Gospel Story Finder

After the ship landed in New York on June 6, Henry and Mary still had a long way to go. They travelled to Nebraska by boat and train, often riding in cattle cars. The bedding and equipment sent by their mother were not waiting for them in Nebraska, so on July 13 they set off in a Church wagon train with only the clothes on their backs.
To make matters worse, Henry lost his wooden clogs when he crossed the Platte River. Not wanting to wait for the rest of the wagon train to reach the river, Henry got up early and left by himself—something he knew he was not supposed to do. When he reached the river about noon, he was tired and fell asleep. When he woke up, he saw the last of the wagons pulling up on the other side of it.
He shouted, and William Henry Chipman, the captain of the company, told him to swim across the river. Taking off his heavy coat and wooden clogs so he could swim, Henry plunged into the water. When the current carried him downstream, Captain Chipman rode his horse into the water. Henry grabbed a stirrup and held on while the horse swam across.
He was safe, but he had to walk across the remaining plains barefoot. His feet became black, hard, and cracked from the journey; blood often oozed from the cracks. Sometimes at night Mary cried in sympathy as she pulled spines of prickly pear cactus from his feet.

Alma Elizabeth, with her family and the other Saints, took a long train trip to Iowa. There they joined wagon trains going to Utah. She walked the entire way, except when she got into a wagon to cross a deep river.
Alma Elizabeth’s father had trouble walking. In Sweden he had been a concert violinist and an orchestra director. Then rheumatism crippled him. Slowly he learned to use his hands and feet again, but it was difficult and painful. Elizabeth’s father was unable to keep up with the wagon train, and he insisted that his family go on ahead, promising to catch up with them.
Her father struggled on until he spotted a light. It was a camp of soldiers on their way to the Civil War. One soldier spoke Swedish. When they learned that Alma Elizabeth’s father was a musician, they found a violin and he played it for them. In the morning they took him on horseback and caught up with the wagon train.

Jack was in trouble. He had poked his little sister, Harper. Mom told him to stop. He dumped his toys in the kitchen. Mom asked him to pick them up. He pulled out all the plastic cups to build with. Mom told him to put them away. Then he got in a fight with his little brother, Adam. And that’s when Mom yelled at him. Jack yelled back. Then Mom told Jack to go sit outside.
Jack ran through the kitchen and out to the balcony. He slid the door shut as hard as he could. He walked back and forth and back and forth. He was mad!
And he was sad. He wished Mom hadn’t yelled at him.
He stopped and looked down at the cars far below the apartment. He watched small cars and big buses drive by. He wished he hadn’t yelled at Mom. He shouldn’t have teased Harper. Or fought with Adam. He hadn’t made very good choices today.
Jack sighed. He looked back at the street and counted cars.
Soon the balcony door slid open. It was Mom.
“Jack?” she said softly. She stepped outside and slid the door shut behind her. She stood by Jack and looked at the cars with him.
“I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you,” Jack said. “And I’m sorry I wasn’t very nice. Will you forgive me?”
“Of course.” Mom gave Jack a big hug. “I’m sorry I yelled at you. I’m still learning just like you are, and sometimes I make mistakes.”
Jack hugged Mom tight.
“Let’s go try again,” Mom said.
She followed Jack back inside. She helped him pick up the cups. They helped Harper find her blanket. Then they played a game with Adam and Harper. When Adam got mad about losing, Jack didn’t get mad back. Mom gave him a big smile. They were learning and trying together.

I would like to tell you a story. It's a personal story. It helps explain God's perspective in a way that has been personally compelling to me. And like many lessons we learn in this life, it seems that sometimes it's the most painful lessons that clarify for us the most important lessons we must learn. After I retired from business last year, Sister Willes and I moved to Provo. We expected to teach at the Brigham Young University - Provo Campus. Three weeks after we got there we received this [mission] call, so we knew we weren't going to be teaching too long. A few weeks after that, our second daughter who lives in Utah gave birth to a critically ill little girl. She was unable to move. She was attached to more pieces of medical equipment to sustain her life than I thought even existed.

This little girl's mother and father asked me on two different occasions if I would give her a blessing, which I was grateful to do. And I found myself in those blessings saying something I had never said before. And that was, that after the doctors and nurses had done all that they could do, the Lord would heal her, completely. You can image my surprise and yes, even some confusion, when I would give those blessings and feel so comfortable about them, to then see as the days and weeks went on that she got worse instead of better.

I could not understand. I thought perhaps I had misunderstood the Spirit, that because of my own desire that this sweet granddaughter of ours live and be whole and happy, perhaps I had misunderstood the Spirit. Therefore out of concern, yes even a quiet desperation, I called President Hinckley - the only time I have ever done this. By this time this little girl was in a hospital in Salt Lake City, not far from where he lives. I asked him if there was any way possible that he could come and bless this little girl? With the kindness that you might imagine only the prophet would have, he said, "Of course," and we arranged a time to meet.

You can imagine how thrilled we were as the prophet of the Lord laid his hands, in this case fingers, on her small head, and gave her virtually the identical blessing that I had given her twice before, promising her that after the doctors and nurses had done all that they could do that she would be touched. . .by the finger of God, and healed totally and completely.

You might therefore understand my surprise and concern when shortly thereafter she died. I didn't understand, until, as I was preparing to speak at her funeral, the Spirit led me to the 55th chapter of Isaiah, where the Lord says,

"For my thoughts are not your thoughts. Neither are your ways my ways, saith the Lord. For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts higher than your thoughts."

And then I understood that God has an eternal perspective. He is not bound by the narrow earthly perspective that we so often look from, and make decisions from. And given His heavenly perspective, every blessing that this young girl had been promised had in fact come true.

After the doctors had done all that they could do, a little girl who was never to move in this life, was now able to move freely and happily. A little girl that would have had a very limited earthly life, now had an unlimited eternal life. A little girl who would have faced severe tests all of her earthly life, had now passed the one and only test required of her and was now happily and gloriously back with her Father in Heaven. Oh yes, she had been touched. . .and healed. . .totally and completely, as only God can.

I learnt from this experience to rejoice in His eternal perspective. If we are to understand how God answers prayers it is not sufficient to look from our earthly perspective. We must also look from His eternal perspective if we are to understand how and why He does what He does.

I began to reflect about how we could discover the right church. I knew that there were many different Christian churches with different doctrines. I thought, “Well, the Internet has a lot of sources,” so I searched for “the true persecuted church.” I don’t know why I typed it in that way, but several lists of churches appeared, including The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. There are many Christian churches in Brazil, but I had never heard of this church.
Upon entering the Web site, I read the story of a 14-year-old boy who had seen God and Jesus Christ face-to-face and had translated the Book of Mormon by the power of God. I had never heard anything about Joseph Smith or the Book of Mormon before, and I thought it was interesting. But what caught my attention was that the Book of Mormon told of Jesus Christ appearing to the ancient inhabitants of the American continent.
I had a great desire to read this book, so I requested a copy. I told Julyette about the site, and after she read the story of Joseph Smith, she was certain this church was the Church of Jesus Christ. She said I had been prepared by the Lord to find the Church for her.
I was impressed with her conviction and wanted to know for myself. I asked my mother if she knew about the Book of Mormon. She told me my sister had a blue book from two missionaries. I borrowed the book and read it from cover to cover in one week; I wasn’t interested in anything else. What a feeling of peace I had! I remembered a promise that everyone who read the book should ask God if it were true, and He would respond (see Moroni 10:3–4).
Early in the morning I went to my room to offer a prayer. I placed my trust in God and asked Him if the book was true, and I felt a burning inside. I did not know what the feeling was, but I felt joy. That night I had a dream in which a Book of Mormon prophet appeared. I asked him if the book was true, and he said it was. When I woke up I thought, “The Book of Mormon really is true.”
I asked around until I found someone who knew the directions to the church. One Friday I rode my bicycle to the chapel, but no one was there. I prayed for help to know when meetings were held. I went again the following week. When I arrived, an elderly lady told me that Church meetings were on Sunday mornings. I returned home happy and excited with my heart beating rapidly.
When I arrived on Sunday morning, I was well received by the members. I was impressed with the organization of the Church. I felt peace and joy in my heart during the meetings, and I asked the missionaries to come to my house to teach me. I returned home and told my mother that I had found the right religion.
The missionaries taught me about the Restoration of the gospel of Jesus Christ. I already knew the story of Joseph Smith, so when they invited me to pray to learn the truth, I told them I had already received an answer and told them about my experience. They were impressed with my testimony and suggested a date, May 15, 2004, for my baptism. In the meantime, my friend Julyette was also baptized. My baptism was the greatest joy of my life, and my friend and I are very happy we found the true Church of Jesus Christ.

But the members of the choir are not the only people who think of Mary Jack as their Mary. Her love for children flowed through the pages of The Children’s Friend for nearly sixty years too. When she was still a girl in her teens, she left her home in Oakley, Idaho, to go to Salt Lake to find work. Since her father was president of the Cassia Stake there and had centered his family’s life in the Church, it was natural that Mary would seek work in one of the offices at Church headquarters.
The Primary Association needed secretarial help, and Mary was hired. It soon became apparent to Sister Louie B. Felt, General Primary President, that her quiet and modest little secretary could do far more than type. And so in 1920 Mary was called to be general secretary and a member of the Primary General Board where she served for twenty years.
Of even more importance to boys and girls, Sister May Anderson, who was then editor of The Children’s Friend and a counselor in the General Primary Presidency, discovered that Mary could write in a way that touched the hearts of children. Because there was a need for someone just like her to help prepare stories, poems, and articles for The Children’s Friend, the after-midnight organ player became associated with that magazine. She was a managing editor of the magazine late in 1970 when the First Presidency decided to ask all the auxiliaries to discontinue their magazines and transfer the publishing responsibility to the First Presidency of the Church.
Mary, who for so many years had been the “heart” of The Children’s Friend, was persuaded to stay with the new Friend staff, retiring in 1971. During those fifty-eight years that she blessed the boys and girls of the Church with her contributions to their magazine, she wrote under nine different names, her favorite being Mary Rose. One of her poems found in a 1930 issue is entitled “Clouds,” and shows Mary’s playful and imaginative nature:
The clouds are like a flock of sheep
Upon a summer day;
I see the big white woolly ones,
And little lambs at play.
I wonder what they graze upon,
And just how far they roam;
I wonder where the shepherd is
And how he’ll get them home.
Gradually Sister Anderson turned more and more of The Children’s Friend work over to Mary. “Finally,” Mary said, “I was doing it all myself—every speck—the layout, the pasteup. All of it. I did it!” And while she was doing all the mechanics of preparing material for a magazine, she was also writing to the contributors, sending them copies of the Book of Mormon, and giving money from her own small salary when anyone said they needed help.
Over the years “Our Mary” worked with and for every General Primary president since Sister Felt, with the exception of Sister Naomi Shumway.
“They’ve all been wonderful,” Mary declares. “People have to be different, but they’re all wonderful.”

Until my mother passed away about three years ago, I did not realize what it meant “to mourn with those that mourn.” When my mother passed, our family felt an outpouring of love from neighbors, family, and friends. I am not sure that those who mourned with us understood how their kindness comforted us so deeply.

My mother passed away on a Monday evening. On the afternoon of that day, after having spent the weekend in the very small hospital in Afton, Wyoming, my mother had been thrilled to be discharged and return home. My husband, Frank, and I had spent the weekend helping my father and visiting my mother and had left for Utah that afternoon after getting my mother settled at home.

That evening the Relief Society president was visiting my parents when my mother apparently suffered another stroke. The Relief Society president stayed with my father until the ambulance arrived. She contacted the bishop, who then met my father at the hospital. My mother could not be revived in the emergency room and passed away there. My parents’ bishop stayed at the hospital with my father for at least three hours until Frank and I could return to Star Valley. The bishop had stayed with my father so that my father would not have to go home to an empty house by himself at midnight. Then, in the following days, the bishop helped us to plan the funeral. The Relief Society planned a lovely lunch for our family after the funeral, and they cheerfully served us the traditional meal with ham and funeral potatoes.

There were other ways that people mourned with us. A day or two after my mother’s passing, someone brought a generous tray of deli meats, cheeses, and spreads that we picked at daily. Someone else brought the really thick, tasty kind of bacon and farm-fresh eggs. Friends and family came from long distances for the funeral, even when it was not convenient or easy. Others sent lovely flowers and plants, and, thanks to Frank’s green thumb, they are still alive and remind me of the generosity of dear friends. In my conversations with these sweet people, their acts of service did not seem to be any great sacrifice to them. Their generous and gracious acts helped us to feel the Savior’s love. We had a sense that we were not alone at a time of deep sadness. Their efforts to keep their covenants and to comfort us in Christlike ways still mean so much to me.

Sister Yanet Gómez is the living testimony of how great the love of our Heavenly Father is for each of His children, and she manifests the strongest faith and gratitude of a faithful servant.
Despite living with very particular health conditions, Sister Gómez maintains her active service as Young Women president of the La Vega District, in the Dominican Republic. She affirms that although she has lived through so many experiences that have led her to critical states of health, she could never deny the Lord or get angry with Him, rather she feels fortunate to go through all these situations and considers that the Lord allows her to have them so that she can help others.
Having been diagnosed in 2018 with antiphospholipid syndrome (APS), with congenital thrombophilia and dual pathways, conditions that currently have no cure, being alive has been considered a miracle by medical specialists, who affirm that Yanet is the only person who has survived so long after being diagnosed with this condition.
Science says that the congenital thrombophilia that affects Yanet is an inherited coagulation disorder, due to a reduction in the level of synthesis and/or activity of protein S and characterized by the development of symptoms of recurrent venous thrombosis, with the condition two-way, it causes your body to bleed and clot at the same time.
On the other hand, the antiphospholipid syndrome that she also suffers, occurs when the immune system mistakenly creates antibodies that make the blood more prone to clotting, causing dangerous clots in the legs, kidneys, lungs and brain and, in pregnant women, can lead to miscarriage and fetal death.
Doctors say that they do not know how to explain how she has been able to survive so long, while she, for her part, assures that “the Lord is the one who knows, He is the one who has the purpose in His hands.” Everything has been an experience to help her to understand life more clearly, to value people well, not to hurt anyone and to try to do what she can to help others. She considers that she truly has benefited greatly despite all this.
With great conviction, she says that she has never asked why, and that she does not feel unfortunate or sad about her health condition. In her own words: “God gives the wound and gives the cure. I do not know if the same gospel prepared me since I was a child to understand life in a different way from other people, because that is something that I am trying to understand a little bit, whether what happens to me is for myself or for others. I have seen that it has been reflected much more in other people than in myself.”
Yanet Gómez explains that her family joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints when she was 6 years old and two years later, she was baptized. Since then, she has served in various callings, including as the director couple of the For the Strength of Youth conference (FSY 2016 and 2017), among many others.
Less than three months after she was married, she was hospitalized for a thrombosis in her right leg, and, after several months in the hospital, her leg was in such a bad condition that the doctor determined that the only option to avoid further complications was to amputate it. At that moment, she felt desperate: “I was anguished, not because of myself, but because I felt it was unfair for my husband that when he was newly married, he had to go through having his wife in that situation.”
Asking the doctor for a day to think before the surgery, she wondered what they could do to find out if that was really the Lord’s will. She claims that something told her that she “had forgotten some things,” and she was inspired to ask her husband and her father to call some members of the Church to do a collective fast.
She was greatly surprised to see that many members joined this fast, and what surprised her even more was that she could see that the Lord performed a miracle. The next day, the doctor could not believe the great change in her condition, reversing his decision to do the surgery and allowing her to have her leg today, with no sign of the state it was in at that time.
It has not been the only moment of adversity in her life. She always dreamed of having a large family, but due to her health condition, she had already lost two pregnancies and her prognosis was that she might not be able to have children. However, during the dedication of the Santo Domingo Temple, she and her husband were able to greet Elder Richard G. Scott (1928-2015) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. Upon learning of their nearly four years of marriage and their difficulty having children, he assured them with a very penetrating and serious look that they would have a child very soon.
Sister Gómez not only had that child, but she also had a second, and although in both cases they were born at six months of gestation, they were born healthy.
For her second pregnancy, the doctor recommended performing an abortion before she was four months along; she flatly refused. After prolonged hospitalizations, the child was born without signs of life and without responding to neonatal resuscitation. But her husband, who is a doctor, “began to breathe on him with his mouth and to give him heart massages and I heard him say, ‘let’s go champion, champion up,’ and after a long time the baby screamed. It was a miracle, it really was a miracle,” said Yanet.
In search of other professional opinions, in November 1999 she traveled to Utah at the invitation of her sister who lives there, to be evaluated by specialists from that state. Surprised, the doctors could not believe that she, with her health conditions, was alive. At the time, the doctors told her that she might not survive three months.
“I kind of made a deal with the Lord at that time, and He granted it to me. I told him, let’s do something Lord, take me when my children no longer need me, when they can fend for themselves, and when they can understand many things in life. It has really been like that, they were young then, and now the oldest is 24 years old and the other is 23, and I’m here,” she says.
“Looking and going back, I feel like it perhaps is one of the purposes for which I came to earth, to help other people to endure certain situations in their life, to carry it in a lighter way, with more love, as perhaps the Lord wants. This year I have really had a lot of time to think about why the Lord allows certain things in our lives.”
With joy, Sister Gómez says that the gospel has helped her in everything in her life and has been the greatest blessing she has ever had. She understands that it is through Him that she has been preparing herself, continuing to learn, practicing, perfecting herself, and edifying herself, affirming that everything she is and the knowledge she has obtained is due to the gospel.
She says that through the movie that the missionaries played in their early days in the Dominican Republic, Man’s Search for Happiness, she understood that one of the purposes in our life is to be happy. She then continued learning in seminary, and she has made happiness a priority in her life. Nothing that comes to her makes her depressed. “I try to be happy as much as I can, if I can, I try to help someone else to be happy too.”

I recall the time when I was ordained a deacon. Our bishopric stressed the sacred responsibility which was ours to pass the sacrament. Emphasized were proper dress, a dignified bearing, and the importance of being clean inside and out. As we were taught the procedure in passing the sacrament, we were told how we should assist Louis McDonald, a brother in our ward who was afflicted with a palsied condition, that he might have the opportunity to partake of the sacred emblems.
How I remember being assigned to pass the sacrament to the row where Brother McDonald sat. I was fearful and hesitant as I approached this wonderful brother, and then I saw his smile and the eager expression of gratitude that showed his desire to partake. Holding the tray in my left hand, I took a small piece of bread and pressed it to his lips. The water was later served in the same way. I felt I was on holy ground. And indeed I was. The privilege to pass the sacrament to Brother McDonald made better deacons of us all.

One early morning my telephone rang in the Church Office Building. I don’t want to sound as if I’m boasting, but it was a little before seven in the morning. Some of us take a little longer to get in a day’s work. And that familiar voice of President Spencer W. Kimball—weak, but powerful—said, “Marvin, could I come up to your office and see you?” And I said, “President Kimball, if you want to see me, I’ll be right down.” He said, “Would you do that?” (I could make a sermon on courtesy, but gather that from what I just said.) I was down in his office in thirty seconds. He handed me a letter. He said, “Would you read this and tell me what you think?” I suppose he’s done this with a lot of us—asking for our opinion. My opinion isn’t that special. I read it and said, “President Kimball, you might want to think about doing it this way.” And, bless his heart, he said, “That’s what I thought and that’s what we’ll do.” I went back to my office and felt fear and trembling and uneasiness for the rest of the day.

(Shayla) My brother Clint has always been a runner. He did cross country in high school and recently ran the San Antonio Marathon. We always thought he was a little crazy but in the last few years more members of the family have taken up running. My brother Wyatt just finished his first half Ironman triathlon and my other bother Kelly will be running one in August.
My mom and I decided that we wanted to join the running club and set a goal the first of this year to run a 5K. We trained the last few months and on July 4 in Lander, Wyoming, we accomplished our goal. It was a lot of fun and felt really good crossing the finish line. I’m not saying that all of you should start running, but set a goal to accomplish something that takes some time, make a plan to achieve your goal, then go for it. Going from sea level to 5,300 feet made running more difficult for my mom, but I’m so proud of her! I’m so glad we followed through with our goal and learned that we can do hard things.

When I was in my eleventh year of school I contracted a kidney disease. Over the next few years my health gradually declined until my condition became critical. Despite the best medical care, the disease eventually destroyed both of my kidneys.

In January 1968 I was admitted to the University of Washington Health Center. My parents were called and told that my condition was so poor that I might not survive the night.

My father and a close friend administered to me; then, my mother took a copy of my patriarchal blessing from her purse and read several passages. She bore her testimony, then handed me the blessing. “You have a great mission to fulfill,” she said quietly, “and the Lord wants to help. But you need to do your part, too, Brent.” She leaned over and kissed me good night.

My father bore his testimony, shook my hand, and hit me lightly on the chest.

“Good night,” he said. “We’ll see you in the morning.”

Then I was alone in the quiet solitude of my hospital room—alone with my thoughts, memories, and a blessing.

As I thought about my mother’s admonition, I began to reach out to my Father in Heaven, something I had never really done before. As I prayed, I at first tasted the bitterness of a life that had failed to reach its potential. But as I continued to pray, the bitterness subsided, and I felt as if a tremendous burden had been lifted from me. I was at peace again—warm, comforted, and assured that my prayer was being answered. I knew in my heart that all would be well.

Relying on prayer doesn’t mean that Lindsey and Stephanie don’t prepare for performances. Lindsey says she typically practices about two hours every day, but if she has a competition or performance coming up, she pushes it to three or four hours. As well as playing solos, the sisters play duets with each other or with their mother, so they need to practice together. Now that Stephanie is away from home at Harvard, coordinating their practicing is a challenge. They practice their pieces separately but make use of holidays such as Thanksgiving and Christmas when they are together to play their two-piano pieces. “A lot of two-piano playing isn’t just knowing the notes; it’s feeling the music together,” says Lindsey.

Just after last April conference I was getting ready to take one of the most exciting trips that I can imagine. On April 29 our crew rode the space shuttle Challenger into orbit to conduct a scientific mission called Spacelab 3. This was a personal thrill for me and a very impressive ride. Most of you, I am sure, have seen a space shuttle lift-off on television. I can assure you that it’s as exciting as it looks.
I was surprised how calm I felt as we strapped into our seats about two and one-half hours before lift-off. As the count moved closer and closer to launch, I allowed myself just a little bit of excitement. When I heard the rumble of the main engines coming up to speed way down below me, the adrenaline flow picked up noticeably. And when I heard that incredible thunderclap of the solid rocket boosters lighting off and felt Challenger lift off, I was as excited as a little boy going to the circus.
With seven and one-half million pounds of thrust pressing you back into your seat with three times your normal weight, you quickly pick up speed. By the time the fuel runs out, you want to be going fast enough so that centrifugal force will keep you in orbit—and that takes 17,500 miles per hour. Traveling at that speed is quite an experience. As we went into orbit, we traveled from Cape Canaveral, which is in Florida, to north of Boston in just over eight minutes.
When you reach orbital velocity, the engines shut down rather abruptly. It is very quiet. I floated up against my shoulder straps. A couple of the procedures books drifted up to the end of their tethers and waved in front of me as I have seen the kelp do when I go scuba diving. I knew that this was zero gravity. And I just sat in my seat for a few minutes savoring the fact that I was finally in space.
For the next week our crew conducted a set of fifteen rather sophisticated experiments in the laboratory that was mounted in the cargo bay of the space shuttle.
The ride into orbit had been exciting. The trip out of orbit was not quite as novel, because by then I was quite used to space. But it was just as serious. When you are properly trained, you are not frightened in any sense. But you have a great respect for the tremendous energy involved and thus for the inherent risk. You are well aware that every procedure has to be performed precisely right.
We were to land at Edwards Air Force Base just north of Los Angeles, but we started our reentry just to the northeast of the island of Madagascar. We swept down south of Australia and up across the Pacific Ocean as we came home. The reentry is quite demanding. There is no way that you can carry enough fuel into orbit to slow down by rocket propulsion. You have just enough fuel to nudge your orbit down into the upper edge of the atmosphere. And then you do something that’s really quite clever. You come into the atmosphere in the worst possible aerodynamic attitude—belly first. This creates a terrible aerodynamic shock wave. But the shock wave slows you down without using a drop of rocket fuel. Your kinetic energy is converted into the heat of the shock wave.
This is all very clever, except for the fact that the shock wave is fifty-four hundred degrees Fahrenheit, which is well above the melting point of astronauts. That is why we worry so much about the thermal tiles on the underside of the shuttle. During reentry they glow red hot. In fact, the very air around the shuttle glows red hot. From the ground we look exactly like a meteor crossing the sky. Looking out the windows through that fireball is a fairly impressive experience. You realize that you are in a fiery furnace significantly hotter than the furnace prepared for Shadrach, Meshach, and Abed-nego. (See Dan. 3:12–30.) And NASA cannot guarantee you the Lord’s protection that they had.
The space shuttle on which our lives depended worked flawlessly. I am personally convinced that the Lord was watching over us. I had been promised that in a special blessing I received before lift-off. That blessing was fulfilled in every detail, and I thank our Heavenly Father for that.

One of our sons struggled with fitting in and self-esteem during his teenage years. My wife and I prayed to know how to help him, and we were willing to do whatever the Lord would have us do. One day I felt prompted to ask my elders quorum president if he knew of anyone in need who I could visit together with my son. After some thought, he asked us to visit a woman with significant health challenges and, with permission from the branch president, to bring the sacrament to her each week. I was elated but also concerned about how my son would react to this weekly commitment.
On our first visit, our hearts ached for this dear woman, as she was in constant pain. She was very grateful for the sacrament, and we enjoyed visiting with her and her husband. After a few visits, one Sunday I was away and could not accompany my son, but I reminded him of our assignment. When I got home, I couldn’t wait to hear how the visit went. My son replied that he didn’t think his classmates got to do cool things like this. And he elaborated by saying that he brought his brother with him to help and that the sacrament went smoothly, but this dear sister had been sad during the week because she had invited friends to her home to watch movies, but her video player would not work. My son said he searched online, found the problem, and fixed it for her on the spot. He felt useful, happy, and trusted to do something that brightened her day. He felt God’s love for him.

A few years ago, a young sister from Japan served in the Hawaii, Honolulu Mission. She served faithfully and with distinction. She was born into a faithful family in Japan. She related the story of her grandmother. Shortly after World War 2 had come to a close, her grandmother was lying in a hospital extremely ill and not expected to survive. She had neither the ability to speak nor to move from her bed. A Mormon Missionary living in the area made it a practice to share the Gospel with those Japanese who would listen to him. One of his activities was to visit the sick in the hospital. Moved with compassion on this sick woman, he first visited her and then on regular visits read to her from the Book of Mormon. Though at first she did not respond to his reading, after some time, he noticed she could acknowledge his presence with her eyes and she welcomed his visits. Many weeks passed and the regular visits continued. In time, she regained the ability to speak and they conversed in Japanese. He taught her the Gospel of Christ and she requested baptism. This young missionary asked the hospital to release her for enough time for her to be baptized. They refused saying "she will die if she leaves her bed". He asked what would happen to her if she did not leave her bed. They said, "She will die". "So what is the risk, He asked?" Finding no useful answer to that question, she was given leave from the hospital and taken to a font where the baptism could take place. As she was bed ridden, she could not walk into the font. So it was decided to put her on a chair and with the assistance of 4 missionaries, each on one corner of the chair, she was lowered into the baptismal font where the ordinance was performed. After the service, she was returned to the hospital only to find her room completely emptied and remade. The hospital simply assumed she would die and not return.

She survived, married and had a family. Her granddaughter served in the Hawaii, Honolulu Mission. After her missionary service, the young sister was permitted to attend the Laie, Hawaii Temple prior to her return to Japan. Her visit to the Temple gave opportunity to meet a temple worker who showed interest in her. She related the story of her grandmother's conversion and baptism. The man with whom she spoke, tearfully acknowledged that he knew the story was true because he was one of the missionaries who assisted in lowering the chair with the grandmother in place into the baptismal font.

There can be no coincidence in this matter. The Lord intended this young missionary sister to have a confirming witness by revelation that her grandmother's conversion was real and her story true. And while the Lord could have made this great blessing known in other ways, it was conferred in only in the Sacred Space of the Laie, Hawaii Temple. Why do you think the Lord revealed this to this young sister? The faithful who prepare themselves are blessed with a confirmation that the Lord knows them and is cognizant of their faithful lives. So it can be with you.

The faith of the young men of this Church is remarkable!

On June 12 of this year, I received an email telling me that the bishop from a Utah ward, his wife, and two of their children had been killed in an airplane accident. Bishop Mark Openshaw had been piloting the plane as it left a small airfield, when it suddenly fell from the sky and crashed to the earth. Bishop Openshaw, his wife, Amy, and their children Tanner and Ellie were killed in the accident. Miraculously their five-year-old son, Max, thrown out of the airplane in his airplane seat, escaped with only broken bones.

I learned that their son Elder Porter Openshaw was serving in the Marshall Islands Majuro Mission and that their 17-year-old son, Zane, was on a school cultural exchange in Germany.

I called Elder Openshaw on Christmas Island. Although heartbroken by the unexpected death of his mother, father, brother, and sister, Elder Openshaw immediately turned his concern to his two younger brothers.

Ultimately it was Elder Openshaw and his brother Zane who decided that others could help at home and that Porter should stay on his mission. They knew it was what their parents would want.

As I spoke with Elder Openshaw, I felt his sadness but also his unquenchable fire of faith. “I have the confidence,” he told me, “and I know without a shadow of a doubt that I will see my family again. … Strength in our trials is always found in … our Lord, Jesus Christ. … God’s omnipotent hand has been so apparent in helping [me] and my brothers throughout [this] very difficult challenge.”24

I met Zane for the first time at the funeral. As I looked at the four caskets before us in the chapel, I marveled at the faith of this 17-year-old as he addressed the congregation. “Today,” he said, “we have gathered with humble hearts and weary souls to remember the lives of my mom, dad, Tanner, and Ellie. … We have talked together, cried together, remembered together, and felt the hand of God together. …

“The day after I heard the news of the accident, I found a letter in my bag from my mom. In the letter she wrote: ‘Zane, remember who you are and where you come from. We will be praying for you and missing you.’” Zane continued: “There could not be more fitting last words from my mother. I know that she, along with Tanner, Ellie, and my dad are … praying for [my brothers and] me. I know that … they pray that I remember who I am … because I, like you, am a child of God, and He has sent me here. I testify [that] … no matter how alone we feel, God will not forsake us.”25

In the beautiful hills of Pennsylvania, a devout group of Christian people live a simple life without automobiles, electricity, or modern machinery. They work hard and live quiet, peaceful lives separate from the world. Most of their food comes from their own farms. The women sew and knit and weave their clothing, which is modest and plain. They are known as the Amish people.
A 32-year-old milk truck driver lived with his family in their Nickel Mines community. He was not Amish, but his pickup route took him to many Amish dairy farms, where he became known as the quiet milkman. Last October he suddenly lost all reason and control. In his tormented mind he blamed God for the death of his first child and some unsubstantiated memories. He stormed into the Amish school without any provocation, released the boys and adults, and tied up the 10 girls. He shot the girls, killing five and wounding five. Then he took his own life.
This shocking violence caused great anguish among the Amish but no anger. There was hurt but no hate. Their forgiveness was immediate. Collectively they began to reach out to the milkman’s suffering family. As the milkman’s family gathered in his home the day after the shootings, an Amish neighbor came over, wrapped his arms around the father of the dead gunman, and said, “We will forgive you.” Amish leaders visited the milkman’s wife and children to extend their sympathy, their forgiveness, their help, and their love. About half of the mourners at the milkman’s funeral were Amish. In turn, the Amish invited the milkman’s family to attend the funeral services of the girls who had been killed. A remarkable peace settled on the Amish as their faith sustained them during this crisis.
One local resident very eloquently summed up the aftermath of this tragedy when he said, “We were all speaking the same language, and not just English, but a language of caring, a language of community, [and] a language of service. And, yes, a language of forgiveness.” It was an amazing outpouring of their complete faith in the Lord’s teachings in the Sermon on the Mount: “Do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you.”
The family of the milkman who killed the five girls released the following statement to the public:
“To our Amish friends, neighbors, and local community:
“Our family wants each of you to know that we are overwhelmed by the forgiveness, grace, and mercy that you’ve extended to us. Your love for our family has helped to provide the healing we so desperately need. The prayers, flowers, cards, and gifts you’ve given have touched our hearts in a way no words can describe. Your compassion has reached beyond our family, beyond our community, and is changing our world, and for this we sincerely thank you.
“Please know that our hearts have been broken by all that has happened. We are filled with sorrow for all of our Amish neighbors whom we have loved and continue to love. We know that there are many hard days ahead for all the families who lost loved ones, and so we will continue to put our hope and trust in the God of all comfort, as we all seek to rebuild our lives.”
How could the whole Amish group manifest such an expression of forgiveness? It was because of their faith in God and trust in His word, which is part of their inner beings. They see themselves as disciples of Christ and want to follow His example.
Hearing of this tragedy, many people sent money to the Amish to pay for the health care of the five surviving girls and for the burial expenses of the five who were killed. As a further demonstration of their discipleship, the Amish decided to share some of the money with the widow of the milkman and her three children because they too were victims of this terrible tragedy.

Preparing to decorate our Christmas tree, I unpacked a box filled with Christmas decorations that I hadn’t seen or used in several years. As I pawed through the Christmas lights and linens, I discovered a dress box filled with Christmas ornaments I had collected when I was single and teaching school. I discovered a plain, cross-stitched ornament that simply said “Christmas Open House—1984.” My mind raced back to that year. I was unmarried and had apprehensively moved from a young single adult ward to a family ward.
I love the Christmas season, but some had been very lonely for me. Being in my 30s, single, and not having children, I sometimes felt left out. It was easy for me to feel sorry for myself, falling back into what I called the “poor little old me syndrome.” That particular year, 1984, I remember making a conscious decision to conquer the syndrome, to look beyond myself and see what I could do to make Christmas joyful for others.
I was relatively new to the ward and thought that opening my modest apartment to members of the Relief Society would help me celebrate the holidays and become better acquainted with the sisters.
As I reminisced about that open house, I remembered the small Christmas tree decorated with my box of ornaments, the smell of the shortbread cookies my single friends helped me bake, and the sweet taste of Mom’s “white Christmas punch” I served to the guests.
That conscious decision in 1984 to “lose my life” by looking outward was indeed a turning point in “finding” myself. As I pondered the past, I realized that many, in turn, had followed our Savior’s words and lost their life for me. Christmas ornaments had become a sweet reminder of Christlike friends.

I am sure that family prayer motivated a letter written some years ago by a young Latter-day Saint girl attending a Colorado high school. The students had been asked to prepare a letter to be written to a great man of their choice. Many addressed their letters to well-known athletes, to a noted astronaut, to the president of the United States, and to other celebrities. This young lady, however, addressed her letter to her father, and in the letter she stated: “I have decided to write this letter to you, Dad, because you are the greatest man that I have ever known. The overwhelming desire of my heart is that I might so live that I might have the privilege of being beside you and Mother and other members of the family in the celestial kingdom.” That father never received a more cherished letter.