Gospel Story Finder

Let’s go back and change a few things. Let’s go back to the time when Jim first picked up his friends. Thinking of his promise, he was very careful to keep within the speed limits. One of his friends chided him, “How fast will this pile of junk go, anyway?”
“Probably not over 90 miles an hour,” responded the other friend. “What do you say, Jim? Let’s see how fast it can go.”
Jim’s answer was quiet but firm. “I promised my father I wouldn’t hot rod the car.”
“You’re chicken,” said one of his friends.
“No one will see us out here,” said the other friend.
“I’m sorry,” Jim replied, “but a promise is a promise. I wouldn’t break a promise to you, and I won’t break my promise to my father.”
The boys went to the ball game. Afterwards, when they were heading home, they met some girls at a stoplight. One of Jim’s friends said to the giggling girls.,“Ya wanna drag?”
“Sure, why not?” was the reply.
“Come on, Jim. If you want to be counted as one of my friends, you’ll open this baby up when the light changes!”
“That goes for me, too,” said the other friend. “Let’s see how fast we can jump ahead of the girls.”
The light changed, and the car full of girls shot off down the street, tires squealing. Jim eased forward, kept within the speed limit, and dropped his friends off.
“You’re no fun at all, Jim,” one of his friends said.
Jim drove off and returned the car to the family garage. Coming into the kitchen he found his father having a midnight snack. His father asked him, “How did you treat the car, son?”
“Fine, dad.”
“Goodnight, son.”
“Goodnight, dad.”
The following Sunday the two men who had witnessed Jim’s courage in not buckling under to social pressure approached his father and said, “I wish we had more boys like Jim in the ward. You can really be proud of your son.” They reported all that they witnessed on the street corner after the ball game the previous Friday. Jim’s father was proud of his son.
That evening Jim came to his father and asked for permission to use the family car to attend a fireside. “Here are the keys to the car, son, the house, the boat, and everything that I have. I can trust you.”

Several months ago I left my country to go to one where I knew only my sister and her boyfriend. At church I felt like an outsider. Two or three months went by, and I felt the same feeling of loneliness until I decided to smile at others and ask, “How are you?” Each Sunday that went by, they were saying more to me than the simple “I’m fine.” It also helped to participate in seminary and Mutual and to work on Personal Progress with other young women. Now I feel comfortable at church, as if I were at home.
Vanessa B., age 17, La Vega, Dominican Republic

A few years ago, I had an assignment to accompany President Boyd K. Packer to a stake conference in Arizona. He invited me to his hotel room early Sunday morning and asked if I had any questions I would like to ask him. I said, "President, I'm so sleep, I don't think I'll be able to get up early tomorrow." No, I didn't say that. That's a joke. Of course I showed up. What an opportunity!

I said, “President, how can I put myself in a position to receive more revelation?” The first thing he said was “Get up early!” Early morning is a quiet, peaceful time when our minds are clear and we can dive into the scriptures and have our private meaningful prayer all alone. It is a perfect environment for hearing the voice of the Lord and feeling what he wants us to do.

The third example is Linda Petersen of the Unity First Ward in Burley, Idaho, who was the originator for Brighter Beginnings, a mentor program that helps the community reach out to about 40 unmarried mothers each year. “What alarmed us is that a third of the babies born in these two counties are born to young women who haven’t even graduated from high school,” said Sister Petersen, a member of the Mini–Cassia Child Protection Team, a volunteer organization operating in Minidoka and Cassia Counties, Idaho. She has often helped teach the importance of sexual abstinence, but unfortunately abstinence isn’t always the choice young people make, nor is placing the baby for adoption, “so we felt we needed to help those young women who decided to keep and raise their children.” It is important, she says, to give each young mother greater self-worth and the opportunity to learn good parenting skills in order to “make it the brightest future we can for her and that baby.”

A few months after Sister Petersen shared her idea for the program with others on the child protection team, they had lined up a registered nurse and many volunteer mentor moms to help give Brighter Beginnings its start. The group seeks to help young mothers graduate from high school and learn how to care for their children in a nurturing environment. Each mentor mom goes into a young woman’s home once a month to teach parenting and safety skills and also makes herself available to answer the young woman’s questions. It is hoped that the experienced mothers can be role models and “sounding boards” for the young women, Sister Petersen says. A registered nurse will visit and check on the baby’s health at two and four months of age.

More than nurses and mentors are involved. Volunteers help in other ways. Laurel and Eagle Scout projects provide some quilts and wooden toys for the children. Once a month, senior citizens help babysit while young mothers get together at the local senior citizens’ center to talk and receive instruction in such things as nutrition and safety. One of Sister Petersen’s favorite memories is of an older gentleman tenderly cradling a little baby for an hour as the class went on. Brighter Beginnings is funded by a government grant under the title “Building Stronger Families,” but it is the mentor moms and other volunteers who give it life, Sister Petersen says. Without them, no amount of money could make the program work.

David Whitmer lived outside the Church for 50 years following his excommunication—never to return but never to deny his testimony. As the last surviving Witness, he was often interviewed—and often misquoted. To one man who claimed that David had recanted his testimony, he declared:
“That he may understand me now, if he did not then; and that the world may know the truth, I wish now, standing as it were, in the very sunset of life, and in the fear of God, once for all to make this public statement:
“That I have never at any time denied that testimony or any part thereof, which has so long since been published with that Book, as one of the three witnesses.”8
A year before his death in Richmond, Missouri, David responded to two encyclopedias that claimed he and the other Witnesses had denied their testimonies of the Book of Mormon.
He declared: “I will say once more to all mankind, that I have never at any time denied that testimony or any part thereof. I also testify to the world, that neither Oliver Cowdery or Martin Harris ever at any time denied their testimony. They both died affirming the truth of the divine authenticity of the Book of Mormon.”9
Three days before David died, on January 25, 1888, he called his family and his doctor to his bedside. “Doctor, do you consider that I am in my right mind?” he asked. His doctor replied, “Yes, you are in your right mind.”
Then David turned to his family and said: “I want to give you my dying testimony. You must be faithful in Christ. I want to say to you all that the Bible and the record of the Nephites, the Book of Mormon, are true, so you can say that you have heard me bear my testimony on my deathbed.”10

My nightmare began when I was only seven and my mom remarried. We really liked my new stepfather. He was kind and fit in well with our family. I felt really safe around him. Everything was great until one day, when everyone else was busy, he sexually abused me.
I didn’t understand what he had done to me. I felt scared, confused, and so ashamed. But I was too afraid to tell anyone. I thought it would ruin my family’s newfound happiness and that no one would believe me anyway. So I decided to stay silent.
He had only hurt me that one time, but the memory of the abuse always weighed on my mind. I eventually became so paranoid that someone would see through my pain and uncover my secret that I tried to hide the truth by becoming good friends with my stepfather. He was especially kind to me, and I actually started liking him again.
But then things got worse. When Mom started working at nighttime, my stepfather began regularly abusing me. I felt so helpless. I wanted to speak up, but my stepfather was well liked, and I thought everyone would side with him. So at night when I was alone, I begged God to help me keep my secret.
One day the abuse finally stopped. I had no idea why. Though he was no longer hurting me, I always felt dirty and ashamed. I hated myself. Sometimes I even debated whether death would be easier than my reality. I still wanted to speak up, but I was afraid of what the truth would do.
Then one Sunday at church when I was 14, I listened to a lesson about making big decisions. My teacher encouraged us to fast and pray and promised that God would strengthen us to do the right thing. After church, I kept thinking about what she had said. I wondered if I asked, would God really help me speak up?
The next day I fasted for courage to tell Mom about the abuse. I couldn’t focus during school because all I could think about was how she would react. By the time I got home, I felt extremely sick. I again prayed for strength, but I didn’t feel prepared to tell her.
That evening, I approached Mom when she was cooking dinner. I didn’t know what to say, but when I looked into her eyes, I found the courage to just start speaking. Once I began, everything I had been hiding for years spilled out.
Mom and I just sat on the couch and cried together. Afterward, we contacted our branch president and called the police. My stepfather was held accountable for what he had done to me, and I was given the protection I needed—I would never have to see him again.
During that time, it was difficult retelling my experience to the authorities and having friends ask where my stepfather was, but with my family’s support, I was no longer alone. Together, we rallied around a new family theme: “I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me” (Philippians 4:13). Our extended family also offered their love and support and, over time, we began healing together.
Mom and I both attended professional counseling, which was a big help! My counselor was exactly what I needed. She helped me understand all the emotions I was feeling and helped me cope with my bad memories. I never realized how much I was hurting until I started feeling whole again.
I didn’t think the pain would disappear just because I spoke up, but I also didn’t realize how much time (and patience) it would take to heal. For so long, I had felt worthless. I had to relearn to love myself.
I found the most peace as I turned to my Savior and my Heavenly Father. Recognizing that They knew exactly how I felt gave me strength and hope. I relied on Them during the darkest moments. Over time the memories began to fade, and I really felt peace through the Savior’s love.
One of the most rewarding parts of the healing process was recognizing that I did have a bright future. When I was being abused, I couldn’t even imagine having a normal life. I felt permanently broken. But through help and healing, I found things to look forward to. I began telling my story to other girls who were hurting, and I even decided to serve a mission. Sharing my testimony with others strengthened me.
I’m not defined by what my stepfather did to me. He forever changed my life, but I’m choosing to use my experience to help others. Some days are still hard, but through everything, the Lord has strengthened me, and I know He will continue to help me. I’ve transformed from a victim into a survivor.

One day last year, my friend invited me to his house to have a tea party with him and his sisters. I thought they would have pretend tea at their party. Instead, they offered me real tea with honey. I remembered a story I had read about President David O. McKay. Once when he visited the queen of the Netherlands, the queen offered him tea. He politely refused it. I knew that if tea isn’t good for a prophet, it isn’t good for me.

“That was a very busy time for both of us, but I remember how one day we were out fishing not far from here. I knew that Nate and his wife were having some troubles then, though I didn’t understand all the circumstances and everything. Eventually we started talking about it. I told him that I thought he was risking a lot for this religion, with his marriage and all. He nodded, said he knew that. So then I asked him straight out why he was doing it. He was really quiet for a minute, and then he said, ‘Jack, do you remember those nights out on the trail when we slept under the stars?’
“We used to stay awake for hours talking about God and life and what we were supposed to be doing with our time. We put a lot of thought into it, but never got very far. Anyway, Nate told me, ‘I finally found answers for those questions we always wondered about.’ Sometimes Nate had told me that he was afraid of being alone. He was afraid that one day his friends and family would all be gone, and he’d be alone. But now he said that he knew that God knew and loved him. He said that God would help him in his hard times, that he was helping him right then.
“I remember being amazed at the excitement and passion he spoke with. He was a changed man, and there was something in his voice that gave me hope.”
Jack paused. A placid thoughtfulness had settled over his face. “Now, I didn’t understand everything he told me right then, and it was actually a long time before I did, but by the time he finished speaking I had this beautiful, peaceful feeling that made me want to believe everything he’d said. I never doubted Nate after that.” Jack looked at the engine, then handed Tim the wrench. “I think we’re done.”

Karli sat at her desk with a fluttery feeling in her stomach. She looked around her new classroom. It looked like many third-grade classrooms, with books on the shelves, a plant in the corner, and bright posters on the walls. It also had rows of desks filled with children. Karli didn’t know any of them.
Karli and her family had moved a few weeks earlier. Now, on her first day at her new school, Karli missed her old house, her old school, and her old friends.
A tear fell onto Karli’s math paper as she looked down at her shirt. Before Karli moved away, she and her best friend had picked matching T-shirts, painted hearts on them, and signed their names in pink and purple sparkle paints. Karli had decided to wear her shirt to school for good luck. Now she wished she hadn’t. It reminded her of all her friends going to school without her.
Karli hurried home after school and went straight to the room she shared with her sister. Moving boxes still cluttered its corners. They reminded her of a new school she didn’t like and a new house that didn’t feel like home.
Soon Karli’s mom came in and sat on the bed. “How was school today?” she asked.
Karli looked down at the floor. “Fine,” she whispered. Then tears started to well up in her eyes.
Mom wrapped her arms around Karli. “Tell me about it,” she said.
“I didn’t know anyone,” Karli sniffed. “I don’t have any friends here.”
“First days in a new school are hard, aren’t they?” Mom said. “But you know what? You do have friends here.”
“What friends do I have?” Karli asked. “I don’t know anyone.”
Mom smiled. “You have your sisters,” she said. “Dad and I were sealed in the temple as an eternal family, so you will always have your sisters, no matter where you go. Your sisters can be your best friends forever.”
Karli thought about that. She loved playing with her older sister, Andrea, and her younger sister, Laura. But Andrea was in fourth grade, and Laura still went to kindergarten, so Karli couldn’t see them during the day. She explained that to Mom.
“Mom, in our old neighborhood I had my sisters and my other friends too,” she said. “I liked that better.”
“Well, here you and your sisters will become better friends than before. You can help each other through this,” Mom said.
After dinner, Karli went to her room to do her homework. She didn’t know how to work a few of her math problems, so she asked Andrea for help. Andrea knew exactly how to solve them. Then together they unpacked another moving box before bedtime.
The next day in class, Karli answered all her math problems correctly. At recess, she sat on a swing by herself. She watched a group of girls talking and giggling as they played on the monkey bars. Then she saw a familiar person walking toward her. It was Andrea! Karli hopped off the swing and ran over to her sister.
“We have the same recess,” Andrea said. “So we can play together.”
As the weeks passed, Karli, Andrea, and Laura made friends with some girls in their neighborhood. Soon they made new friends in their classes too. By the end of the school year, Karli and Andrea played together at recess with a group of new friends.
But Karli still remembered what Mom had told her. No matter how many friends she made at school, or how many special shirts hung in her closet, her sisters would always be her best friends.

Let me share with you another choice recent experience. It has to do with a calling of a new patriarch. I asked this good brother, following the call, “If you had your choice, where would you like to have your ordination take place?”

“Elder Ashton,” he said “we will come to your office.”

“That isn’t what I asked you,” I said. “Where of all the places would you choose to have your ordination take place?”

He said, “As long as you put it that way, we would love to have it take place in our home with our children and grandchildren present.” He said this with great feeling.

Sister Ashton and I went to their home and participated in an enlarged family home evening. We heard children pay appropriate tribute to a deserving father and heard grandchildren say, “Grandpa is neat.” At the close of the hour, all expressed deep appreciation for this choice experience. It was a long-to-be-remembered evening for us. As Sister Ashton and I drove back to our home—quite a few miles—our thoughts were turned to the fact that proper home experiences with children, mother, father, and even grandmother and grandfather are priceless. We had another evidence of the wisdom found in Doctrine and Covenants 20:47. “And visit the house of each member, and exhort them to pray vocally and in secret and attend to all family duties.” Here again is home storage of eternal significance going forward.

But then came the day my young husband was called to be a bishop and I was finally convinced that our not having children was not because of our unrighteousness. Some don’t understand that. A good man in the ward who had desired that position came to him privately with strong emotion and said, “What right do you have to be a bishop, and what do you know about helping a family? Don’t ever expect me or my family to come to you for anything!” In time my husband helped that man’s family through a serious crisis, and through it we forged a lasting bond of love with them.

I enjoy reading Q&A. A previous edition had a question about cheating (Sept. 2001). I was faced with a similar problem, where one of my classmates wanted to copy my test answers. So I was reading these young people’s responses to the question, and I took some of their advice. I prayed about it, and then I spoke to my friend, telling her that I would not break the commandment but instead I would help her as best as I could. Your magazine has not only helped me but also a lot of teenagers who were faced with the same problem.Oddett AllicockWest Coast Demerara, Guyana

I knew of a girl in my high school many years ago who had a very poor reputation. How much was simply a vicious rumor and how much was truth I don’t know. But she did associate with a rebellious group who broke many of the rules. And even though she was a member of the Church, she was often seen smoking and drinking. After our school high graduation, I didn’t see her or give her any thought for years. If anyone had asked me what she was like, I could only have described the girl I vaguely knew in school.

But then, more than five years after high school, I was in the temple one night when I heard this girl’s name read from a list of brides who were about to be sealed to their husbands. What a delight it was to see that a great change had obviously taken place in her life. But I shouldn’t have been surprised, because the gospel is changing people all the time.

Jorge Popá, a member of the Quetzaltenango Guatemala Stake, originally invited the sister missionaries to his home to help his wife understand the English instructions that came with the bread maker he had bought her. The sisters agreed—if they could also share the gospel message with the family. After the missionary lessons, Jorge and his wife, Mirna, told the missionaries they weren’t interested in baptism. But that night neither Jorge nor Mirna could sleep. At the same time, each felt moved to get out of bed and pray about what they had been taught, and each received the same manifestation of the truth. They sought out the sister missionaries at church on Sunday and asked to be baptized. After their baptism, the Popás faced the problem many converts face: how to tell their family they had broken with the traditional religion. Their four-year-old son (who is now a deacon) solved that problem at a family gathering. When someone served tea, he stood and announced, “We don’t drink that! We’re Mormons.”

One Saturday several years after having been called as a General Authority Seventy, Elder Patrick Kearon and his wife, Jennifer, were entering a supermarket as Elder W. Rolfe Kerr and his wife, Janeil, were leaving. They visited briefly, and then the Kerrs headed to their car.
Almost immediately, a man approached Elder Kearon and excitedly asked him, “Was that a General Authority you were speaking to?” Elder Kearon responded, “Yes. That was Elder W. Rolfe Kerr of the Seventy.” The man nodded, looked directly at Elder Kearon without recognizing him, and said, “You can always tell a General Authority, can’t you?” Then the man hurried off.
“I love that story because it so represents how I feel,” says Elder Kearon with a smile. “I could have the same experience today, and that man would still probably not pick me out of a crowd as being a General Authority.”

Well, I suppose I might take just another minute to tell you about Dean Rymer. I was on a flight from Australia to New Zealand, and I noticed that my seat companion was a minister from the Anglican Church, the Church of England. I introduced myself and told him what I was doing in New Zealand, and he asked me, “How does it feel to be a member of one of the fastest-growing churches in the world? “ He had been hearing things.

I said, “It’s a wonderful feeling, and I’d like to tell you about it.”

“Well, we have some problems in our church with the youth,” he said. “What do you do about the youth in your Church? We hardly have any young people coming, and we’d like to do something to stimulate them.”

I spent the next half-hour telling him about young men coming to pass the sacrament as deacons, groomed appropriately and representing the Lord as they should, and about how they had to be worthy to act in the name of the Lord. I told him about the older brothers of these deacons, young men sitting at the priest’s table, and about how they came properly groomed and administered the sacrament for the congregation. He was impressed; he was taking notes during all of this.

Then he said, “You know, I have another problem. I can’t get around to all my congregation. And not only that, but they’re mostly women—very few men in my congregation.” I told him about the Melchizedek Priesthood, and about home teaching. I told him about this army of men going out, hopefully into each home every month. “Oh,” he said, “that would be great help! I wish I had something like that. I wish I had some home teachers.” Then I told him about visiting teaching and the Relief Society, and he was almost over-whelmed.

Then he went on to ask me about our buildings; he was concerned about some buildings that they were having to close because they were losing members of the congregation. And I told him that we had approximately six hundred buildings under construction, that we had another five hundred buildings on the drawing board for next year, and that there were another five or six hundred buildings for the year after that. Then I told him about the law of tithing, and told him that every one of these buildings would be dedicated on the day that it was finished and used; that we did not have one penny of debt—not one commercial loan on any piece of physical property in this Church—and he could not believe what he was hearing. And again he was taking notes and writing very rapidly.

Then we talked about tithing. That is how we do it: because we believe what Malachi said—“Will a man rob God?”—and we believe that the windows of heaven will be opened for those who do what the Lord has asked them to do (see Malachi 3:8–10). Then we talked about welfare, and again he could not believe it when I told him about fast offerings and about the way our people fast two meals and give the equivalent cash to the bishop on the fast and testimony Sunday, and still he was writing.

After two hours and twenty minutes of flying we finally landed at Auckland Airport. He was writing all the time, and his final comment to me was, “Elder Simpson, these have been two of the most fruitful hours of my life. We’re going to have a seminar of all the ministers of the Church of England in Auckland in just a few months’ time, and I’m hopeful that you will be able to come and tell them exactly what you have told me.” Well, unfortunately, I have been released in the meantime; but Elder Loren C. Dunn is waiting. I have made arrangements for him to meet Dean Rymer, and Dean Rymer is anxious to extend that invitation to Elder Dunn. And I can promise you that Elder Dunn will finish the job and Dean Rymer will never be the same again.

I should also tell you this: The Sunday following this conversation on the airplane, I heard from one of our good Church members converted from the Church of England that one of her good friends from the Anglican Church came over and said, “You can’t guess what happened in church today. I was at the cathedral and Dean Rymer spent the whole hour talking about the Mormon Church. He told us this and that, and then he concluded his comments by saying, ‘Now, brothers and sisters, I don’t intend to convert you all to the Mormon Church; all I’m doing here today is letting you know that if you live more like the Mormons you’re going to be better people.’” Now, that is a pretty good endorsement, and we accept that! I know that Dean Rymer is a good man and I know that the Lord works in mysterious ways his wonders to perform.

If you’ve read the first verse of the Book of Mormon, you already know something about 17-year-old Juan Ordoñez and his 15-year-old sister, Mayra, of the Pachitol Ward, Patzicía Guatemala Stake.
Juan, Mayra, and their seven older brothers and sisters were “born of goodly parents,” who have passed on skills the family needs to survive, such as the family trades of farming and tortilla making, as well as the language of their ancestors, Cakchiquel.
But those aren’t the only ways their family is like Nephi’s. Juan and Mayra have parents who understand that it is as important to pass on a “knowledge of the goodness and the mysteries of God” (1 Nephi 1:1) as it is to pass on physical survival skills.
While many teens don’t have Lehi-and Sariah-like parents to pass on the gospel (see sidebar on page 47), for Juan, Mayra, and others who do, the question is: Will we be Nephi-like learners, who listen, apply gospel truths, and pass them along as well? Or will we be like Laman and Lemuel, who heard the same information but didn’t want to find out the truth for themselves and couldn’t pass it on?
Juan can’t remember how old he was when he started working with his dad in the fields. “The children would start going with me when they were small,” Juan’s dad, Joel, says. “They learned by watching and then doing what they could, depending on their strength and capacity.”
Mayra learned to make tortillas the same way, watching her mom and sisters until she was old enough to pitch in and help.
But plowing, planting, and tortilla making aren’t the only things being passed from one generation to the next. As Mayra’s mother, Carmela, molded and shaped tortillas, she was also giving shape to her daughter’s character. As Brother Ordoñez prepared, planted, or cultivated the ground, he was doing the same for Juan’s heart.
As the family spent time together, the children could see not just how their parents worked but how they lived. And when the opportunity arose, their parents made the gospel a topic of conversation while they worked.
But observing—and even doing—isn’t always enough. In the Book of Mormon’s first family, Laman and Lemuel heard the same things that Nephi heard from their father, and they too even went and did what their father asked. But they were missing something important, something that Juan and Mayra have—a desire to learn.
Juan and Mayra live in Patzicía, a Cakchiquel community a few hours from Guatemala City. Because many of those who buy their tortillas and seek their plowing services don’t speak Spanish, it was important to Juan and Mayra to learn Cakchiquel.
But not everyone feels that way. Cakchiquel isn’t taught in the schools. The language has been passed down from generation to generation for hundreds of years. However, in each succeeding generation there are many who don’t want to learn it or feel they don’t need it.
A desire to know is key in more than just learning a language. Lehi wanted his family to know for themselves that the gospel is true, but not all of his family wanted to know (see 1 Nephi 8:12, 17–18). In addition to hearing his father and doing what he asked, Nephi wanted to know for himself (see 1 Nephi 10:17). Laman and Lemuel, though they had obeyed their father, had done it grudgingly (see 1 Nephi 2:11–12). They weren’t interested in making the effort to find out for themselves, saying, “The Lord maketh no such thing known unto us” (see 1 Nephi 15:8–9).
As their children grew, Brother and Sister Ordoñez often wondered if their children would listen. Would they obey? Would they want to know, like Nephi? Would they pass the gospel on to their children?
It may be too early to tell. But Brother and Sister Ordoñez have reason to hope.
Their older children are starting to pass gospel truths on. And the younger children are recognizing the importance of passing the gospel on too. “It’s hard sometimes to take counsel from your parents,” Juan says. “But I’m grateful for their help.”
“They didn’t just teach me how to cook beans and make tortillas,” Mayra says. “They have taught me the right path—to follow God.”

Perhaps my growing realization about a more productive learning relationship with Heavenly Father is what made me so impressed with President Marion G. Romney’s biography written by F. Burton Howard. President Romney, who served as a counselor to President Spencer W. Kimball, is a wonderful example of someone who asks faithful questions. I particularly want to share an account of how President Romney responded when his wife, Ida, suffered a stroke in early 1967. She lay in the hospital for weeks, giving no sign that she recognized President Romney when he visited.

During this period, following priesthood blessings, fasting, prayer, and, nevertheless, a continued worsening of Ida’s condition, President Romney’s response was one of great reticence to counsel the Lord. If his will was to take her, President Romney did not want to pray for something else. And yet he had said on numerous occasions about his wife, “She is the best part of me. I could never carry on alone” (F. Burton Howard, Marion G. Romney, His Life and Faith [Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1988], p. 140).

He searched the scriptures and fasted to develop his faith and learn how to demonstrate it to the Lord. He didn’t directly ask the Lord to heal his wife, though this was never far from his heart. Rather, he worried whether he had the right to ask for this blessing. He observed that the Lord hadn’t healed President McKay, who was very ill. “He hasn’t healed others who are in as great a need as I,” he said. “Who am I to ask for a blessing? Why should the Lord answer my prayers?”

He struggled with this internal conflict for some time, continuing to read, to pray, and to fast. One evening, shortly after returning from a visit to Ida in the hospital, where he had found her unchanged, he went to the Book of Mormon and began to read. He read in the book of Helaman about the prophet Nephi, who had been falsely condemned as he sought to teach the people. A particular passage in this account touched his heart more than he had ever felt before. The scripture read:
Blessed art thou, Nephi, for those things which thou hast done; for I have beheld how thou hast with unwearyingness declared the word, which I have given unto thee, unto this people. And thou hast not feared them, and hast not sought thine own life, but hast sought my will, and to keep my commandments.
And now, because thou hast done this with such unwearyingness, behold, I will bless thee forever; and I will make thee mighty in word and in deed, in faith and in works; yea, even that all things shall be done unto thee according to thy word, for thou shalt not ask that which is contrary to my will. [Helaman 10:4–5]
President Romney felt personal confirmation that the Lord accepted him. He
knew that by refusing to ask a special favor without first ascertaining the will of the Lord, he had unknowingly demonstrated the quality of his faith. . . .
With awe, [President Romney] fell to his knees. The scripture was the direct answer to many prayers. More than anything else he wanted to know the Lord’s will for Ida. He was willing to let her go; or, if need be, he would care for her in whatever condition the Lord wanted her to be in. As he concluded his prayer with the phrase “Thy will be done,” he seemed to feel or hear a voice which said, “It is not contrary to my will that Ida be healed.” [Howard, Romney, pp. 141–142]
Quickly he put on his coat and tie and went to the hospital. Arriving there at 3:00 a.m., he entered her room and placed his hands upon her head. She didn’t move or give any sign of recognition. He then invoked the power of the priesthood and pronounced a simple blessing upon her, uttering the
incredible promise that she would recover her health and mental powers and yet perform a great mission upon the earth.
Even though he did not doubt, [President Romney] was astonished to see Ida’s eyes open as he concluded the blessing. He sat down on the bed and listened to her frail voice ask, “For goodness’ sakes, Marion, what are you doing here?” In total surprise he responded, “Ida, how are you?” With a flash of humor which showed that she was not totally unaware of her circumstances, Ida Romney replied, “Compared to what, Marion? Compared to what?” [p. 142]
Thereafter, Ida recovered fully and miraculously.

Walter Spat, the first stake president in South America, for many years has owned a furniture factory in Sao Paulo, Brazil. The delicately hand-carved roses, figures, and designs in the beautiful woods make his furniture as lovely as I have ever seen. Every piece is exquisite. Every creation is a masterpiece. One day my Ruth and I were in the entrance of his factory when a beautiful, newly made piece of furniture was carried in from the factory for showing. The grain of the wood flowed beautifully, and the finish was perfection. But to President Spat the hardware did not seem up to standard. Without hesitation, he took a screwdriver and a pair of pliers and pulled off all the hardware. His only remark was, “That is not my work.” President Spat seems incapable of making a piece of furniture which is not as near perfect as it can be. His work reflects his honor and integrity.

In 1895 my great-grandfather, Abinadi Olsen, was called on a mission to the Samoan Islands. Obedient to the call of the prophet, he left his wife and four small children, including my maternal grandmother, Chasty Magdalene, in the town of Castle Dale, Utah. He traveled by train and ship to the mission headquarters in Apia, a journey of 26 days. His first assignment was to labor on the island of Tutuila.

After many weeks of living in what he called a grass hut, eating strange food, suffering severe illnesses, and struggling to learn the Samoan language, he seemed to be making no progress in his missionary work. Homesick and discouraged, he seriously considered boarding a boat back to Apia and telling the mission president he didn’t want to waste any more time in Samoa. The obstacles to the accomplishment of his mission seemed insurmountable, and he wished to return to his wife and children, who were struggling to support him in the mission field.

A friend who heard Abinadi Olsen describe the experience some years after his return, quoted him as follows:
“Then one night, as I lay on my mat on the floor of my hut, a strange man entered, and in my own language told me to get up and follow him. His manner was such that I had to obey. He led me through the village and directly against the face of a perpendicular solid-rock cliff. That’s strange, thought I. I’ve never seen that here before, and just then the stranger said, ‘I want you to climb that cliff.’
“I took another look and then in bewilderment said, ‘I can’t. It’s impossible!’
“‘How do you know you can’t? You haven’t tried,’ said my guide.
“‘But anyone can see’—I started to say in objection. But he cut in with, ‘Begin climbing. Reach up with your hand—now with your foot.’
“As I reached, under orders that I dared not disobey, a niche seemed to open in the solid-rock cliff and I caught hold. Then with my one foot I caught a toehold.
“‘Now go ahead,’ he ordered. ‘Reach with your other hand,’ and as I did so another place opened up, and to my surprise the cliff began to recede; climbing became easier, and I continued the ascent without difficulty until, suddenly, I found myself lying on my pallet back in my hut. The stranger was gone!
“Why has this experience come to me? I asked myself. The answer came quickly. I had been up against an imaginary cliff for those three months. I had not reached out my hand to begin the climb. I hadn’t really made the effort I should have made to learn the language and surmount my other problems” (Improvement Era, Aug. 1957, 554).

It is hardly necessary to add that Abinadi Olsen did not leave the mission. He labored for three and a half years, until released by appropriate authority. He was an exceptionally effective missionary, and he was a faithful member of the Church for the rest of his life.