Gospel Story Finder

“I hope Matt doesn’t forget me,” Melody thought as she sat in the backseat of the van on the way home from the airport. Her brother would be gone for two whole years on his mission to Indiana. Matt had looked so grown up in his dark suit, white shirt, and tie. After he had hugged everybody good-bye, he walked away to board the airplane without even looking back. That’s how excited he was to start spreading the gospel.
Melody took out her notebook and pen, and wrote, Matt will be gone two years. There are twelve months in one year. 2 x 12 = 24. Matt would be gone for 24 months! That seemed much longer than two years.
Melody drew a picture of Matt in his missionary suit. Even though she was going to miss him, she wanted to help him be a good missionary. She began brainstorming in her notebook.
What I can do for Missionary Matt:
something that will help Matt be a good missionary
just from me
every month
small and sturdy so it’s easy to mail
Melody put a necktie on her drawing of Matt. What about ties? A tie was flat and small. But Matt had several ties already. A tie every month wouldn’t be so helpful.
Cookies? Matt loved the chocolate-chip cookies without nuts that she made especially for him. But she didn’t think her cookies would make it all the way to Indiana in one piece.
Jelly beans? Socks? Postage stamps? Those were things you ate up, wore out, or used up. Melody giggled. Some of her ideas were silly, but she was getting closer.
Something flat just for Matt.
“That rhymes!” Melody said.
Something small, though he’s tall.
Something sweet, but not a treat.
Suddenly Melody knew. She would write a poem for Matt every month. Turning to a clean piece of paper, she began her first poem.
My brother is gone to Indiana,
Matthew is his name.
He’s gone to serve the Lord
And others just the same.
When Melody got home, she copied the poem neatly onto a sheet of stationery. At the top she wrote,
Matt, this is your first Missionary Poem of the Month!
Each month Melody wrote a new poem. She wrote about the light of the gospel and fasting and the temple being built nearby. She wrote about making her chores fun to do, about the Book of Mormon, and about the seasons passing.
Sometimes when Melody sat down to write the next Poem of the Month, her mind was blank as the paper in front of her. But Melody thought and thought until an idea popped into her head. She decorated her poems with drawings, rubber stamps, and bright paper cutouts.
Matt wrote letters home almost every week. Sometimes he thanked Melody for her poems, but sometimes he didn’t mention them.
“He’s busy finding and teaching people the gospel, Melody,” her mother said.
Melody kept writing her poems. Four. Eight. Twelve. And then she lost count. She wrote about Christmas and New Year’s, and about trying her best in school. She wrote a funny poem called “Elder Ants” about how busy ants are like missionaries all over the world spreading the gospel. When Melody turned 12, she wrote a poem about doing baptisms for the dead in the new temple.
At last it was time for Matt to come home. Melody began her last poem like this:
It’s now been 24 long, hard months
For our family and for you.
But it’s been a great two years,
The big two years that flew!
It seemed there was hardly time to get it in the mail before Matt was home. At the airport, Matt gave Melody a big hug. He looked taller than she remembered and spoke with a quieter voice, but he was still the same smiling brother.
At home Melody watched Matt unpack. There were worn-out white shirts, socks with holes in them, and a tangle of ties. There were journals Matt had filled with stories and testimonies. There were family letters and photos of people he taught.
“Now, where are those … ?” Matt rummaged in his suitcase. “Ah, here they are.”
“What is it?” Melody asked.
“Guess. Here’s a clue. They came every month. I loved them a bunch!”
“Is that supposed to rhyme?” Melody asked, laughing. “You need some help!”
“Well, I’m not as good at poetry as you are!” Matt said.
“You mean you saved my Poems of the Month?” Melody asked.
Matt handed her a large, puffy envelope. “Your poems really helped me whenever I got discouraged,” he said. “You shared your testimony in those poems and made me laugh when I was sad. Melody, as long as your poems kept coming, I knew everything was fine at home.”
“And I knew you were one month closer to coming home!” Melody said.
They dumped the poems out on the bed and read every one. Twenty-four poems that helped the two years fly by.

Some men and boys were stretched out under a large tree in a little grove near Nauvoo. Among them were loyal followers of the Prophet Joseph Smith, but there were also several of his enemies.
A young man by the name of Philemon Merrill rested quietly by the side of the Prophet, listening to a large and powerful man boast that he could throw anyone in the group. “In fact,” he said, “I can throw anyone in the whole state of Illinois.”
Stephen Markham was a bodyguard of Joseph Smith. He was a huge man and noted for his ability to wrestle. He accepted the challenge and, much to everyone’s surprise, was quickly thrown.
This only served to whet the appetite of the boaster who insisted that someone else become his victim. The enemies of the Prophet began to insult him and his followers, calling them cowards because they didn’t quickly send another man to meet the challenge.
Joseph Smith turned to the young man beside him and said, “Get up and throw that boaster.” Surprise and fear gripped Philemon who, since he was not a wrestler, was about to refuse. However, the look in the Prophet’s eyes stopped him.
Joseph Smith’s followers knew he was a man of great faith. So strong was his faith that his followers felt they could do anything the Prophet asked of them.
Philemon arose to his feet to obey the strange command given him. As he did so, his body was suddenly filled with unusual strength. He lifted his arms and stood ready for action. Despite the protests of his friends, Philemon even gave the boasting wrestler his choice of sides.
As they began to grapple, the Prophet said, “Philemon, when I count three, throw him!”
Philemon’s whole body and soul swelled with an unquestioning faith in his ability to carry out the command of Joseph Smith. As the word “three” was pronounced by the Prophet, the young man, with the strength of a giant, lifted his large opponent and threw him over his left shoulder while the amazed group watched in silent awe. Then a cheer rang through the little grove.
There were no more challenges to wrestle that day.

During the year I often visit one of our campus cafeterias, take a tray, and enjoy my lunch with some surprised group of students. I find this is one of my best chances to find out what is on the minds of our students. One fall a few years ago I joined a table of freshman boys at the Cannon Center. Without introducing myself, I began to question the group about their experiences and view of BYU. Soon, one of the young men, apparently slightly irritated at this probing from a stranger, said, “Do you work here or something?” When I replied that I did, he asked a few questions of his own: “What do you do?” “I am the President,” I replied. Ignoring his neighbor’s jabbing elbow, he pressed on, “What’re you president of?” I explained and we all had a somewhat tight laugh together. Then he added this comment I will never forget. “Oh,” he said, “I go to all of the assemblies and I see you there, but you are so far away I can’t see your face.”

When this freshman boy made that comment, I resolved that sometime I would try to help the student body see my face.

You have had such experiences. It may have been when you chose to attend a sacrament meeting. It was for me on a Sabbath when I was very young. In those days we received the sacrament during an evening meeting. The memory of one day more than 65 years ago, when I kept the commandment to gather with my family and with the Saints, still draws me closer to the Savior.
It was dark and cold outside. I remember feeling light and warmth in the chapel that evening with my parents. We partook of the sacrament, administered by Aaronic Priesthood holders, covenanting with our Heavenly Father to always remember His Son and keep His commandments.
At the end of the meeting we sang the hymn “Abide with Me; ’Tis Eventide,” with the words in it “O Savior, stay this night with me.”3
I felt the Savior’s love and closeness that evening. And I felt the comfort of the Holy Ghost.

When I was a young man, I accompanied a Protestant friend to his church service. There I heard a minister take on the subject of sin. It was an uneven contest. That minister really beat up on sin. He condemned it. He denounced it. He castigated it. He left no doubt in the mind of anyone that he was against sin. But he didn’t give the congregation one word of definition or explanation about what it was.

Consider this example: I watched a father “teaching” his daughter to swim one day several years ago. She was quite frightened of the water, so, of course, since he knew that there is nothing to be afraid of and that he is quite capable of protecting her, he told her to relax, there is nothing to be afraid of. But being told to relax is often an insufficient modifier of a feeling as primitive as fear about water. When she continued to be afraid in spite of the father’s telling-equals-teaching-equals-behavior-change effort, Dad became more and more irritated, increasing the volume and insistence of his so-called teaching, which by now was sounding more like demand and command. Soon his daughter was more afraid of her father than she was of the water, and she was now more afraid of the water than before being “taught” to not be afraid because anxiety is a total-body feeling. She was by now looking for any avenue of escape from the situation and did not learn to swim in this session. More important to her development, she had learned more about her father than about swimming. And, if these experiences continue in myriads of other small moments of so-called teaching, she will learn more about her feelings about herself being an incapable, fearful child than about the supposed objects of teaching, whatever they might be, because what she internalizes is what Dad is saying to her about her as a person.

Remember Ephesians 6:4: Bring up children in the “nurture and admonition of the Lord.” The problem for teaching is the affective “packaging” of the knowledge that parents wish to impart. In this example, when Dad recognizes that relaxing is a feeling, he may begin to accomplish his goal when he creates a learning situation wherein relaxation and safety is more likely to occur, perhaps by play or letting her ride his back while he swims. Then he can include the information or cognitive component.

The fourth is to respect yourself as a son of God. Those of us who have served missions have seen the miracle in the lives of some we have taught as they have come to realize that they are sons and daughters of God. Many years ago an elder who served a mission in the British Isles said at the end of his labors, “I think my mission has been a failure. I have labored all my days as a missionary here and I have only baptized one dirty little Irish kid. That is all I baptized.”

Years later, after his return to his home in Montana, he had a visitor come to his home who asked, “Are you the elder who served a mission in the British Isles in 1873?”

“Yes.”

Then the man went on, “And do you remember having said that you thought your mission was a failure because you had only baptized one dirty little Irish kid?”

He said, “Yes.”

The visitor put out his hand and said, “I would like to shake hands with you. My name is Charles A. Callis, of the Council of the Twelve of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I am that dirty little Irish kid that you baptized on your mission.”

That little Irish boy came to a knowledge of his potential as a son of God. Elder Callis left a lasting legacy for his large family. Serving as a mission president for 25 years and in his apostolic ministry for 13 years, he blessed the lives of literally thousands. I feel privileged to have known this great Apostle of the Lord when I was a young man.

The giving of additional patriarchal blessings may have been more common in the past. My grandmother, Maude Wetzel Faust, was challenged like most mothers with the raising of her children. She made an offhanded remark that the children were driving her crazy. My grandfather took her to the stake patriarch who blessed her that her “reason would never be dethroned.” The blessing was literally fulfilled. She died at eighty-seven years of age, and she was joking with the nurses on the way to the operating room where she died from a ruptured appendix.

I have a friend who was blessed with a beautiful family and a promising career. This changed when an illness left him unable to work, which was followed by a divorce. The years since have been difficult, but his love for his children and the covenants he has made with God have sustained him. One day he learned that his former spouse had remarried and had requested a cancellation of their temple sealing. He was troubled and confused. He sought peace and understanding in the house of the Lord. The day after his visit, I received the following message from him:
““I had an amazing experience in the temple last night. I think it was obvious that I still held quite a bit of resentment. … I knew that I must change, and I have been praying all week to do so. … Last night in the temple I literally felt the Spirit remove the resentment from my heart. … It was such a relief to be freed from it. … An ominous physical burden bearing down on me has been lifted.””
While he still has his challenges, my friend treasures that experience in the house of the Lord, where the liberating power of the love of God has helped him to feel closer to God, more optimistic about life, and less anxious about his future.

My message is to those who are converts to the Church. More than half the members of the Church today chose to be baptized after the age of eight. So you are not the exception in the Church. To you I wish to say how much the Lord loves you and trusts you. And, even more, I wish to tell you how much He depends on you.
You felt His love at least to some degree when you were baptized. Years ago I took a young man, 20 years of age, into the waters of baptism. My companion and I had taught him the gospel. He was the first in his family to hear the message of the restored gospel. He asked to be baptized. The testimony of the Spirit made him want to follow the example of the Savior, who was baptized by John the Baptist even though He was without sin.
As I brought that young man up out of the waters of baptism, he surprised me by throwing his arms around my neck and whispering in my ear, tears streaming down his face, “I’m clean, I’m clean.” That same young man, after we laid our hands on his head with the authority of the Melchizedek Priesthood and conferred on him the Holy Ghost, said to me, “When you spoke those words, I felt something like fire go down from the top of my head through my body, all the way to my feet.”
Your experience will have been unique to you, but to some degree you felt the magnitude of the blessing which came to you. Since then, you have felt the reality of the promises made to you and the promises you made. You have felt the cleansing that came from your baptism, because of the Atonement of Jesus Christ. And you have felt the change in your heart as the Holy Ghost has become your companion. Your desires have begun to change.
When someone tells me that he or she is a convert to the Church, I ask, “Has anyone else in your family accepted the gospel?” When the answer is “Yes,” there follows an excited description of the happy miracle in the life of a parent or a brother or sister or a grandparent. There is joy in knowing that someone in his or her family is sharing the blessing and the happiness. When the answer is “No, so far I am the only member,” he or she will almost always speak of parents, saying something like this, “No, not yet. But I am still trying.” And you can tell from the sound in the voice that the convert will never stop trying, not ever.
The Lord knew you would have those feelings when He allowed you to receive the covenants which are blessing your life. He knew you would feel a desire for your family to share the blessings you felt coming into the Church. Even more, He knew how that desire would increase when you came to know the joy of the promises He makes to us in sacred temples. There, for those who qualify, He lets us make covenants with Him. We promise to obey His commandments. And He promises us, if we are faithful, that we may live with Him in glory in families forever in the world to come.
In His loving-kindness, He knew you would have a desire to be bound forever to your parents and their parents. You may have had a grandfather like mine, who always seemed to treasure my visits. I thought I was his favorite grandchild until my cousins told me they felt the same way. He is gone now. All my grandparents and their ancestors have died. Many of your ancestors died never having the chance to accept the gospel and to receive the blessings and promises you have received. The Lord is fair and He is loving. And so He prepared for you and me a way for us to have the desire of our hearts to offer to our ancestors all the blessings He has offered us.
The plan to make that possible has been in place from the beginning. The Lord gave promises to His children long ago. The very last book of the Old Testament is the book of the prophet Malachi. And the last words are a sweet promise and a stern warning:
“Behold, I will send you Elijah the prophet before the coming of the great and dreadful day of the Lord:
“And he shall turn the heart of the fathers to the children, and the heart of the children to their fathers, lest I come and smite the earth with a curse.”
Some of those words are crucial to understand. The great and dreadful day of the Lord is the end of the world. Jehovah, the Messiah, will come in glory. The wicked will all be destroyed. We live in the last days. Time could be running out for us to do what we have promised to do.
It is important to know why the Lord promised to send Elijah. Elijah was a great prophet with great power given him by God. He held the greatest power God gives to His children: he held the sealing power, the power to bind on earth and have it bound in heaven. God gave it to the Apostle Peter. And the Lord kept His promise to send Elijah. Elijah came to the Prophet Joseph Smith on April 3, 1836, just after the dedication of the Kirtland Temple, the first temple built after the Restoration of the gospel. Joseph described the sacred moment:
“Another great and glorious vision burst upon us; for Elijah the prophet, who was taken to heaven without tasting death, stood before us, and said:
“Behold, the time has fully come, which was spoken of by the mouth of Malachi—testifying that he [Elijah] should be sent, before the great and dreadful day of the Lord come—
“To turn the hearts of the fathers to the children, and the children to the fathers, lest the whole earth be smitten with a curse—
“Therefore, the keys of this dispensation are committed into your hands; and by this ye may know that the great and dreadful day of the Lord is near, even at the doors.”
As you came into the Church, you have felt your heart being turned toward family, both those who are living and those who are in the spirit world. The Lord provided another vision to help you know what to do with those feelings.
After Joseph Smith, the Lord called other prophets to lead His Church. One was Joseph F. Smith. He saw in vision what happened in the spirit world when the Savior appeared there between the time of His death and His Resurrection. President Smith saw the joy of the spirits when they learned that the Savior had broken the bands of death and because of His Atonement they could be resurrected. And he saw the Savior organize His servants among the spirits to preach His gospel to every spirit and offer the chance to choose the covenants and the blessings which are offered to you and which you want for your ancestors. All are to have that chance.
President Smith also saw the leaders the Savior called to take the gospel to Heavenly Father’s children in the spirit world. He named some of them: Father Adam, Mother Eve, Noah, Abraham, Ezekiel, Elijah, prophets we know from the Book of Mormon, and some from the last days, including Joseph Smith, Brigham Young, John Taylor, and Wilford Woodruff. Think of the power of those missionaries to teach the gospel and to touch the hearts of your ancestors. It is not surprising that Wilford Woodruff said while he lived that he believed few, if any, of the ancestors of the Latter-day Saints in the spirit world would choose to reject the message of salvation when they heard it.
Many of your deceased ancestors will have received a testimony that the message of the missionaries is true. When you received that testimony you could ask the missionaries for baptism. But those who are in the spirit world cannot. The ordinances you so cherish are offered only in this world. Someone in this world must go to a holy temple and accept the covenants on behalf of the person in the spirit world. That is why we are under obligation to find the names of our ancestors and ensure that they are offered by us what they cannot receive there without our help.
For me, knowing that turns my heart not only to my ancestors who wait but to the missionaries who teach them. I will see those missionaries in the spirit world, and so will you. Think of a faithful missionary standing there with those he has loved and taught who are your ancestors. Picture as I do the smile on the face of that missionary as you walk up to him and your ancestors whom he converted but could not baptize or have sealed to family until you came to the rescue. I do not know what the protocol will be in such a place, but I imagine arms thrown around your neck and tears of gratitude.
If you can imagine the smile of the missionary and your ancestor, think of the Savior when you meet Him. You will have that interview. He paid the price of the sins of you and all of Heavenly Father’s spirit children. He is Jehovah. He sent Elijah. He conferred the powers of the priesthood to seal and to bless out of perfect love. And He has trusted you by letting you hear the gospel in your lifetime, giving you the chance to accept the obligation to offer it to those of your ancestors who did not have your priceless opportunity. Think of the gratitude He has for those who pay the price in work and faith to find the names of their ancestors and who love them and Him enough to offer them eternal life in families, the greatest of all the gifts of God. He offered them an infinite sacrifice. He will love and appreciate those who paid whatever price they could to allow their ancestors to choose His offer of eternal life.
Because your heart has already been turned, the price may not seem high. You begin by doing simple things. Write down what you already know about your family. You will need to write down the names of parents and their parents with the dates of birth or death or marriage. When you can, you will want to record the places. Some of that you will know from memory. But you can also ask relatives. They may even have some certificates of births, marriages, or deaths. Make copies and organize them. If you learn stories about their lives, write them down and keep them. You are not just gathering names. Those you never met in life will become friends you love. Your heart will be bound to theirs forever.
You can start searching in the first few generations going back in time. From that you will identify many of your ancestors who need your help. Someone in your own ward or branch of the Church has been called to help you prepare those names for the temple. There they can be offered the covenants which will free them from their spirit prisons and bind them in families—your family—forever.
Your opportunities and the obligations they create are remarkable in the whole history of the world. There are more temples across the earth than there have ever been. More people in all the world have felt the Spirit of Elijah move them to record the identities and facts of their ancestors’ lives. There are more resources to search out your ancestors than there have ever been in the history of the world. The Lord has poured out knowledge about how to make that information available worldwide through technology that a few years ago would have seemed a miracle.
With those opportunities there comes greater obligation to keep our trust with the Lord. Where much is given, much is required. After you find the first few generations, the road will become more difficult. The price will become greater. As you go back in time, the records become less complete. As others of your family search out ancestors, you will discover that the ancestor you find has already been offered the full blessings of the temple. Then you will have a difficult and important choice to make. You will be tempted to stop and leave the hard work of finding to others who are more expert or to another time in your life. But you will also feel a tug on your heart to go on in the work, hard as it will be.
As you decide, remember that the names which will be so difficult to find are of real people to whom you owe your existence in this world and whom you will meet again in the spirit world. When you were baptized, your ancestors looked down on you with hope. Perhaps after centuries, they rejoiced to see one of their descendants make a covenant to find them and to offer them freedom. In your reunion, you will see in their eyes either gratitude or terrible disappointment. Their hearts are bound to you. Their hope is in your hands. You will have more than your own strength as you choose to labor on to find them.
A few nights ago I had a dream. I saw a piece of white paper with a name on it I did not know and a date I could only partially read. I got up and went to the records of my family. The last name on the slip of paper is from a line which came into my mother’s ancestry 300 years ago in a place called Eaton Bray. Someone is anxious for a long wait to end. I have not yet found that person. But I have found again the assurance that a loving God sends help in answer to prayer in this sacred work of redeeming our families, which is His work and His glory and to which we have pledged our hearts. I so testify, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

I would now like to share with you a remarkable account shared by my friend, Lee, that touched my heart deeply and reminded me that the best work we can do on our own pales in comparison, even as a social worker, to what we can do when strengthened by the Lord.

My friend shared in his own words:
Lee’s Story
I was born into and raised in an unloving and abusive home. My earliest memories, at the age of two, are of terror. I lived in fear every day of my life, until I moved away at the age of 17.

When I was about 16, I fell into a dark hole. My life consisted of waking up, going to school, coming home from school and going to my room, eating dinner, returning to my room, and staring at the ceiling. At school, the only time people would talk to me was if they needed an answer to a math problem. I was in a tremendous amount of emotional pain and was convinced that I was ugly, lazy, stupid, and unlovable. Satan was working hard to “sift [me] as wheat.”[6]

Thankfully, I knew that even if nobody else loved me, Jesus did. I had felt His love and guiding hand even before I was six years old. I distinctly remember many times feeling his presence.

Going to church on Sundays was a haven for me. I could feel my Savior’s deep love for me. My family lived on a farm, so I couldn’t really visit neighbors, but wandering the fields, I could find a degree of peace, feel Christ’s love for me, and see the beauty of the earth.

One day, as 16-year-old me was in my room trying to find a way out of my situation—I cried out in my heart to Jesus, “Lord! I’m stuck and can’t get out!”

A day or two later, a boy a year older than me knocked on the door of our house. He met my parents there and said, “There is something wrong with Lee.” My parents’ response was, “We know, but we don’t know what to do.” I had grown up with this young man. I’d had sleepovers at his place, and he and his brother had been to sleepovers at mine. We had gone to Primary together and had served in Aaronic Priesthood quorums together.

He finished talking to my parents and came up to my room to talk to me. I didn’t believe he cared. I mean, who could? So, I ignored him. He would talk to me, and I didn’t look at him or respond. He said, “That’s OK. I can do the talking” and he talked to me for about an hour. At the end of that time, he said, “I have to go home and do my chores. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

The next day, he showed up again. I treated him the same way again. He came the third day in a row. Now I figured he did actually care so I started to talk with him. Jesus Christ sent him to rescue me. To help me. To show me that there were others who did care about me. He was the angel Christ sent.

I am so grateful to my Savior, Jesus Christ, for sending that young man. I am so grateful that someone only 17 years old would be listening to and acting on the words of the Spirit. The Lord and this young man got me out of the pit. It took many years, but, beginning with those visits, they rescued me from Satan and his chains of hell.

I now have had a great life. I have a wonderful wife of 40 years. I have 5 amazing children and 13 incredible grandchildren. The Lord has supported me and my family all these years, and I know that He will continue to do so throughout the years to come.

Jesus Christ lives! He rescued me! He wants to rescue you too. Please let Him. Cry out to him. Expect angels to come. They will come.

Please travel back with me to the evening before the announcement was made that Ricks College would become Brigham Young University-Idaho. Earlier that afternoon, President Bednar was informed that President Hinckley planned to announce the change the next morning at a press conference in Salt Lake City. There was not much time to pull loose ends together, and members of the President’s Council and a few other administrators were at the office late that night making last-minute preparations. It was close to 11:30 when things were finally wrapping up and winding down. I was at the copy machine; President Bednar was leaving the building. I said to him, “President, does any of this scare you? Do you feel a bit sick to your stomach?” I will never forget his response. Without even a hint of a hesitation, he said: “If I thought I had to do this by myself, I would be scared to death. But I know who is in charge.”

Several weeks ago I was assigned to a stake conference in Provo. The Sunday morning welfare meeting was scheduled to begin at 7:30 a.m., so it was necessary that I leave home about 6:15 a.m. Just as I came to an intersection before turning onto the on-ramp to enter the freeway, the light changed to red. As I stopped for the light at that early hour, now about 6:30 a.m., there were no cars in sight. Mine was the only car parked at the stop light.

The thought did cross my mind that if I ignored the red light, no one would be hurt or endangered, for not a car was in sight at that early hour. Nevertheless, I waited out the light change and proceeded on the green light. If I had turned left, no one would have known, but I would know that I was breaking the traffic code, and surely the Lord would know. I was reminded of the scripture which says:

“Therefore to him that knoweth to do good, and doeth it not, to him it is sin” (James 4:17).

There’s always been something about islands that draws me in. Maybe it’s having been raised on a dry dusty ranch and makes me want to be surrounded by water, but whatever it is, I don’t think I’ll ever get over it.

For decades, I’ve been fascinated with survival stories – especially sailing adventures gone bad. That seems to be my favorite genre. I’ve always wondered what would happen if I were marooned on an island. Could I survive? Six years ago, Cheryl got tired of hearing me talk about these things and said something like “If this is your mid-life crisis, go ahead and get it over with.”

So in 2009, I looked on Google Earth, found some suitably remote islands among the Marshall chain in the central Pacific, and went about planning to maroon myself. I decided I would just take a few essentials: a machete to open coconuts, a mask, fins, snorkel, a Hawaiian sling to spear fish, a magnifying glass to start a fire, a hammock, and a manual desalinator pump to make fresh water. That was about it. Now, I realize that for many of the Pacific Islanders here today, this doesn’t sound too exotic, but it does to a kid from Snowflake.

After flying from Arizona to Hawaii to Majuro to Kwajalein, I was dropped off on an uninhabited island called Jabonwod, consisting of 25 acres of sand, coral, and coconut trees. I experienced many sensations during my week there. Chief among these were fear – after more than a few close encounters with sharks; hunger – you can only eat so much fish and coconut; thirst – the coconut water craze is so over for me.

But most of all, it was the sensation of loneliness that about did me in. Nothing compares to being and feeling alone, completely alone. I had no volleyball to talk to, so I resorted to numbering hermit crabs that wandered through my camp with a sharpie pen that had been given to me on Kwajalein. By the end of the week, I’d numbered 126 crabs. I still miss #73.

I returned to the Marshall Islands two years ago with our two teenage boys, who are still at home, for a similar survival experience, and last year, I took a Democratic senator and a camera crew from the Discovery Channel to film what they called “Rival Survival.” We proved once and for all, as Steven Colbert described it, that “Republicans and Democrats can get along when death is the only option.”

There’s an old English poem that proclaims, “No man is an island.” If my lonely island adventures have taught me anything, it is that this concept is true. We need each other. We rely on each other. Life is worth living because of the interactions we have with one another, and our happiness depends on the lives we lead and the examples we set for each other.

My favorite experience with fasting involves a sweet elderly woman I home teach. She once had a stroke and ended up in the hospital. The doctors didn’t expect her to make a recovery and told us we should say our goodbyes.
We asked the ward to fast for her. I had already been fasting for her health and that I could accept God’s plan for her. Afterward, she made a miraculous recovery. It was a really special experience for me and strengthened my testimony a lot.
Michael D., 18, Minnesota, USA

Then, in 1939—when Enzio was just nine—the first English bomb fell on Dortmund. The devastating war that followed fractured his peaceful world and destroyed his youthful dreams. His family fled for a time to eastern Germany, then to southern Germany, where they lived in two rooms.
At ten, Enzio became a member of the Hitler Youth organization, which all young men ages ten through eighteen were required to join. Then, in the last desperate months of the war, all of the Hitler Youth ages fourteen and over were drafted into the army of the Third Reich. Unexpectedly, fourteen-year-old Enzio was a soldier. After just a few weeks of panic and disaster in an army of desperation, he was captured and taken to an American prison camp. He fully expected to be shot there. To his surprise, however, he was not harmed and was eventually allowed to return home.
Enzio arrived in Dortmund in June 1945 to find a primitive shelter in the ruins of his home, which had been destroyed by American bombs. Fortunately for the Busche family, they had sheep to provide milk, and some land where they and several other families could grow potatoes. Ironically, one act of war helped the people of this suburb of Dortmund survive the ensuing months of near-starvation. Just before the war ended, the Americans had shot up a German supply train. When molasses came pouring out of the bullet-riddled cars, the townspeople filled every available pot and tub with the gooey, life-saving stuff, and it helped sustain them for two years.

Two years ago my wife and I visited some of these sites. Two experiences come to mind that have relevance to this search for balance. In Jackson County we sat on the lawn within the boundaries of the future Jackson County temple. It was sunset. We were alone. We talked of history. We talked of prophecies of the future. But we remember most the sweet, peaceful, spiritual witness that Jesus Christ stands at the head of this Church and that Joseph Smith is what he claimed to be, a prophet of God. No amount of historical research alone can bring to pass that spiritual witness. It comes only when we become attuned and learn to recognize spiritual things. However, the spiritual witness was intensified by our knowledge of what has happened and what will happen there. That evening we found the elusive balance.

In later years I worked as an engineer installing robotic systems for many companies. There was one project I worked on for a long time. Some of the people I worked with didn’t always use good language, but they were my customers, and I had to work with them. I tried, in little ways, to improve their language.
I went back to that company years later, and while the manager was giving me a tour, someone came up to him and spouted a long sentence of expletives about a problem they were having. The manager didn’t respond to the question being asked but introduced me and said, “Now, he doesn’t stand for that kind of language, and we will not use that when he’s here.” I had no idea of the influence I had had all those years earlier. I didn’t need to defend my standards; the manager stood up for me.

Soon our first foster baby, Benjamin, came to us. My bond with him was overwhelming, but I felt faint promptings that he wouldn’t be with us forever. I was heartbroken at the thought of him leaving us. And I was desperate for a baby I could keep. The Church’s Family Services was helping couples with adoptions at the time, so I went to my bishop to get information. The next week I got a call from a social worker who was looking to place a baby in a foster/adoption home. This was music to my ears. Despite the possibility of the baby having developmental issues, we felt the Lord’s hand directing us and we had faith to go forward. I’m not going to lie—I was scared. But it felt right, and baby Daniel was delivered to our home that very night.
Within days he became gravely ill, was hospitalized, and given a 50 percent chance to live. I sat by his crib for 11 days alternately praying and crying over him. I never once left the hospital. When Daniel’s birth parents came to see him (the adoption wasn’t final yet), there I was, looking like a complete disaster! But they seemed disconnected and showed no emotion whatsoever when they saw him.
This was a huge “aha” moment for me. I realized then that I really was Daniel’s mother! It didn’t matter that I hadn’t given birth to him—he was meant to be mine. I learned a lot about motherhood in those 11 days. I would have done anything for him.
Daniel’s life was spared. Benjamin returned to his biological family. But the Lord stayed by our side. Since then, we have adopted six more children and have miraculously had two of our own. I could shout from the rooftops about the miracles I’ve witnessed in my life. I have such a testimony of Heavenly Father’s promise to us that we can have the blessings we desire, even in ways we might not have originally expected or when we expect them (see 2 Nephi 10:17; Alma 37:17).

“When I was a girl growing up on a farm in Montana, there weren’t any children living close-by. So, of course, I often felt lonesome. A lady living on the other side of one of our fields became my best friend. Her name was Delfina.
“Whenever I was bored, I would head for Delfina’s one-room home. There wasn’t much furniture in her house, but if I took off my shoes, I could sit on her bed. Then she would share the contents of her jewelry box with me.
“It was the most beautiful jewelry box I had ever seen. In fact, it may have been the only one I had ever seen—shiny ebony, inlaid with mother-of-pearl. To me it whispered of an exciting world I had only read about in books. Its red lacquered interior was filled with tiny trinkets and jewelry.
“One day I went to visit Delfina, but she wasn’t home. I opened her door and went inside anyway. For a while I played with her trinkets. Then instead of putting all the jewelry back into the box, I put some of it into my pocket. When I arrived home, Mom discovered the jewelry. She asked me where I’d gotten it. When I told her I had taken it from Delfina, she said, ‘I know you probably wanted to have something of Delfina’s because she is your friend. If these things are special to you, think how precious they must be to her! Of course, stealing is wrong, no matter whom you steal from. The important thing now is what you’re going to do about it.’
“As I walked back across the field, I looked for every excuse I could find to take more time. Delay as I might, my feet finally took me to her door. Shame and fear overcame me as I knocked.
“When she answered, I looked down at the floor. In a quavering voice I told Delfina what I had done. ‘I’m glad you brought them back,’ she said. ‘They’re keepsakes that belonged to my mother. We all make mistakes. I’m sure you won’t do it again.’
“Then to cheer me up, she fixed my favorite treat of chocolate milk made with corn syrup and cocoa. As I sipped it, I felt as though a heavy load had been lifted from me.”