit my mother’s family. He never broke his promise to my mother by again speaking of the great truths of the gospel or bearing his testimony, not even when both of our parents were away.

One year Dad was farming the Phillipi place in Mackay, Idaho. Uncle Bob came to stay for two weeks. My other sister, Jeannie, made spice cake every day. We whipped a half-gallon canful of pure cream for the topping. The smells seemed to curl around the corners of the room and out to the fields where Jack and Uncle Bob worked. It made your mouth water, it was such a tangy odor. But not even then, with a stove full of wood and a stomach full of sweet spice cake did Uncle Bob break his vow to my mother.

The years kept going by, one by one. Uncle Bob grew up, married, and had six sons and one daughter. He always stayed close to the Church. He knew that it was true. He held many callings over the years. Wherever he was needed, he served, becoming in later years a stake patriarch and a temple worker in the Portland Temple.

In 1971 Uncle Bob was fifty years old. My mother was sixty-four that year, and she was living in Powell, Wyoming. She telephoned Uncle Bob.

It’s curious—after all those years, she still remembered! Mother said, “Will you come, Bob. Will you come and baptize me?” On April 15, 1971, forty years after my uncle had made his promise to her, he baptized my mother a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

I have had hundreds of wonderful student employees over the years and they have always been a great example to me in their generosity and their willingness to strive toward true discipleship. I remember during one snowy, cold Christmas season, a student named Lori came to me asking if I knew of anyone that needed some special attention. She and her home evening group wanted to find a family that they could give service to for Christmas. I didn't know anyone, personally, but I told her that I knew of a couple of housing units that might have someone in need. She contacted the manager of one apartment unit and was led to a single mother with a four-year old daughter who had been ill. They thought she might appreciate some special attention. Her group enthusiastically embraced the idea of creating and delivering the twelve days of Christmas for this small family.

I remember the excitement they had as they tried to think of things that would be enjoyable for the daughter or helpful for the mother. She would come to work each day and relay how they did the night before. They tried to be sneaky in their deliveries so that they wouldn't get caught. I am sure you can envision them putting this all together. Now, they didn't know this young mother or the daughter. But their Christmas was much more joyful as they planned and plotted their gifts. They didn't spend a lot of money or do anything extravagant, but they were very thoughtful in making each day a fun experience for the family.

As they left for the holidays they had a feeling of warmth just knowing that they could do this little thing--not thinking that it was that big of a deal. When they returned at the beginning of the New Year they were all saddened to learn that the little girl succumbed to cancer right after Christmas. When the home evening group decided to try to find someone to serve they had no way of knowing what an impact their small act would mean to this sweet little girl, or to her mother.

In reality, we never know what an impact our actions will have on someone else's life. Each of us has an important role to play in the grand design of our Heavenly Father. We are his hands here on earth, the way that the lives of his beloved children can be blessed and uplifted. Each individual act of service shows our discipleship.

Let me tell you a story that does not have such a great ending. When I was in high school, I became acquainted with a boy a year ahead of me in school. His brother and my brother were good friends and his brother was at our house all the time. I would see this person on occasion, maybe on the school bus which I rarely rode, or sometimes walking home from school. I was not always comfortable around him, although I never felt unsafe around him. It was easy to carry on a conversation with him because I was never worried about what he thought of me. You see, he was seen as being different, and he was constantly picked on wherever he went. I was not really aware of this when we talked, but always a little bit aware of it when other people were around.

One day, we were talking in the hallway at school and about three other guys came running through the hallway and they were calling him names. I remember being shocked, and not knowing what to do, I froze and I did not say anything. Even though I suspected that he was bullied, I had not really seen it first-hand. My friend looked at me, and although I don’t remember his exact words, he accused me of not standing up for him, and then walked off. I tried to apologize to him, but I already knew I had failed him. I didn’t know how to make amends because I couldn’t go back and undo that moment. At that time, I didn’t have the courage to stand up for him. The boys were a little scary to me. They were athletes and certainly more popular than I was, and I thought they might hurt or tease me, and I didn’t always have a lot of confidence in myself just like many other sixteen year olds. I was never mean to him myself, but what I thought was courageous then was just the fact that I spoke to him once in a while. I don’t know if he considered me a friend then or not, but he certainly didn’t ever seem to have any other friends while I knew him.

Looking back now, I realize that I was just popular enough, and at that age, even pretty enough that if I had spoken up, I could have shamed those guys into changing their behavior, at least at that moment. It was also very possible they would have bullied me as well, but for my friend it could have been a lifeline to know someone would stand up for him. I realized from this experience that this probably happened to him all the time.

Now it doesn’t help to dwell on a story like this unless we learn from it. I learned a lot from it; it’s hard to realize I can’t go back and change what happened, but I can change the way I act in the future. The attribute that I needed than and didn’t have enough of, was courage.

Courage to stand up for someone else. Courage to do the right thing. Courage to face up to someone even when we are afraid.

After church, Kirill’s mother welcomed their new American friends to their home. She played the piano and sang some Ukrainian songs. The adults ate breads, drank herbal tea, and chatted. Sister Wein from East Germany and Sister Norton translated for them. The two children ate bread and played.
Tanya’s and Kirill’s mothers were thrilled to be able to invite Americans into their homes and allow them to take photos without worrying about getting in trouble with the police. Under Communism, friendly visits with foreigners were not allowed.

But what of this angel? In my teenage years, Mary would become a second mother to me. She would guide me, love me and make me her own. Through my teenage eyes she was perfect. Little did I know at the time that my angel also had her trials and challenges. Mary grew up a Buddhist. She married a fine young LDS man and the following year was converted to the church. This was during the beginning of World War II. Mary's husband, Tommy, enlisted in the service and was stationed in Minnesota preparing to go overseas.

In a freak accident, Tommy lost his sight during a training maneuver. Mary was devastated. None of this was her fault. But Mary faced her challenges with courage and faith. Tommy graduated from college and began his own poultry business with Mary at his side. They had three sons and a daughter. Mary worked with Tommy, rising at 4:00 in the morning in order to accomplish all that needed to be done and still have time for her family. She became a community and church leader, as did Tommy. She served with love and honor. She took what life had given her and made of it a monument. She reached out to those around her, including me, a shy, insecure, non-member of the church. Through all the years of our association, I saw only her positive, cheerful attitude in the face of her trials. She trusted in the Lord.

I had some other experiences that year, too, that I am not too proud of, but will admit to you by way of teaching by example, maybe the example of overcoming. As part of being Joe Fraternity on campus, I was invited one evening to go up the canyon with a bunch of senior active members of my fraternity to a beer bust. I’d never been to a beer bust and was kind of curious, assuming they would have soft drinks for us Mormon boys. Wrong assumption. I was persuaded by these active members that I thought a lot of to have a beer or two. I’d had more than two. I had three to five and became sick. They drove me back home to the fraternity house and I went down to my little hovel of a room and immediately threw up on the floor. As I tried to clean it up, there appeared at the door the president of the fraternity, Ross Bradford. Ross said, “What’s going on in here, Skunk?” (I was a pledge to the fraternity and they were called skunks. I think I smelled worse than a skunk that night.) “What’s going on in here, Skunk?” he said, and I told him I was sick. He said, “Have you been drinking?” And I said, “Just two or three.” And he said, “I can’t believe it. You were raised in a better family than that.”

Ross was an experienced man. He had been in the Air Force for three years, was finishing school on the GI bill, and I admired him greatly. He helped me clean up the mess on the floor, which I thought was very charitable for the president of the fraternity, and then he led me down the hall to the furnace room. He opened up the door to this dingy hot furnace room, and there was an old dirty mattress in there. He said, “You go in there and sleep there tonight, and take this garbage can, and if you get sick again, throw up in that. I don’t want to clean up any more.” Well, I felt rightfully challenged and criticized as well, and I sat there for a few minutes with my head in my hands, rather sick and ill. He came back, and he had the pledge manual in his hand, and he said, “I have a poem I want you to memorize, and if you can memorize this by tomorrow morning by the time I go to class and have breakfast in the chapter room, then you can stay and become a member of this fraternity. If you can’t, pack your bags and leave.” Well, I stayed up all night, memorizing that poem. It was a defining moment of my life. The poem was called “The True Gentleman.” The next morning I was awake (I had stayed up all night) and I showered and shaved and cleaned up and even put on my best suit and tie, shined my shoes, and when Ross came down to his breakfast table, at the head of the table in the chapter room, I was ready to give him my poem, “The True Gentleman.” He slowly ate breakfast while I fidgeted, standing there at attention, and when he finished, he put his napkin and spoon down and said, “All right, let’s hear it.” And I quoted this poem called “The True Gentleman”:

The True Gentleman’s a man whose conduct proceeds
From good will and an acute sense of propriety
And whose self control is equal to all emergencies
Who does not make the poor man conscious of his poverty,
The obscure man of his obscurity, nor any man of his inferiority or deformity
Who is himself humble if necessity compels him to humble another
Who does not flatter wealth, cringe before power nor boast of his own possessions or achievements
Who speaks with frankness, but always with sincerity and sympathy
And whose deed follows his word.
A man who appears well in any company
A man with whom honor is sacred and virtue safe.

When I finished, Ross stood up and embraced me, and said, “Nice job, Skunk, you can stay,” and off he went to school. Before he left, he turned at the door and said, “The real challenge is: Now try to live it. Try to live it. Try to be a true gentleman in all that you do.” Well, I’ve found you can live it if you hale to the promptings of the Holy Ghost, if you hale to the power and influence of the priesthood in your lives, if you follow the commandments of God, if you follow the directions of your parents and friends and family.

I’m pretty hard-core into athletics, especially basketball. I just like to compete. And that is partly why I had to face an eight-hour open-heart surgery at 14 years old.
I was born with a defect in one of my heart valves. At first, the doctors said I would probably need surgery when I was old—after I retired, maybe. But over time, the problem got worse, largely because of how intensely I play sports.
During one visit in the fall, the doctor said I’d probably need the surgery in the next year or two. In the meantime, I ran cross-country at school. But instead of my running times getting better, they got worse. That’s how I knew there was something really wrong.
We visited the doctor again in March. During the visit, I felt like I should get the surgery even sooner than we had planned. I started to get a warm spiritual feeling inside. That personal revelation brought me some comfort. Suddenly I heard myself saying that I wanted the surgery as soon as possible. My parents were a bit scared at first, but I told them, “I’m at peace. How soon can we do this?” We scheduled the surgery for April.
In hard times, I know Jesus Christ is always there for me. I can always pray to Heavenly Father, and it helps.
I had faith that everything would work out, but the day of the surgery was still scary. It all hit me at once, walking into that room. I remember shaking. My anesthesiologist really helped me in that moment. I’m grateful for all the people who helped me through that whole experience. I also had heavenly help. For example, my entire ward held a fast for me, and I really felt the power of fasting and prayer.
These days my heart is doing great. If I hadn’t had the surgery, I could have died within two years. Now I have a full life expectancy.
This whole experience has changed my perspective. I see everybody differently as they go through their trials. I feel greater empathy for them. I’ll occasionally see someone and sense that they’re dealing with something tough, and then I go over and help them.

Every morning our walk to the work site at the end of the trench grew longer, and every day the Sundance Power Plant grew a little smaller on the horizon. For myself and the three young LDS men that I worked with that summer in northern Alberta, the construction work was temporary—our heads were filled with thoughts of college, dreams of careers in business, advertising, and biology. We counted the days until the two-mile-long trench (that would serve as a filter for the murky water that left the power plant) would be finished.
The fact I had found myself working with three Mormons in northern Alberta was a near miracle, if not a mathematical impossibility. Being a recent convert, I felt fortunate to be among others of my faith while I worked. The time went by quickly as they shared experiences from their missions, one even taking the time to teach me a little Japanese.
Norm was our patriarch, not in age as much as in patience and insight. He was a tall, lanky guy who was always the first with a practical joke or a one-liner, but also the type who seemed to know when understanding and empathy were in order. Perhaps Norm’s kindness was made even more apparent as it contrasted with the rough, seasoned construction workers we worked alongside—men who used four-letter words to replace any and every adjective possible, men who spent their paychecks on beer and little else. Three of us steered clear of the regulars, but Norm made an extra effort to spend at least a few minutes every day working in their group.
One morning, before we made our way down the twisting trench, Norm pulled a Book of Mormon out of his lunch box and walked over to one of the regulars.
“Don’t be stupid,” snapped the powerfully built construction worker as he pushed the book back at Norm. Norm took a short, nervous step back.
“Put the thing in my truck,” the man said in a hushed voice. “And put it under the seat so the guys don’t see it and give me a hard time.”
Norm walked over to the vehicle and called back to the man who was now surrounded by several of his fellow workers. “Hey, nice stereo. Mind if I have a closer look?”
“Yeah, sure,” the man called back.
Norm slipped the Book of Mormon under the driver’s seat, and we began our daily walk to the job site.
Norm answered our queries by telling us that he had struck up several conversations with the man while they worked. During one talk he discovered the man’s grandmother was an American Indian. “I listened to the stories his grandmother told him,” said Norm, “like the one where the continent is covered in darkness for three days [see 1 Ne. 19:10]. I told him, ‘Boy, do I have a book for you!’”
I felt disturbed. I knew I would have let these individuals miss out on the blessings of the gospel simply because they appeared rough on the outside. I knew Norm did not approach these men because he wanted to show off to us; he knew the joy of the gospel, and he wanted these men to share that spiritual wealth.
After Norm told his story we were quiet for a long time, walking and thinking of the blessings we enjoyed and wondering how we could walk closer to our brothers. With the time we had left on the job, we brought the other men into our work group and involved them in our water fights and our harmless practical jokes on the bosses and on each other. But perhaps most important, we let these men know what we believed and how we lived our lives. And from then on, as we walked to and from the job site, we did so together, the regulars and the Mormons—side by side.

In Mendoza, Argentina, we attended a seminary graduation. In the class was a young man who had great difficulty climbing ordinary steps. As the class marched in, two strong young classmates gracefully lifted him up the steps. We watched during and after the proceedings, and it became apparent that the whole class was afflicted with a marvelous kind of blindness. They could not see that he was different. They saw a classmate, a friend. In them the works of God were being manifest. While there was no physical transformation in the boy or in his classmates, they were serving like angels, soothing a spirit locked in a deformed body awaiting that time when it would be everlastingly made perfect.

Some years ago I was traveling in the Rosario Argentina Mission up in the northern part of Argentina. As we were traveling along the road, we passed a large herd of cattle being moved. The herd was moving peaceably and without difficulty. The herd was quiet. There were no dogs. Out in front leading the herd were three gauchos on horseback, each about fifteen or twenty yards apart. These three horsemen were slumped forward in their saddles, completely relaxed, confident that the herd would follow them. At the rear of the herd was a single rider bringing up the rear. He, too, was slumped forward in his saddle as if he were sleeping. The whole herd moved peacefully, quietly, and was subdued. From that experience it seemed obvious to me that leadership is about three-fourths show-the-way and about one-fourth follow-up.

Few prophets have come from more humble beginnings than those of the Prophet Joseph Smith. He was the fifth child in a family of 11. The rugged, rocky soil of New England had not been good to his family. The climate limited the growing season. During Joseph Smith’s early years, his family moved frequently, trying to find fertile soil for a suitable livelihood. They moved from Sharon to Tunbridge, then on to Royalton, Vermont. In 1811 they moved to the small community of West Lebanon, New Hampshire, and began, as his mother said, “to contemplate, with joy and satisfaction, the prosperity which had attended our recent exertions” (Lucy Mack Smith, History of Joseph Smith [Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1958], p. 51). But typhoid fever came to West Lebanon in a terrible epidemic. The epidemic swept through the upper Connecticut valley and left 6,000 people dead. One by one the Smith children fell ill. It was then that Joseph had the illness and accompanying complications that eventually required surgery. The Lord again showed his hand by providing one of the few surgeons who could perform the delicate operation that saved Joseph’s life and prepared him for the future that was ahead.

Many illnesses left the Smith family destitute, and they had to move again, this time to Norwich, Vermont. Here the Smith family began to farm and attempt to wrest a livelihood out of the difficult Vermont soil. Crops failed three years in a row, prompting the father to again look for a place where he could provide for his family. He heard of land in upstate New York that had promise. He took what resources he had to pay off his debts and left his family and went on to New York to explore the possibility of moving his family there. Once again we see the hand of the Lord in guiding them to the proper destination where great events in Church history would take place. It was in this location that the family settled down and the remarkable events occurred that brought forth the restoration of the gospel.

Out of this hard, difficult beginning, Joseph Smith developed a great reliance on the Lord, trusting in him to gain the exceptional spiritual strength needed so that he could be used by the Lord to organize his church again on the earth. To organize the work to begin this dispensation, the Lord needed a pure spirit, unlearned in the things of the world. He had to have one who could be taught by the ministration of angels. There was no earthly teacher equipped to do this training. The would-be prophet had to be truly sensitive to the Spirit, a quick learner, and a young man of exceedingly great faith—faith enough to approach the Lord after being impressed by reading James 1:5, which reads, “If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God, that giveth to all men liberally, and upbraideth not; and it shall be given him.”

This inspired the young man. He took courage and went into a grove of trees and there asked God to give him the wisdom he was seeking. The great, humble petition of this simple young man brought forth a remarkable change in the thinking of mankind toward the very nature of God. It was the beginning of a whole series of events that occurred in Joseph’s young life. Carefully taught by messengers from on high, he had the great privilege of bringing forth the Book of Mormon, and through miraculous means it was translated and made available to the peoples of the world—another witness for our Lord and Savior on the earth to eliminate the great confusion that was developing among religious sects, even about the very basics of the gospel. He was the first elder and was called to be the instrument of the Lord to effect the restoration of the Church of Jesus Christ again on earth.

The prophet’s life was all too short, but the contribution he made will last into the eternities. His life was taken from him by a cruel mob on the 27th day of June of 1844. He had fulfilled the prophecy. Joseph, son of Joseph, as had been prophesied in the scriptures, had brought forth the remarkable work in these, the latter days. Thus we see how the Lord has fulfilled his promise to Abraham’s seed. (See Church History in the Fulness of Times [Salt Lake City: The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, 1989], pp. 20–27.)

This morning Mom and I went to the bookstore to meet my favorite author. I took my copy of one of her books, and she autographed it for me. Then Mom and I looked all around the store. I asked Mom to buy me a zillion different books, but she said, “Maybe we can get one for your next birthday.” Sometimes Mom says no. I yelled, “I want one now! If you loved me, you’d buy me a book!” Mom said, “I love you very much, but we can’t do and have everything we want. We have to make choices.” “I know,” I said. “But can I have a hug and a kiss?” This time Mom said yes!

The Second Call came some time later. Closer to the end of our time in Chile. This time it came to the mission home at a very late hour. It was not a call from a General Authority, nor a concerned parent -- but from a University Co-ed who I'm sure had not taken into account the four hours difference in time zones. It was rather late at night. She began by introducing herself and helping me to understand the nature of her call. "this is highly unusual" she said "I hope you won't be angry with me for calling you". But I must have some answers about one of your former missionaries". In words similar to those of the General Authority, she said. "President Christensen, I need to know what kind of missionary he was". You need to know brothers and sisters, that we love each of the 563 missionaries assigned by the Lord who served with us in Chile as if they were our own sons and daughters. Probably much like Helaman felt about his 2060 sons who labored with him in the trenches of war. I responded "Yes, he was a fine missionary." She asked a few other questions to which I gave short, positive, answers. Then, after a moment of silence I could hear in her voice. NOT A NON-SMILING VOICE neither was it a CHEERFUL - CHUCKLING voice, but kind of a desperate and pleading voice. "President Christensen, I appreciate your answers, but I can't tell if you are being honest with me." "I am considering a long term relationship with your former missionary -- I need to know what kind of a missionary he was, how he treated his companions, was he obedient, was he extraordinarily good, did he honor his priesthood and live with a sense of sacrifice," and as she went on, I was thinking to myself -- "Wow, I prefer to be interviewed by a General Authority, this girl is tough!!! As she spoke and with each question, I was beginning to examine what I truly knew about this Elder, about our interviews, about his work ethic, about his level of obedience as a missionary, and about his companionship relationships. Then she asked the most penetrating questions of all.

"President, I understand that you have several daughters." "Yes I do" I responded, "six to be exact." Then she pulled out her most soul searching question -- "Would you want one of your daughters to marry this missionary?" "Do you believe him to be the kind of priesthood holder based on his performance in the mission field who can lead me and our children to the Celestial Kingdom? Would you feel 100% comfortable based on his constancy and obedience in the mission field to be the father of your grandchildren?" Do you see what I mean? This girl was tougher than 'Mike Wallace' on 60 minutes! Our telephone conversation continued -- I remained loyal to the missionary. I did not utter a single negative word about him in any way. However the questions and the process had been a searching one for me. Instead of answering her with comments about the missionary, I took a turn to ask her some questions. "I am not your bishop or priesthood leader so you don't need to answer theses questions but maybe they will help you." I responded. Then I asked her about her prayers? Had she fasted? If she had counseled with her parents? If she had listened to and paid attention to her feelings as directed by the Holy Ghost? I told her that I admired her for her desire to search and find answers to important questions about our former missionary.

In her case, unlike the General Authority, I sensed that she wasn't comfortable with the feelings she had felt. I suggested that her 'questions and concerns' were perhaps a signal or a flag that maybe the Holy Ghost was trying to tell her something. I told her that I had taught our missionaries on occasion, that IF THERE'S A QUESTION about something -- a kind of gnawing doubt or an absence of 'PEACE', THEN MANY TIMES -- THAT IS THE ANSWER. I shared with her that in my experience, affirmative "yes" answers from the Lord come in peaceful feelings, and gentle nudgings -- not in confusion. This telephone call continued on for a few minutes longer and then ended cordially. She expressed gratitude and we said good bye.

A few months later we received a special thank you note from her informing us that she had received a call to serve a mission of her own in a far away European nation. The Spirit had helped her sort through her feelings and the answer she sought had come.

I met my wife, Melinda, during my sophomore year of college, about six months after I had returned from my mission. I knew immediately that I wanted to marry her. Melinda, however, did not have the same experience. It wasn’t until five years later that she finally received an answer that it would be “OK” if she married me.
During those five years, I had one of the more difficult trials of my life. I knew whom I was supposed to marry, and the Spirit urged me on, but I couldn’t seem to reach that goal.
Shortly after I graduated, Melinda decided to go on a mission—in part, I am convinced, to get away from me. There were times while she was on her mission when I was miserable because I focused on what I didn’t have. However, I was studying the scriptures and praying daily, serving in the Church, and striving to do the things that brought the Holy Ghost into my life.
One early, very cold Sunday morning in Minneapolis, Minnesota, USA, while I was driving to a Church meeting, I thought, “I should be really miserable right now. Nothing seems to be going the way I want. But I’m not miserable. I feel unbelievably happy!”
Now, how could I be happy if I was going through what, for me, was a difficult trial?
The answer is found in Galatians 5:22–23: “The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, temperance.”
Because I was doing the things that brought the Spirit into my life, I felt God’s love. I felt joy and peace. I could suffer long and still be happy.
Having love, joy, and peace in our lives, our families, and our marriages does not come from having a big house, nice cars, the latest clothing, career success, or any of the other things the world says bring happiness. In fact, because feelings of love, joy, and peace come from the Spirit, feeling them doesn’t have to be connected to our temporal circumstances at all.
Please understand that I am not saying that we will always be happy or that our temporal circumstances never affect our happiness. In fact, if we do not taste the bitter, we cannot know the sweet (see Doctrine and Covenants 29:39; see also Moses 6:55).
We need to struggle at times. Furthermore, some physical and emotional conditions can cause us great suffering and make it very difficult for us to feel the Spirit. But if we are striving to have the Spirit in our lives and are trusting God, we can, in general, be happy.
I testify from personal experience that this is true. Since my experience while Melinda was on her mission, I have noticed that if I am doing the things that bring the Spirit into my life, including choosing to believe and accepting that things will work out as God intends, I am usually happy (see Jacob 3:2).1

Spiritual healing is illustrated in the story of Warren M. Johnson, pioneer ferryman at Lee’s Ferry, Arizona. As a young man, Warren Johnson came west seeking his fortune in gold in the summer of 1866. He became very ill, and his companions left him under a tree in the yard of a family in Bountiful. One of the daughters found him and reported there was a dead man out in the yard. Although he was a complete stranger, this kind family took him in and nursed him back to health. They taught him the gospel, and he was baptized. He eventually ended up as the ferryman at Lee’s Ferry.
In 1891 the Warren Johnson family suffered a great tragedy. Within a period of a short time, they lost four children to diphtheria. All four were buried in a row next to each other. In a letter to President Wilford Woodruff, dated July 29, 1891, Warren told the story:
“Dear Brother …
“In May 1891 a family residing in Tuba City, came here from Richfield Utah, where they … spent the winter visiting friends. At Panguitch they buried a child, … without disinfecting the wagon or themselves, [and] not even stopping to wash the dead child’s clothes, they came to our house, and remained overnight, mingling with my little children. …
“We knew nothing of the nature of the disease, but had faith in God, as we were here on a very hard mission, and had tried as hard as we knew how to obey the word of Wisdom, [to] attend to the other duties of our religion, such as paying [our] tithing, family prayers, etc. etc., that our children would be spared. But alas, in four and a half days [the oldest boy] choked to death in my arms. Two more were taken down with the disease and we fasted and prayed as much as we thought it wisdom as we had many duties to perform here. We fasted [for] twenty-four hours and once I fasted [for] forty hours, but [to] no avail for both my little girls died also. About a week after their death my fifteen year old daughter Melinda was [also] stricken down and we did all we could for her but she [soon] followed the others. … Three of my dear girls and one boy [have] been taken from us, and the end is not yet. My oldest girl nineteen years old is now prostrate [from] the disease, and we are fasting and praying in her behalf today. … I would ask for your faith and prayers in our behalf however. What have we done that the Lord has left us, and what can we do to gain his favor again[?]
“Yours in the gospel
“Warren M. Johnson” (in P. T. Riely, “Warren Marshall Johnson, Forgotten Saint,” Utah Historical Quarterly, Winter 1971, p. 19; spelling modernized).
In a subsequent letter dated August 16, 1891, to his friend Warren Foote, Brother Johnson testified that he had found a spiritual peace:
“I can assure you, however, that it is the hardest trial of my life, but I set out for salvation and am determined that … through the help of Heavenly Father that I [would] hold fast to the iron rod no matter what troubles [came] upon me. I have not slackened in the performance of my duties, and hope and trust that I shall have the faith and prayers of my brethren, that I can live so as to receive the blessings you having authority … placed on my head” (“Autobiography of Warren Foote of Glendale, Kane County, Utah,” vol. 2, 16 Aug. 1891; in LDS Church archives).

I love to play soccer, but because I’m a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, I didn’t want to play on Sundays. It was hard for me to tell my coach that I wouldn’t be able to practice on Sunday, but when I explained that I attend church, he still let me join the team.
Since I missed Sunday practices, my teammates wouldn’t always trust my skill level. I prayed that I would be focused and play well during practice, since I didn’t have as much practice time as the rest of the team. When the final tournament came around, I was invited to participate in the game. I know God helped me to achieve that goal.

The first addresses the finished quality of being easily entreated, which means to be approachable and accessible, to accept good counsel, and to have a listening, attentive ear.

Thirty-three years ago a brand-new missionary arrived in my missionary district. He brought with him his guitar. Our mission president, Bruce R. McConkie, suggested that he leave it in the mission home and pick it up in two years. I watched as he struggled briefly with taking another simple step toward finishing the quality of being easily entreated and then watched him take that small step. Five years ago my calling with the 19 BYU stakes involved me in the reorganization of one of them. This same individual, now an experienced priesthood leader, was assigned as part of his training to accompany a member of the Twelve to the reorganization. Again I watched, and this time saw him easily and anxiously glean principle after principle taught by the member of the Twelve. I appreciated his now-refined quality of being easily entreated. I wondered how crucial each of his small, earlier steps were. I also wondered what spiritual illness might have claimed him had he not learned to fit into that earlier unfinished quality by making spiritually intelligent eternal choices that reduce vulnerability.

Molly was in her high chair. She wasn’t happy, and Mama was too busy to play with her.
Katy sat at the kitchen table, coloring a picture for Grandma’s birthday. Katy knew why Molly was crying: She wanted Katy’s crayons. They were big and fat. But Katy was drawing a birthday cake and needed all the colors.
“Please, Katy, could you play with Molly?” Mama asked.
“No! She only wants my crayons,” Katy said.
“Your crayons are so big and bright—couldn’t you share one?”
“No!”
Mama sat down in the chair next to her. “Who gave you those wonderful crayons?”
“Grandma did.”
“Yes, she did. Do you know why?”
Katy shook her head.
“She likes to share,” Mama said. “It made her happy. It made you very happy. And, best of all, it made Jesus Christ happy.”
Katy watched her baby sister trying to reach the brightest crayon, the red one. It was Katy’s favorite. Suddenly she ran out of the room.
She returned with a big piece of paper and gave it to Molly. She also gave Molly the wonderful red crayon! “See, Mama, I’m sharing,” Katy said.
Katy was happy. Molly was happy. Mama was happy, and Katy was sure that Jesus was happy too.